Pit Bull Fighting

My name is Olive. I’m a Staffordshire Bull Terrier. You can see how nice I look. I’m even smiling in this picture. It wasn’t always this way. I was part of a Pit Bull fighting ring. Here’s how my life started. . .

They took me from my Mom too young. I was scared. Then, I got pregnant. I can still hear the men’s voices and they are yelling. The other dogs around me are filled with fear that turns to rage. They are fighting again. I’m glad that this time they “used” another dog to get them stirred up.

On a good day, I’m left in this tiny pen listening to dogs fighting and men yelling. I let the fear fill me and I sit and shake. Why me?

On a bad day? I hear someone say, get her. She’ll get the other dogs to fight. They toss me into the pen. The first dog seems to really hate me. I have to defend myself, and as much as it makes me uncomfortable, it’s instinct. I need to protect my unborn pups. I don’t know if I’m relieved or scared even more when the other dog held to the side is released. It means that now I’ll get removed until next time.

Finally, I was able to escape, and I ran away. I wanted to run and to keep running to get away from how I felt. On one paw, I wanted to keep running so that I could feel safe, and yet I was too scared to be alone. I didn’t know what to do. I met some nice people who took me into their home. I was beat up and covered in sores from mange. I listen for the yelling and the other dogs fighting, but so far that hasn’t happened. Yet. I will always wonder if it’ll happen again.

That was seven years ago. Since then, I’ve been living in a love-filled home with other nice dogs. Without words, I can only show what I’m feeling. Even after all these years, I have moments where I panic. I want to run and run just to get away from the feeling that is buried deep inside me. It’s buried in the place that makes my tail wag – or in this case, not wag.

There are a lot of moments where I forget what happened. I’m joyful and my tail can’t stop from moving. Other days, I sit and stare and want to hide. I hear my “Mom” talking with people about me. She has loved me and kept me safe but she knows. She knows and can see that some times I’m lost.

The abuse I experienced from the dog fights will not leave me. I have new memories to put in their place, but some days that’s not so easy. I remember. It’s not a memory in my mind. It’s a memory in my soul. It’s consuming.

I hope there are big people who can stop dog fighting. Perhaps Oprah can do a show to bring more awareness to how horrible it is for us. Maybe some day the people who think this is a sport, will be able to feel in their hearts what I feel. If they do, they will never forget it. Nor will I.