Four Feet Tall and Rising (28 page)

Animal Planet
held up their end of the bargain, and we shot in Mexico. I was really happy that I got to show a more personal side of my life, that my fans could see that my home in Mexico was safe, and that they got to meet my Mexican friends, like Juan, who was raised at the Doors of Faith Orphanage. Intuitive let us shoot at the orphanage, and spend time with the kids there. We brought them food and cooking supplies, and I even snuck in some candy. It was important to me that we got to show our fans that we’re helping pit bulls in America and pit bulls in Mexico, but we also help kids … on both sides of the border. Most people think I’m so single-minded about rescuing pit bulls, but I can be a real sucker for kids. If someone hands me a baby, I’ll even put my wine down and my cigar out—and that’s saying something.

When we got back to the States, it was my turn. Texas was on the production schedule. When Intuitive first contacted Dad, he was all gung-ho about it. I was shocked that he’d agreed to us shooting down there without a big argument. Then he watched a few more episodes of the show, where I was bashing the shit out of him, and he changed his mind.

It’s not that he accused me of lying or slander. My dad doesn’t deny that he maintained an abusive household, and
even if he did deny it, I have proof. I have my sisters. They lived it, too. It’s just that Dad can’t stand airing the family’s dirty laundry. Me, I don’t hide nothing. His argument against me blabbing was, “I put a roof over your head. I gave you clothes on your back, food on the table.” My point was, “None of that matters if you don’t feel loved. None of that matters if you’re miserable and being hit.”

The production company had booked all of the tickets and hotels. We were supposed to leave in four days. Dad called and said, “No. You’re not coming down here.” The whole trip was canceled. Plane tickets, hotels, car rentals, everything. The producers, Jodi and Carlos, weren’t giving up that easy. I told them, “You’re gonna have to promise him that you won’t film certain things. You’re gonna have to play by his rules.” One of his rules was that we could not film in the house. So we were gonna fly all the way to Texas to shoot a reunion show where we would not be able to film in the actual house? The producers said yes to everything, just to get him to agree. Jodi and Carlos did everything in their power to accommodate his demands, but Dad would agree to things then have too much time to think them over. He was indecisive. He canceled again.

On the third attempt, Jodi and Carlos wised up. They had me call and try to reason with him. I called Mom and said, “I’m gonna be in Austin leading a protest and a march. We can come down and put you on the show and visit. Why don’t we just play it day by day?” I made it sound very casual, but Intuitive was tired of taking Dad at his word. Who could blame them? They required this time that Dad sign a waiver
committing him to the shoot. Why fly all the way out there just to have him cancel everything at the last minute?

Once we got to Texas, I tried to warn Carlos and Jodi about how my parents were gonna be. They thought I should arrive at the house first, but I knew better. I knew the production team needed to go first. Dad would have a bunch of rules to lay down about what they could and couldn’t do. “You can’t shoot in the house.” “You can’t mike us.” Dad was so paranoid about being recorded that he would yell at guys on the production team if they tried to use their cell phones. He thought they were taping him somehow. He needed to be in complete control.

So I sat in a taxi, around the corner, for an hour and a half, waiting to get the all clear to show up at the house. I was miked, even though they weren’t. I got the call to drive up, and when I saw that sign hanging over the house, “Welcome Home Shorty,” I couldn’t believe it. They’d been waiting for me to come home. How long had they had that sign? Was it fake? Was it sincere? Was it for the show?

I stepped out of the taxi and was surprised to see my dad was using a walker. He’d had recent back surgery, but considering it took him until he was seventy to have back problems, he was doing pretty well. It struck me how much he’d aged. I almost kind of let my guard down to see him like that, but then I realized he was still the same guy. He still wouldn’t take no for an answer. He wouldn’t ask for help.

Sometimes these things I say about Dad, that he never took no for an answer, that he did everything his own way,
that he always had to be in control, that he had a temper, that he was overly aggressive, determined … it’s like looking in the fucking mirror. I’m talking about my own damn self. We talked a bit outside before Dad insisted that we go inside. No cameras! I was still miked, so the cameras could hear every word I was saying. Dad and Mom took me on a tour of the house. This wasn’t the house I grew up in. This was more of a ranch, with several acres of land attached. They had moved since I was a kid. I was just trying to get along. I didn’t wanna ruin a good thing. We seemed to be back on good terms. He had a few things that he’d made for me. A desk caddy that holds pens and pencils. A temperature gauge that was made out of spare car parts. It turned out to be a good visit and it was good to see Mom.

I thought maybe we’d come to some sort of truce, but that was just my wishful thinking. After the episode aired, my sister Linda started stirring up trouble again. Linda was living in Kansas City and working as a dog groomer. She’d always been a dog lover. She’d always had animals. From the get-go. Mom and Linda spoke on a pretty regular basis, so I knew she watched the show. Mom told me. I was waiting for her to contact me. We hadn’t spoken since 2000. I was surprised it took so long.

Linda saw the episode and she was pissed. Linda was mortified that I’d said on-air that she wasn’t Dad’s kid, that Dad wanted nothing to do with her, and that he considered her a stepchild. I didn’t see what was wrong with saying that. It was the truth. She was still my mom’s kid. She was still my
half sister. It didn’t change the fact that we’re family, even if we don’t get along.

