Four Feet Tall and Rising (29 page)

I never told Animal Planet or Intuitive about any of the security issues we faced at events. It was better not to freak them out, so I certainly didn’t tell them about the Denver death threats, for fear they would cancel the march, the fund-raiser, or even the whole trip. I didn’t even tell the team in my office. Nobody knew. In fact, the producers still don’t know about those death threats. Unless they’re reading this book.

If shit was gonna happen, then it would happen. I didn’t want people to be concerned. Getting this information to the world was more important than anything. People had no idea how horrible the situation was, and still is, in Denver. We had those photos of dead dogs in barrels, and we couldn’t put them on TV—they were too graphic. I wasn’t going to back down over a couple of nasty e-mails.

I decided I needed to wear a bulletproof vest. I bought one for me, and even got one for Hercules. His shit cost sixteen-hundred dollars! Christ. While we were traveling, I had my bulletproof vest, my Taser, and my mace in one particular suitcase, and I wouldn’t let anyone else handle that bag except me. My producer was getting curious about the suitcase. I couldn’t tell him it was a bulletproof vest ’cause then he’d know what was going on.

Since I was traveling with Hercules, I couldn’t fly directly
into Denver. I had to fly into Colorado Springs, rent a car, drive for two hours, and stay outside the city limits so I could be with him. One of the producers wanted me to take Hercules into Denver, but there was no way I was gonna put my dog in danger. If they had killed my dog, I would have had to kill the producer.

Each one of my six pit bulls is family to me. They each have their own personality, their own voice. They are completely different from one another. Hercules can’t stand being left alone. Geisha would rather be outside in the backyard with the sun. Mussolini would rather be on the roof barking at the world. Domenico can’t stay out of trouble—he’s so busy trying to escape. Valentino just loves to roughhouse and play with the rest of the dogs. Bebi is my Mexican jumping bean—she wants all the attention.

They are a very smart pack. I came home one time and found all six dogs, drunk and sprawled out all over the floor. Between them they had figured out how to open the refrigerator door, crack open the beers, and have a party. I found empty beer cans in every corner of the room … twelve total. I put a lock on the refrigerator. I thought that would do it.

Nope.

In Mexico, the house has hard tile floors and no carpets, which is much better for a house full of dogs; much cleaner. I had stacked a few cases of wine near the kitchen, and one day, I came home to find a broken wine bottle on the floor. I thought it fell, or the dogs knocked it over. I did, however, think it was
suspicious that there was no actual wine on the floor. Then it happened again. Then it happened a third time, and this time, I caught them in the act. Mussolini grabbed a bottle of wine in his mouth and slammed it to the ground while all the other dogs waited around for the goods. I hopped out. “Aha!” Mussolini had red wine dripping down his chest. Bebi had red all over her mouth and Geisha wouldn’t look me in the eye.

I wasn’t mad. I love them. It’s like something kids do. Sneak a sip of your drink. Do something devious. Just to see if they can get away with it. I find it hilarious. (But not when they tear through drywall or Valentino destroys the leather couch.) One day he chewed through plaster, ripped the couch open, destroyed the remote control, and got in the garbage can. That was not so hilarious.

But I have to admit that out of all my dogs, I have two favorites. Geisha is my girl. She’s been with me from the beginning, and she’s been the most important to me. She’s the one that got me interested in advocacy and breed awareness. She’s the one who inspired me to fight to save the dogs. She’s the reason I’m doing what I do now. But then, I also wanna give it to Hercules, ’cause he’s become the poster child of every pit bull in this world. He’s showing the world who these dogs really are and who they can be when they are well trained and loved. Everywhere we go, Hercules gets more attention than me. He’s become a symbol of this struggle. He’s got those big eyes and a gentle, playful demeanor. He can just sit there and pretend like he’s better than every human being. Whether he knows
it or not, he’s actually done more for this breed than a lot of humans in this world have done.

So, no, I wasn’t going to endanger Hercules’s life to prove a point in Denver, but it sucked being without him. My back was really acting up. I had to use a cane, and I felt like an idiot. When you don’t use a cane on a regular basis, you don’t know how to maneuver. I fell on my ass a couple of times.

I just put the vest on under my clothes, and it was cold enough out that I wore my trench coat so no one could tell I had it on. I was trying to concentrate on the march and the reason I was there, but at the same time, in the back of my mind, I was thinking, “Are these guys serious?” We got through the march peacefully, then I was allowed to speak to the council members.

These are the same council people who voted to ban pit bulls twenty years ago. They are still there, sitting like rigid skeletons in their chairs. They have never been around pit bulls and they’ve never personally witnessed pit bull aggression or attacks. They have their opinions based on nothing, and they refuse to listen to anybody else’s point of view. They’re power hungry, and they like their feelings of self-righteousness. I told them: “You have a one-in-twenty-five-million chance of being bitten by a dog, and of those bites that do happen, only six to eight percent are pit bulls. You have a one-in-twelve chance of being a victim of crime. So, who are you chasing? The wrong animal!”

