I'll start in the middle. Overpopulation. If we're talking about animals in particular rather than the creeping infestation of our planet by mostly furless bipeds (the guy at the pool sporting a full pelt notwithstanding), then we're most likely discussing the severe and continuing problem of gonad intact cats and dogs and their ability to produce multiple copies of themselves at a frightening rate. Intact family dogs, who are rarely as sneaky or clever as intact family cats, nevertheless seem to posses a secret button to some sort of canine teleporter that allows them to hook up, (you may wince at my mildly dirty puns if you like) in spite of our best efforts to keep them apart. I like to imagine the popular phrase, "Beam me up Scotty", was originally written into a certain sci-fi television script as, "Who beamed up the damned Scotty?!" after the writer found his pearly white Westy under the bed giving birth to onyx black puppies.
My own darling pack-founding pit bull, Asia, whose excellent blood-lines could be traced back to the turn of the century, managed to get herself knocked up through an 8-foot chain-link fence, her first season no less. All bitches in season are absolute hussies when the pickin's are slim so I had absolutely no confidence in her choice of paramour.
She was fairly typical as far as purebred pit bulls go. Beautiful, compact, proportionately put together well, almost dainty, as many pit bull females are. She had a beautiful tawny brown coat, and sported black Cleopatra eye-liner to die for.
The puppies she whelped were ridiculously large compared to their mother, heavily furred, kinda wrinkly-fat, and had faces only a mother could love, which she did, of course. I, on the other hand, was horrified, if secretly smitten, by the appearance of their Sasquatch cuteness. I'm fiercely against cross-breeding when it comes to the gladiators of the domestic canine family, particularly pit bulls. But that's a whole 'nother Blog entry.
I had what I considered a serious dilemma on my hands. What to do with eight mixed-breed pit bull puppies whose paternal lineage was entirely in question. My favorite suspect for baby daddy, considering their size, coat, and odd head shape, was a chicken-killing, horse-chasing, neighbor-menacing, child-flattening, stroller-tipping, goat-harassing Goliath of a Malamute mix(120 lbs easily) that lived a few acres behind us.
You can imagine why I was so upset, can't you? Sasquatch cuteness be damned. This was baaaaad.
1. Consider the suspect dog's temperament. I could only hope it was nurture, and not nature that made him so awful.
2. Consider the temperament of a purebred pit bull: Yes, an almost goofy, unwavering devotion to hanging out with unfurry bipeds, whether friend or stranger; an amazing work ethic and a natural propensity to be calm and well-mannered. But let us not forget to factor in an amazingly high tolerance for pain, a bite any shark would envy and an almost giddy, even flirtatious desire to pick fights if not socialized properly.
3. If the DNA mix went against me, I had eight potentially lethal little stinkers on my hands.
