“I yell ‘cause somewhere in a Los Angeles basement, there’s a pit bull with duct tape wrapped around her muzzle, being trained to kill while money changes hands.
I yell ‘cause on some news program in Denver, there’s a politician demonizing pit bulls to further his own career.
I yell ‘cause some punk in Tampa’s got his fifth box of pit puppies and I know they’ll end up in the last cage of an animal shelter before they’re two.
I yell ‘cause humans can be the most brutal and heartless animals on the planet.
I yell ‘cause a pit bull can’t and somebody needs to.”—Shorty Rossi
“Every dog must have a soul
Somewhere deep inside
Where all his hurts and grievances
Are buried with his pride.
Where he decides the good and bad,
The wrong way from the right,
And where his judgement carefully
Is hidden from our sight.
A dog must have a secret place
Where every thought abides,
A sort of close acquaintance that
He trusts in and confides.
And when accused unjustly for
Himself, He cannot speak,
Rebuked, He finds within his soul
The comfort he must seek.
He’ll love, tho’he is unloved,
And he’ll serve tho’badly used,
And one kind word will wipe away
The times when he’s abused.
Altho’ his heart may break in two
His love will still be whole,
Because God gave to every dog
An understanding Soul!”—Unknown
Don’t you just hate it when someone tells you to watch a TV series? They tell you ‘it’s hilarious!’, ‘it’s brilliant!’, ‘a must see!’, ‘you won’t regret it!’. But yet they conveniently forget to tell you about the times you’ll spend sat in front of the TV screen, feeling physically sick as you watch characters you’ve grown to love go through hell and almost die, or actually die! The tears you will shed and the countless times your heart will break!
The times where you sit there watching, unsure whether your heart can stand to watch anymore.
Right now this is going to sound very odd…but bare with me!
There is no smell like a Labrador puppy smell! They have their own distinct smell which is unlike the smell of any other puppy or dog. I can’t explain what the smell is like but I can’t get enough of it!
I worked at a rescue centre for about 5 years and I was actually banned from showing members of the public the Labrador puppies or just being around them when members of the public were around because I’d just sit there smelling them.
My next-door neighbour has got a new Lab pup - well actually she’s just looking after it for her daughter and grandchildren but still - so when I went outside I was greeted by said pup trying to crawl through the fence to come and greet me. And the first thing I did? After pulling him the rest of the way through the fence because his shoulders wouldn’t allow him to go back, was to pick him up and smell him. My neighbours gave me a funny look but then just kinda rolled their eyes and laughed at me, my family pretty much did the same, their all used to me by now.
I can’t be the only one though! There’s got to be other people that know what I’m talking about…isn’t there?
“Thou sayest thou art as weary as a dog,
As angry, sick and hungry as a dog,
As dull and melanchology as a dog,
As lazy, sleepy, idle as a do.
By why dost thou compare thee to a dog?
In that for which all men despise a dog,
I will compare thee better to a dog.
Thou art as fair and comely as a dog,
Thou art as true and honest as a dog,
Thou art as kind and liberal as a dog,
Thou art as wise and valiant as a dog.”—Sir John Davies
There is something beautiful about the call of a wolf. The first time I heard it in person was on my 19th birthday (I’m now 21) and it was my first day working at the UK Wolf Conservation Trust. As far as birthdays go, this was definitely the best! I remember standing by the fence, staring at these three gorgeous creatures, Mosi, Mai and Torak, and just feeling a shiver go down my spine as they tipped their heads back and let out one of the most beautiful sounds I’ve ever heard. (Oddly enough there is only one other animal that has made me feel the way that did upon hearing them, and that was the Hyena’s I saw on a night drive on a South African game reserve. They switched off all the lights and we just sat there listening to the Hyena’s call to one another. It still makes me shiver just thinking about it - good shiver - well apart from when one of them was staring at me and slowly getting closer to the jeep, that was pretty awesome too!) Anyway I majorly side-tracked! Over the time I spent working with all of the wolves, the aforementioned 3 and Lunca, Latea, Duma and Dakota, I got to hear many different howls and learnt to tell the difference when listening to them. They had different howls for locating a pack mate - used when we had taken one of the wolves out on a ‘walk’ - just for the hell of it or to bond - which they did a lot - to signal their territory to the other packs - which resulted in all of the wolves howling back at each other (there were three small packs, Mosi, Mai and Torak were in one, Lunca and Latea in another and Duma and Dakota in the final one), or in reply to a howl issued by a handler - or alternatively in reply to the old hunting horn that the owner of the Trust uses…do not ask. Nothing however, and I mean nothing, will ever make me forget the sadness I felt during one of their howls.