She sent a letter to Intuitive saying, “You people have no right to blur my photo.” When we shot in Texas, we shot a family photo, but we didn’t have a signed release from Linda to use the image, so we had to blur her face. We didn’t do it to exclude her from the family story. It wasn’t meant to be hurtful. That’s just standard legal procedure on any film or documentary or TV show or whatever. The only people who don’t have to do that are news operations, and even they do it sometimes. Her letter went on and on, telling me that I “would be refused to attend her funeral.” After we got that letter, Intuitive suggested I reunite with Linda.

Dear God.

Here we go again.

No, thanks!

The reunion was a big hit with my fans and was good for ratings, but it didn’t change our family dynamic. I called a couple of times afterward, and things went right back to the way they’d been. Dad would hover over Mom on the phone. He was still recovering from his back surgery, walking with a fucking walker or canes or crutches, and his dumb ass got up on a ladder to paint the eaves of the house. So he fell, broke his shoulder and his jaw. They had to wire his jaw shut, which must have been a relief for Mom. But she got “in trouble” for e-mailing me about it. He was so embarrassed. “You’re not supposed to tell anyone nothing without checking with me first!” How he yelled through that wire jaw, I don’t know. I
dread the day when I get a phone call telling me they’ve blown each other to bits with a shotgun.

My fans probably believe we’re closer and in touch now, but the only communication we have is through Facebook. My mom keeps tabs on me and I see her respond to my posts. Dad doesn’t understand Facebook—he’s Facebook-challenged—and that allows Mom to interact with me without being censored by him. There are days when I wish things could be different between us, and in the future, anything is possible. People are capable of change. I’m living proof of that, but as for my dad, I’m not holding my breath.

With Mexico and
Texas under our belts, and with
Pit Boss
renewed for another season and our ratings rising, I felt like I finally had enough juice to tackle Denver. The power of the media had to be harnessed in a positive way, to let people know about breed-specific legislation and how useless it really is. BSL accomplishes nothing. It doesn’t improve public safety, or even prevent dog bites. It’s expensive. It does nothing to hold irresponsible dog owners accountable for their actions, while at the same time punishing responsible dog owners, and here’s the kicker: Not one single animal welfare organization supports the policy. Not one.

Now that
Pit Boss
had been picked up for international distribution, I knew our filming in Denver could have real impact. Before, I wasn’t sure we could make a difference. We could have marched through the streets naked, screaming our
fool heads off, but we would have just been preaching to the choir. The people in Denver already know about the issue. We would have been covered by the local news at best. It was the larger national and international response I wanted to incite. I wanted to shine a brighter light.

I hired a lawyer before the protest. We’d been in touch, and she was one of the reasons I wanted to do the Denver trip. She was helping me in Miami as well. She filed lawsuits on my behalf against both cities for the right to travel with Hercules, my service animal. Years before, when Allison was still working for Shortywood, she’d had to oversee a gig in Miami ’cause of the ban. I couldn’t travel to the gig, and that had always bothered me. I’d always wanted to right that wrong. Here was my chance to say, “I have a service animal. You’ve banned my dog. You’re keeping me from traveling. That’s my constitutional right. I’m coming after you.”

The lawyer helped connect me with several rescue organizations in the Denver area, and we organized a march on City Hall, an awareness/fund-raising event at a local bar, an event in nearby Colorado Springs with PETA, and an appearance before the city council members. My hopes were tempered. This is legislation that has been in effect for over twenty years, so I knew we weren’t going to change things overnight. A march, a fund-raiser, a lawsuit … these were the first steps in a marathon. A marathon I’ll win. Even if Hercules has to carry me over the finish line.

As soon as we announced our plans, a bunch of e-mails were sent to my website: “Don’t come to Denver. We will shoot
you.” Or, “I’m coming to the protest. You better watch out. You better take care of yourself. There better be someone standing in front of you.” The only person on my team that knew about the e-mails was Julie, ’cause she was the one who opened them up. Neither Seb nor Ron nor Ashley knew nothing about this. Julie brought a few of the e-mails to my attention. “You need to be aware of these.” So then I asked her to put me in the loop and show me what she saw. She asked, “Do you really wanna do this?”

We’d started to have our fair share of fanatical fans and had had to call security on people before, so I didn’t take these threats lightly. I had a guy one time try to steal my hat. Just ran up and pulled it off my head. The more popular the show became, the more dangerous it had become to be the face of pit bull advocacy. There are still people who truly believe that pit bulls are killing machines. They have enzymes to kill, they are bred to kill … these are their beliefs. They see me as a baby killer.

This is why I always travel with mace and a Taser, no matter where I go. If it’s a public event, there are always hundreds of people and dogs. People aren’t always in control of their dogs (or themselves), and on a hot day, in a crowd with people drinking, you never know what they may or may not do. People can get stupid, and I need to be able to defend myself and my dogs. If I have to break up a dogfight, or a dog attacks Hercules, or an adamant fan comes after me, I am always suited to booted, carrying some sort of protection, and Juan, my personal assistant, is always suited to booted as well. We’ve
never had to use the mace or the Tasers, and I hope we never have to, but eventually, if everything keeps going the way it is, I know I will need to get a bodyguard. The more we provoke and stir up controversy, the more dangerous the job becomes. Plus, my lovely personality and anger issues don’t help at all.