Pit Bull At the Door

By TAD BARTIMUS

It was dark, my vision was obscured by an armload of laundry, and I was distracted by the yowling cat. I kicked open the back door and started down the steps. A menacing growl stopped me.

Barely visible in the reflected porch light was a pit bull blocking the sidewalk. Gray, wearing a wide leather collar studded with brass spikes, his ears clipped into points, the 60-pound dog stared unblinking at me, swaying slightly. As he panted, saliva dripped from the corners of his mouth.

Startled, I yelled: "Go away! Get out of here! GIT!"

He growled again. I backed up, feeling first one step, then another, until I reached the porch and ducked back inside. The pit bull put his front paws on the bottom tread. Searching for a defensive weapon, I rejected the dust mop and instead heaved a bucket filled with soapy water.

The pit bull shook his massive head to clear the froth from his eyes, growled a final time and trotted away. I was trying to quiet the terrified cat and hold onto the collar of my own dog, now ready to battle the interloper, when I realized my heart was pounding.

All I could think about was the mauling death of Diane Whipple by a male Presa Canario as she tried to enter her San Francisco apartment in January last year.

The dog that killed the 33-year-old lacrosse coach lived just down the hall from her. One of its owners, Marjorie Knoller, had been convicted in March of second-degree murder for her dog's actions.

I sent word via a neighbor to the pit bull owner, telling him his dog had scared me half to death. An animal lover since birth, I knew the dog was blameless because animals are taught to be vicious.

I was assured the gray pit bull wouldn't bother me again, but a week later, the beast apparently returned. I came home to find my screen door ripped open, a Plexiglas barrier shattered and the back porch in shambles. It took a ladder to get the cat down from a shelf.

Pit bulls are common in my community because, following ancestral custom, local men own them to hunt wild boar for meat and sport. The dogs are trained to track, attack and tear their prey apart. It's not unusual to see several pit bulls chained or pinned in yards, and I've learned to steer clear of fiercely barking canines in the back of pickup trucks.

I've seen the gray pit bull twice more in five months; each time, I chased him away with the garden hose. Until this week, I'd rejected the idea of a gun to defend my household because I thought punishment meted out by our legal system was a sufficient deterrent.

Then Superior Court Judge James Warren reversed Knoller's second-degree murder conviction in San Francisco. Two other charges stand: involuntary manslaughter and owning a "mischievous" animal.

Now I'm thinking the unthinkable.

I grew up with carefully polished, always unloaded rifles and shotguns stored in a locked case in our basement. My father was a skilled hunter who gave it up in mid-life because he decided that, since we didn't need to eat what he shot, he should stop killing. When I was a cub reporter assigned to the police beat, a veteran sergeant taught me how to clean, load and shoot a handgun, but told me I should never own a weapon "unless you're prepared to use it."

As a war correspondent in Vietnam and elsewhere, I was always unarmed. I staunchly supported the Brady bill. I believe that guns kill people.

Then Warren threw out Knoller's murder conviction.

I no longer believe the threat of legal action can deter the owner of a vicious dog.
Forget less effective alternatives such as mace, pepper spray and my husband's old baseball bat. Unlike Whipple, I won't be victimized on my own doorstep by somebody else's lethal weapon. I intend to defend myself with my own.



© 2002 The Women Syndicate

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