Dakota got sick. She had lymphatic cancer, she was only given a few months but she lasted several years. She had a little pot belly from the steroids and her fur was a lot harsher than the others due to all the drugs but she was happy and she loved her food. Which is why we started to worry when she stopped eating. The first few days we still managed to get her medication into her, and then she stopped altogether. When we called in the vet we were told she had pneumonia and that it was unlikely she would make it so the decision was made that she would be put to sleep. She seemed to accept that this was what had to happen and her sister Duma was lead in afterwards to see her. They say that wolves can understand death but not abandonment. She sniffed around her sister and then turned to seek comfort from her handlers, rubbing against them and leaning her weight into their legs.
The feeling of sadness and heartbreak came the second she took her last breath and all of the wolves, from all the packs, raised their heads and let out the most mournful sounds I’ve ever heard. It brings a tear to my eye just thinking about it.
Dakota was a beautiful animal and she brought such joy and light and laughter to everyone that met her. I’m glad and honoured that I got to be a part of her life, no matter how short that time may have been.
“For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack. The kill of the Wolf is the meat of the Wolf. He may do what he will, but, till he is given permission, the Pack may not eat of that kill.”—Rudyard Kipling
“Wolf is the Grand Teacher. Wolf is the sage, who after many winters upon the sacred path and seeking the ways of wisdom, returns to share new knowledge with the trive. Wolf is both the radical and the traditional in the same breath. When the Wolf walks by you - you will remember.”—Robert Ghost Wolf
“There are some dogs which, when you meet them, remind you that, despite thousands of years of manmade evolution, every doog is still only two meals away from being a wolf. These dogs advance deliberately, purposefully, the wilderness made flesh, their teeth yellow, their breath astink, while in the distance their owners witter, “He’s an old soppy really, just poke him if he’s a nuisance,” and in the green of their eyes, the red campfires of the Pleistocene gleam and flicker.”—Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
One evening and old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people.
He said, “My son, the battle is between two ‘wolves’ inside us all.
One is evil.
It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority and ego.
The other is good.
It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.”
The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather. “Which wolf wins?”
The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.”
“Wolves and women have much in common. Both share a wild spirit. Women and Wolves are instinctual creatures, able to sense the unseen. They are loyal, protective of their packs and their pups. They are wild and beautiful. Both have been hunted and captured. Even in captivity, one can see in the eyes of a Woman, or a Wolf, the longing to run free, and the determination that should the oppotunity arise, they will be gone.”—Unknown
“We have doomed the Wolf, not for what it is, but for what we have deliberately and mistakenly perceived it to be. The mythologized epitome of a savage, ruthless killer, which is, in reality no more than a reflexed image of ourselves.”—Farley Mowat
“We reached the old wolf in time to watch the fierce green fire dying in her eyes. There was something new to me in those eyes - something known only to her and the mountains. I was young then, and full of trigger-itch. I thought that because fewer wolves meant more deer, that no wolves would mean a hunter’s paradise, but after seeing the green fire die, I sensed that neither the wolf, nor the mountain agreed with such a view.”—Aldo Leopold
“Perhaps it was the eyes of the wolf, measured, calm, knowing.
Perhaps it was the intense sense of family.
After all, wolves mate for life, are loyal partners, create hunting communities and demonstrate affectionate patience in pup rearing.
Perhaps it was the rigid heirarchy of the packs.
