The Rehabilitation of Meg (For The Love of a Pitbull)

Think of a pit bull. Now, close your eyes.

What do you see?

A vicious dog?

...or some one's best friend?

This loving, smiling pup?

...or a dog needing to be muzzled

whenever it's out of the house?

This dog fight?

...or this happy dog with his little girl?

Or, God Forbid, this?

When I think of a pitbull, I think of Meg. I think of the puppy I found as a stray, wandering the streets of Pleasant Grove (not a nice neighborhood, FYI). I think of the dog who crept into my heart and my family by watching me and being so eager to learn and to be loved. I think of the dog who was so traumatized by her time on the street that she is anxious around other dogs. I think of the dog who is so nervous with other dogs in public that a part of me worries that she may never get over this. I think of Meg.

And when I think of Meg, I think "I can't let her down. She'll overcome this. We'll get past this." I know she'll probably never want to play with other dogs at the dog park or share a snack with another puppy. But I know, I have faith, that she will overcome her reactivity to other dogs and will be able to walk and interact with them without becoming so anxious that she acts out to protect herself and her human (me). When she wears her ThunderShirt (see above and click the link to find out more about ThunderShirts and where the idea first came from: The Tellington TTouch) she's a different dog. She calms down, her eyes relax, her posture changes, and she focuses on me and not everything going on around her. And I'm hopeful, no, certain that she will get to the point where she won't need the ThunderShirt. She'll just need to look at me and get reassurance that everything is okay. And every day we work towards that end.