The story of Dottie Dots

Four year ago today, Rob was walking a friend's dog. He saw a guy throw a puppy to the ground with alarming force. It was a crack deal gone bad. Apparently, the guy wasn't get enough crack for the pitbull puppy. The puppy was yelping and crying. Rather, SHE was yelping and crying. Rob thought for sure the guy had broken one of the puppy's legs. He immediately took her from the guy and went straight to the vet. After taking one look at her and realizing what breed of dog she was, the vet refused to treat her until Rob assumed responsibility for her. Without skipping a beat, Rob said, "She's my dog now". The vet treated her. Luckily, nothing was broken and she only had a strained shoulder. She was, however, severely malnourished and had worms. I was at work. He called me and the conversation went something like this.

Rob: Honey, I got you a dog.... I found...um... anAmericanStaffordshireTerrier
Me: A What?!
Rob: A pitbull. Honey, I rescued a pitbull
Me: Why in God's Green Earth would you bring me one of those? Aren't they dangerous?! I wanted a Wire Fox Terrier. They are much smaller AND cuter.
Rob: She was hurt in a drug deal.
Me: A drug deal? Are you crazy?! This is like something out of rap video or a John Singleton movie. We are now an urban stereotype. Asian girl. Latino boyfriend. Pitbull. Perfect.
Rob: She was hurt. I took her to the vet. The vet wouldn't treat unless I said I would keep her.
Me: Nice ploy with the vet. I don't want to know how much that vet bill is. We'll just have to find her a new home. She can stay with us for now.
Rob: She's so cute. You'll love her.
Me: I'll love her in someone else's house.

Then, I came home to this. a 5-week old American Staffordshire Terrier.
I picked her up and she gave me puppy kisses. All I could mutter was, "Her breath smells like milk". Surprise of surprises, she was staying. Lu was calling her Dots because of her spots. I said that Dots wasn't a good name for a girl puppy. So, she became Dottie Dots.

Those first couple of weeks were rough. Aside from nursing a sick puppy and house-training, the junkie who hurt Dottie figured out where we lived. For a while, we became really great friends with our Neighborhood Watch and the LAPD. We barely slept for various reasons. Once the junkie was finally arrested, things quieted down. Dottie got lots of training and I did lots of reading. The more I learned, the more I became an advocate of the breed. Cicely calls me the Pitbull Activist. I can't help it. It's a often maligned breed.

Dottie's my constant companion, my anti-depressant, my napping partner and my personal trainer all rolled into one. Is she perfect? Absolutely not. She rolls in the mud right after a bath, tries to guilt you into giving her the rest of your steak, scares the beegezus out of my UPS guy, hates little fluffy dogs, has selective hearing when I call her to come inside and snores. Despite all that, I love her and can't imagine life without her.

Here we are as photographed by the uber-talented Grace Chon of Shine Pet Photos.

© 2008 Shine Pet Photos

"My dog isn't my baby. My husband is my baby. My dog? She's my companion."
~Anne Rodriguez[Me] {when asked if she thought her dog was a substitute for a child}