Each wolf had a place in the whole and yet retained his individual personality.
Perhaps it was their great, romping, ridiculous sense of fun.
Perhaps it was some celestial link with the winter night skies that prompted the wolf to lay his song on the icy air.
For the native people who lived with the wolves, and the wolves once ranged from the Arctic to the sub-tropics, there was much to learn from them.
Is it any wonder that the myths of many tribes characterise the wolves not as killers but as teachers?”—Unknown (The Wolves Den)
I had a recent conversation with a friend, I’ve known her for just over 2 years now and she’s pretty much my best friend, she mentioned how she has only ever seen me cry once. It was when we were leaving Pumba Game Reserve in South Africa and saying goodbye to the rangers we’d spent all our time with. I’m usually so good at controlling my emotions but that all broke down when Piete hugged me and said that he didn’t want us to go and that he was going to miss us all.
I’m usually the first person to laugh at all the girls getting emotional at goodbyes, but there was something about his words and the slow sinking feeling in my gut that made me break. My home situation isn’t great, I mean it’s not hell but it’s not exactly heaven either. Being out there in Africa with my friends felt like freedom, like someone had opened a cage I hadn’t realised I’d been locked in all these years, and coming home…well that felt like returning to a prison sentence. Hence the blubbering.
During our conversation, I realised that usual things don’t effect me the way they do other people I know. My mum can’t watch NSPCC adverts because they bring her to tears, she cries every time she watches Titanic, which she has seen literally millions of times. These things never effect me, I mean obviously I find them sad when I think about how real the pain and loss is, but they never effect me other than that, not the way anything animal related does. I guess I just don’t like people, and by that I mean human beings in general, there are a lot of people that I actually like, I’m just more of an animal person.
Books always get to me though. I have a habit of playing things out in my head, not as in imagining it and seeing it in images but more describing it in detail as if I were writing it down as a chapter in a book. I think that’s what helps me to get so engrossed in whatever it is that I’m reading, it ends up almost as though those words were my own thoughts and there has been many a book, or rather sections within it, that have reduced me to tears.
Possible spoilers here if you haven’t read these books!:
~ His Dark Materials Trilogy where Lyra has to leave Pan on the docks when she goes to the land of the dead.
~ The numerous losses in The Banned And The Banished series, including the use of the phrase “To’bak Nori Sull Corum” - Till The Roads Wind Us Back Home, You Will Always Be In My Heart. (Which I incidentally have tattooed on my hip!)
~ The deaths of Bill-E, Dervish, Meera and Beranabus in the Demonata series.
~ The many deaths in the Saga of Darren Shan.
This list could go on and on but I’m just going to use these few examples or I won’t stop listing them all.
Essentially, books and other forms of literature can bring out more emotion in me than movies or documentaries. They draw you in, make you care about the characters and describe what those people are feeling in a way that tv never can. There really is something magical about the writen word.
I found a load of stuff from my childhood today, old books and toys, you know, the usual. It got me thinking about what I was like when I was younger and - as ridiculous as it is, I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before - I have a really over active imagination. Well I was always aware that I had an over active imagination, I just never realised to what extent.
As a kid I never used to be able to walk up or down stairs, I always had to run because I was sure that creatures were going to come around the corner and chase me. I got so bad that when I was about 8, I remember lying on the sofa at home, it was in the middle of the day and I was ill so I was off from school. The TV was on just as background noise and I was alone in the house because my (I don’t really want to say mother seen as that implies that she actually acted like one, so lets just say that woman that gave birth to me) had gone to the shops. I can remember staring over at the stairs which were visible from where I was and actually seeing these creatures peering over and around the solid banister at me. Now I know how this sounds but it was not hallucinations and I didn’t have a fever, I was actually off because I had a dislocated toe and the school had told me not to bother going in because it was sports day and I couldn’t exactly do a lot.
Anyway, I digress, so yes, basically there are points in my life, even up until now where I get so engrossed in my own fantasy in my head that at times I’ll actually see it. For me this is all pretty much normal, I constantly trail off into my own imagination, creating l worlds or stories and scenarios in my head, they are often much more fun (although often a lot darker) than what is happening in real life.
