Sorry folks, just felt the need to butt in and say a brief word on behalf of pit bulls. Three words, actually: nature versus nurture. I had one growing up (accidentally, we had know idea what he was when we got him from the pound as a puppy), and he was sweet, easy to train, very loving, and, I truly believe, had a wacky sense of humor. As it happens, one of the things that "cracked him up" the most was when my father or I came in through the doggie door (I don't think my mother or sister ever did). The event always triggered a lot of jumping up and down, yelping, and slobber. Another one of the big deals in his life was the constant pursuit of holding two tennis balls in his mouth at once. Every few months he'd actually manage it and then go zooming around the house with his head held high so that everyone could see. Inevitably in his enthusiasm he'd lose his grip and the balls would go squirting out of his mouth, and the cycle would start all over again. Another obsession was burying stuff and as far as we know never digging it up. Give him a new toy and not let him out into the back yard, and he'd "bury" the toy under a rug or behind furniture. Obviously he buried bones. Even Milk Bones, unless we gave him the teeny-tiny ones. After burying something, he'd come storming into the house with his face and front paws covered in dirt and dance around triumphantly like he'd just scored a touchdown. We'd all crack up and I honestly think he was laughing with us.
He aslo had an attention for detail. When told to get out of the kitchen, he'd go lie down with his nose precisely at the border between the kitchen tile and the wood floor in the dining room. When told to get out of the dining room, he'd lie down in the living room with his nose precisely at the line of demarcation between the living room and the dining room. He knew he was not allowed on the furniture. When there was anybody home. I guess we didn't teach that rule too well. He'd never be on the furniture when we came home, but we could usually find a warm spot somewhere. We let him keep his own interpretation of the rule. He himself decided that after inhaling his meals, he should run around and thank everybody (I guess that's what he was doing), then go back and double check his bowl, just in case he'd missed something. There was never anything there, but he always came back to check.
Good old Gus. He was a sweetheart with us, our cats (who dominated him), our friends, people and dogs in the park. Meter readers, mail carriers, UPS people -- definitely not a fan, but I think he had it in his head that it was his job to scare these people off when the came up to the house and did weird things. "They show up, I bark, they leave." He had no way of knowing that him barking like a lunatic wasn't a part of the equation. Anyway, he never had access to them, and I'm sure they all thought of him as another loud angry dog they were glad was never in the front yard. Which, in fact, he almost never was, certainly not alone and certainly not off the leash. We knew he was very protective and it was most evident in the front yard of our house. Obviously he was built like a fire hydrant and could easily kill a person, but we just made sure to introduce him properly to friends. We never had a problem. (On the other hand, I was once menaced by a friend's two goofy old basset hounds, who I thought knew me well, when I was staying at the friend's house and got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. Dogs will be dogs.)
I left for college when Gus was about 9 and at that point he transfered his primary attachment to my mother. Of course, he'd still be all over me whenever I came home to visit. When he was about 13, my mother died. Gus died about a year later, partly from age and partly, I believe, from a broken heart.
Gus was a good dog. I bet he and Napoleon would have been friends. I can imagine them tearing around after each other, doing play bows, playing keep-away, and sniffing each other's butts. Although he would have no trouble at all scaring the bejeezus out of certain people in this trial, or even inflicting grievous bodily harm, with other people he'd just be a big goof. He'd try to get in their laps and lick their faces, but he'd get down when told to do so. He'd shove a slobbery tennis ball in their hands, roll over for a belly rub, sit in quivering anticipation for a Milk Bone, or just fall asleep at someone's feet, snoring contentedly until something interesting actually happened.
I don't have any pictures of him on my computer. He was an ugly, bullet-headed brute with a giant smile. Kind of like this guy:
View attachment 67873