Now I know theres no way that I’m the only one who does this but it has gotten to the stage at some points where I’d rather be off in my own world, shut away from everyone else than be in the here and now.
Tumblr makes everything so much easier though! It’s like being lost in my own head with the exception that there are other people here with me that are just as crazy as I am! It doesn’t half feel like home! ^_^
I stood by your bed last night, I came to have a peep.
I could see that you were crying, You found it hard to sleep. I whined to you softly as you brushed away a tear, “It’s me, I haven’t left you, I’m well, I’m fine, I’m here.”
I was close to you at breakfast, I watched you pour the tea, You were thinking of the many times, your hands reached down to me. I was with you at the shops today, Your arms were getting sore. I longed to take your parcels, I wish I could do more.
I was with you at my grave today, You tend it with such care. I want to re-assure you, that I’m not lying there. I walked with you towards the house, as you fumbled for your key. I gently put my paw on you, I smiled and said ” it’s me.”
You looked so very tired, and sank into a chair. I tried so hard to let you know, that I was standing there. It’s possible for me, to be so near you everyday. To say to you with certainty, “I never went away.” You sat there very quietly, then smiled, I think you knew… In the stillness of that evening, I was very close to you.
The day is over… I smile and watch you yawning and say “good-night, God bless, I’ll see you in the morning.” And when the time is right for you to cross the brief divide, I’ll rush across to greet you and we’ll stand, side by side. I have so many things to show you, there is so much for you to see.
Be patient, live your journey out…then come home to be with me.
Why is it that redemption seems to be something only made for humans? A human can tear someone apart, maim and scar them both physically and mentally. A human can murder and abuse even the most innocent individuals within our societies, the youngest or most vulnerable of us, and their punishment is incarceration, with the chance of them being freed and let out onto our streets again when the system deems them rehabilitated.
A murderer or rapist can commit their crimes, go to prison and then be released when they claim they have seen the error of their ways or have found religion, yet if an animal makes a simple mistake, if it lashes out unintentionally in a bout of fear or pain and causes an injury, they all but forfeit their life.
How is it that we see our societies today as so advanced and civilised and yet so many find themselves baying for the blood of whatever innocent animal has stumbled into their path. We see it every day, in the papers, on the TV, someone is injured or loses their life to an animal which is simply displaying behaviours that time and evolution have provided it with. It is often a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time and many who survive such attacks admit that the animal was just doing what it does naturally and they harbor no ill will towards it. Yet you can almost guarantee that not long after the incident there will be a backlash, people claiming that now all the animals within that species are dangerous and should be eradicated.
I’m in no way claiming that the loss of life or the injuries these people and those around them sustain are anything less that terrible, but when looked at in a grander scale, the actions and subsequent injuries inflicted by these animals are little compared to the horrors that those within the human race commit on a daily basis.
You cannot change nature, an animal will react to a stimuli in the way that evolution has equipped it to. In a highly stressful situation, an animal will react on instinct, much in the same way you or I flinch or automatically pull back from something that has harmed us, i.e. a burn or a bite. When an animal bites or attacked it is very often being driven by instinct. When a human does something unspeakable they are very rarely acting on instinct. It takes more than instinct to continually abuse another person or an animal, to fight a dog, to rape someone, to murder in cold blood.
Some of the most horrific things I have seen in this life, were caused by man, not by animals, and yet he can still be forgiven for all he has done. How is that fair? How can people still blame the animals when it is man that has driven them to act the way they do? How are people still so blind? How can they turn a blind eye to the wrongs that are committed every day when animals are killed for things that we have done? For our sins?
How civilised can we say our societies are when we spend our time using animals and blaming them for everything that we do wrong? We cannot call ourselves civilised until we have all learnt to take responsibility for our own actions and open our eyes to what we, as a species, are doing to this planet and every organism that resides on it with us.
Out of all the physically attractive, cuddly breeds of dogs in the world, why would anyone choose an ugly, un-cuddly dog like a pit-bull? A dog selectively bred for generations to fight other dogs and bears? A dog which empties an off-leash area in record time, makes people shun their owners, and involves a huge liability risk?
In the press recently pit-bulls have now reached Victimhood status. “They are misunderstood, they only need the love of a good person (generally a woman) in order to become rehabilitated and reveal their essential goodness benefiting the individual rehabilitating them, and society in general,” is the essence of the media message.
It seems that a recurring archetype is behind this phenomenon, namely Beauty and The Beast. In Western literature, the Beauty and the Beast archetype is played out in a number of fairy tales: obviously La Belle et la Bête (Beauty and the Beast), in Beatrice and Benedict in Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing, in Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice and in Jane and Mr. Rochester in Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre.
Each of these heroines represents a marginalized woman, not completely accepted by the society in which she lives, because of some culturally defined handicap, and therefore has no status within her milieu, resulting in diminished marriage potential. Violence is the trait the “beast-men” all have in common. The woman’s status is reversed when she tames the violence in the beast. She, thereby, scores off other women, by demonstrating that her sexual allure is greater than theirs. The “beast man” still strikes fear into everybody else, except the woman who has rehabilitated him. Mr. Darcy’s demeanor curbs the contemptuous behavior, directed towards Elizabeth, by the Bingley sisters, Mr. Collins and Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
The Beauty and the Beast archetype is being expressed by modern victimized women in the new fad of cheerleading for pit-bulls. Like Mr. Darcy, a pit-bull can be used to enhance one’s self-esteem, as a status symbol among women, and to intimidate the rest of society.”
Oh my, how foolish I have been, because what is stated above is obviously the reason for my love of the breed, it obviously has nothing to do with the fact that this breed is more loyal, loving, devoted, fun loving and affectionate than any other breed I’ve ever worked with.
These dogs are beautiful and the reason so many women love and advocate them is because they have seen all the good in the breed and are fed up with them being victimised just so that people can sell papers, looks ‘tough’ or have a scape goat that they can blame. It has nothing to do with the feeling of ‘taming a beast’ because these dogs aren’t ‘beasts’, if raised right from a puppy they retain their clown nature, if rehabiliated after being used for fighting or abused, it still is not ‘taming a beast’, it’s simply teaching them that they can trust us and that they do not need to be afraid, patching them up and building them up again to perfect health. So many of these dogs still love anyone they meet regardless of the fact that many have every right not to, have every right to show aggression.
Some peoples ignorance and plain stupidity annoys me. People who rescue, rehabilitate and advocate this breed do not do it for their image or for the thrill of ‘taming’ an animal, they do it because these dogs deserve to be given a second chance, because they do not deserve the hate and abuse that surrounds them, because they love this breed and know that if people just gave them a chance then they would too. We do it for the dogs, there is no other reason, we do not need any other reason.
They love us unconditionally, despite all our flaws and all that people have done against them, we are simply returning the favour.
Today was a good day. Well it didn’t exactly start out all that great but the Staffie hugs and kisses turned it into one.
The fence of the garden that backs onto mine were knocked down a short while ago during a storm, this means that their, andtheirneighbours dog can get into our garden. The former owns a large Mastiff and the latter owns 2 Staffie’s. Because the former owners have decided that they won’t fix their fencing and have just built a small area for their dog on their patio, we have to go out into the garden with our dog to keep an eye on him just in case their dogs escape.
Now my dog, as I may have mentioned in the passed, is a Pomeranian cross Chihuahua and he has a typical ‘little dog syndrome’ and he hates every dog that is bigger than him. With the fact that he is a Chihuahua cross it’s safe to say that most dogs are larger than him. Unfortunately he isn’t the type of dog that is just mouthy, no, when he goes, he goes for the kill. The only time he has ever escaped our garden (due to my idiot cousin leaving the gate unlatched) he went for my sister-in-law’s mother’s dog. Flarty (the dog) is a large cross long haired cross breed, the long hair was actually his saving grace as my dog went straight for his throat. He only got away with a mouthful of fur and a few puncture wounds from where Flarty (understandably) retaliated.
My dog, Scrappy (my dad named him), was effectively my mothers baby, hence the bad socialisation. Since I was able to convince my family that treating him like a child was no good, he has gotten a lot better, but anyway I digress.
Basically we have to watch him when he’s in the garden, not because we’re worried about what the other dogs will do (The older Staffie Pablo would just wander around and ignore him, the younger one Patrick will try to play and the Mastiff pretty much just collapses in a heap in the middle of the grass), but more what our dog will do.
Anyway, I heard my mum shouting my name from the garden and went to see what was up, the only words I got were “There’s a Pitbull trying to eat Simba (One of our cats)!” Before I was shoved out the door. It was in actual fact, Patrick prancing around and trying to play with Simba, who was pressed against the shed, puffed up and hissing because the aforementioned dog kept trying to hit him with his paws and was yapping at him playfully. My mum is very melodramatic and despite the fact that she lives with aHUGEBully fan (me) who constantly explains to her that they are a gorgeous breed and that it’s all how raised and treat them, she doesn’t like any of the Bull Terrier breeds, well actually any Mollosar breed in general.
Having ‘saved’ my cat, I then had to take Patrick down to his garden, pick up the wiggling mess and pass him to his owner who was apologising profusely whilst trying not to laugh as I was getting slobbered.
And that’s pretty much all it took for that to be a good day, can’t be snuggles and kisses from one of the most gorgeous breeds around! :D
Whilst at a friends, watching her fish in their little fish tank, I realised that you never hear anything about people abusing fish. There are always stories about people abusing dogs, cats, even rodents, but never fish.
As a vertebrate fish are covered under the Animal Welfare Act 2006. I have seen fish kept in appalling conditions, in tanks that are never cleaned, I’ve seen and heard of them killed or flushed down the loo alive just because people don’t want them anymore or overfed and killed.
If that were to happen with any other animal people would be outraged and the person prosecuted, so why does no-one care when it happens to fish?
I’m pretty sure that if you tried to report something like that with the fish then you’d probably be laughed at.
I don’t quite understand why it’s all so different for fish? Now their not exactly my most favourite animal in the world, fish have never really interested me all that much, but still, it seems as though people just don’t seem to care what happens to them.
Anyway, that’s my little babble over and done with! :D
I will never understand some people, I have lost count of the amount of people I have seen at the rescue centre that have decided that they want to adopt the near feral feline that has squeezed itself into the smallest space possible in the corner whilst emitting numerous different types and pitches of mewls, hisses, growls and other noises that sound as if they belong in a horror movie.
Said feline can then proceed to swipe, bite and generally maul said person and I’m the one that gets the crazy looks when I’m walking along with a perfectly behaved, loveable and big baby of a Pitbull. Really? This dog is afraid of puppies because one bit his tail once, seriously, this dog will either hide behind you or try to climb up into your arms, which, considering the size of both him and me, is a nearly impossible feat because I physically cannot hold him, that doesn’t stop him trying though.
Why does it always seem to be one rule for one and one rule for another? I personally love cats, I have 3 of my own, and feral cats just amuse me, to the point when I’m the one roped into catching them for vet visits etc or if some feral kittens need socialising. My arms are dotted with scars everywhere from them, but that doesn’t bother, it’s actually kinda fun, especially when you catch the adults and they stare at you as if you’ve grown a second head because all of the other staff have given up after the first few injuries the cat inflicts. I just never understand why it’s fine for cats to be like that but as soon as a terrified dog growls people want to put it to sleep.
And anyone who says that it’s because cats don’t inflict as much damage as a dog does has obviously never been faced with a feral, overprotective queen with kittens. A dog may have a deeper or larger bite and probably more force behind it, but a cat can be alotmore vicious than a dog and the wounds they inflict have more of a tendancy to become infected or to scar.
We have feral cats that are wild on the site of the rescue centre, most are hardly ever seen other than at meal times but there are a few that are more social, namely a longhaired tortoiseshell queen called Bubbles, a large black tom called Sonny, a small silver queen called Willow and another (larger) black tom called Jake.
Jake and Willow generally stay out of the way and are nearly always together but I have seen a few members of the public being drawn into their ‘cute’ act and receiving a swipe because of it.
Sonny has gotten better over the years and has mellowed out in his old age but when he was younger he would attack anything that looked at him the wrong way, canine or human. He has scarred many dogs and people over the years, both physically and mentally. He’s the type of cat that likes a fuss on his terms and his terms alone but he does have a few favourite people that he allows to fuss over him without the worry of him turning, thankfully I am one of those people, he is a sweetheart really if he likes you.
Bubbles is…well the only way to describe her is that if crazy and aggressive was personified, it would be her. She has probably done the most damage over the years, to countless species of animals (including horses and cows), people (both staff and the public) and canines. You have to warn people when she’s around so that they know not to touch her, she acts all sweet, winding around your legs and purring but she will pretty much remove your hand once it gets close enough to her. She’ll swipe at you as you go past and if you step out of her way she’ll come after you until she’s drawn blood. She flies off the handle at nothing, I think the most memorable moment was when she was sat in the doorway of the staff caravan, she appeared to be asleep until she turned and out of nowhere lunged across the room to attack my friends face. He had several deep scratches across his face which left (thankfully) only light scars. And after the attack? She just got up, purring, and walked out of the caravan. Oddly enough though, we all love her, she keeps us on edge but she has her moments, inbetween the crazy and vicious episodes, where she can be fairly sweet.
If any of these cats were dogs they’d have been put down the first time they attacked someone, instead they’ve been doing it for years and people just seem to accept it because their cats. I’ve heard people say that it just gives them ‘character’ and makes them ‘memorable’ and yeah, I suppose everlasting scars from aggressive cats are going to be memorable, I’m just not sure that that makes it ok. I mean if you tell someone you were attacked by a dog, they act concerned, if you tell someone you were attacked by a cat, most people will laugh and brush it off as nothing.
Personally, as amusing as I find aggressive cats, I’d rather face an aggressive dog any day!
At 7am on Wednesday the 11th of July, Lennox was murdered by Belfast County Council. This horrible news has undoubtedly caused many a tear and a broken heart, including my own, but I cannot even begin to imagine what his family are going through. Not allowing them to even say goodbye to him is nothing more than spiteful.
The statement that the council released stated that Lennox was one of the most dangerous and unpredictable dogs that they had ever seen, a statement that was completely void of all facts. Many well known and even famous canine behaviour experts assessed Lennox independantly and all came to the conclusion that he was of no threat to anyone.
The physical state of Lennox thanks to the 2 years in the ‘care’ of Belfast County Council was little more than sickening. When with his family he looked like a perfectly healthy dog, the injuries that he sustained whilst in the councils ‘care’ are disgusting and should be thoroughly looked into and investigated.
I lost track of how many e-mails I sent to different individuals on the council, all without a reply, I simply don’t understand how they can be so heartless, to not even allow his family to say one final goodbye, what harm would that do? They fought tirelessly for 2 years for him, to not even allow them a final chance to see him or to allow them to bring him home was spiteful and cruel. Things will not end here though, I’m sure that I can say this for many people around the world, myself included, that the fight will not end here. The council will be made to face up and pay, in one way or another, for what they have done. If they think that this fight ends because Lennox is gone then they are sorely mistaken. Lennox is another life added to the thousands that BSL has already claimed and sadly he will not be the last if we don’t all pull together and force our governments to chance the current legislations.
The story of Lennox and his families fight to save him touch the hearts of people all around the world and has brought us together, I swear on his memory that I will do everything in my power to make sure that his loss was not in vain.
My thoughts, hopes and all of my sympathy are with the Barnes family in this sad and heartbreaking time. We are all here for you and we will be beside you no matter what.
Rest In Peace Lennox, they can no longer hurt you. Sweet dreams and sleep tight angel, we will see you again.