I kept going. “I have twenty-plus years of experience dealing
with this breed. I’ve witnessed every bad thing that can happen and every good thing that can happen. The only thing I’ve never seen is a human being attacked by a pit bull. I have never seen a pit turn on a human, and I have never been bitten by a pit myself.”

I was on my soapbox and loving it. “And just like kids who’ve had a shitty life and end up in trouble can be reformed, and go on to be loving, productive people in society, so can dogs who’ve been trained to fight. They can be rehabilitated. The majority of Michael Vick’s dogs that were used for fighting or used for bait were placed in homes with other dogs or with other kids. I’ve met quite a few of the people who own them. It’s not the dogs that should be put down. It’s the humans.”

I have no idea if they actually heard a single word I said. Some people hear only what they want to hear, words that support their own opinions. Everything else just sounds like … 
blah, blah, blah
.

It is one thing to march and make speeches. It’s another thing to make it personal. We had an owner named Louise who had to give up her pit. We had to sneak the dog out of the city and she was bawling her eyes out. The dog was howling and crying. I knew the emotionality of it all would be good for the episode, but it was too much for me to take. It was painful to watch.

It’s one thing for people to hear about the bans. It’s another thing for them to see the bans in action. If they can visualize
it, they are more likely to act. With Louise crying and the dog howling, it touched people’s hearts. That was the moment that caused people to pick up their phones and write letters. The response to the Denver episode was swift. We were swamped with e-mails. People were pissed. I posted the address of the councilmen so people could e-mail them directly, and send letters supporting our protest. I’ll print it here again now. Let the city of Denver know how you feel. Let them hear it from the rest of the country. From the world.

Tell Charlie Brown that the demonization of pit bulls is unfair; that punishing responsible owners for the actions of a few is no basis for creating a law. Tell him that it’s a proven fact that BSL does not reduce the number of dog bites or the incidence of fatal attacks. Tell him that in the UK, dog bites actually increased fifty percent after the Dangerous Dog Act passed in 1997. Tell him that in Prince George’s County, Maryland, a task force studied the effects of the county’s BSL policy, and found
that the law cost taxpayers $250,000 a year, with no positive effect on public safety. Tell him that the Centers for Disease Control, the American Veterinary Medical Association, and the National Animal Control Association all oppose breed-specific legislation.

Then tell him he can kiss Shorty’s little white ass.

ieutenant Dave from Long Beach Animal
Control called to tell me that he’d just rescued a pit bull from the back of an empty house. A neighbor reported the dog as abandoned. After twelve years of being the beloved family pet, the family had moved and left their dog behind. When he showed me the picture, she looked like Hercules and Geisha. She had the same coloring and eyes. She was old and covered in bedsores. I couldn’t stand it. I said, “You know what? I’m taking her. I don’t know what the fuck I’m gonna do with her, but I’m taking her.” There was just no way I could let that pretty girl, who might die tomorrow of old age, die alone. She belonged with a family. I put a call in to one of my rescue groups, and we found a retirement home for old dogs. I picked her up and took her to her new home, where she could live out the rest of her days in peace, and surrounded by new friends.

It’s moments like that that confuse the hell out of me. I don’t understand humans. How could a family do that? The
dog was there for them for twelve years, and they just left her there to die. If they weren’t allowed to bring the dog to their new home, they could hide the dog in the car, sneak the dog in, find somebody else to keep her, do something. Even dropping the dog off at a rescue organization or a no-kill facility is not a solution. Money doesn’t grow on trees, and these shelters are at maximum capacity all the time. People try to drop off their dogs, but aren’t willing to make a donation to the shelter, and then get mad when they’re told that there’s no more room at the inn.

I could open up a kennel for two thousand pit bulls, and within two weeks, I’d be full, with no potential homes for the dogs, and the overhead of having to feed, water, clean, and care for them. If I kept my doors open, I’d have ten thousand dogs in a few months. I’d have to win an eighty-million-dollar jackpot to open up and run a facility. It’s the only way we could be self-sufficient, and not have to rely on the random donations of caring people.

It’s frustrating to wake each day and find yet one more example of human cruelty, but rescuing dogs will always be a part of who I am, just like performing and entertainment will always be my career. The business of “the business” may drive me crazy, but I make my living as an entertainer, and being a talent manager has financially supported my cause of pit bull advocacy. The two are intertwined and inseparable in me. I can’t turn either of those aspects of my personality off, and why would I want to? Dogs and Hollywood have been good to
me. They gave me a purpose. They gave me a second chance. They saved my life.

It’s not an act. People think I carry a bat, climb fences, smash windows, or break into cars to save the dogs on
Pit Boss
’cause it’s dramatic. Or they think I’m being told by the producers to act that way. To me, it doesn’t matter if the cameras are rolling or not, if there’s a pit bull in trouble, I’m gonna smash shit, I’m gonna climb shit, I’m gonna break shit to get to her. That bat is always in my car, or by my front door. I could probably sell it on eBay for a small fortune, but I don’t need a producer to tell me to use it. The only thing the cameras do is keep me from being arrested. They come in handy when somebody calls the cops.

Do I have to pick my battles when I approach with my bat? Yeah, now that I’m a public figure, I do. Nike has just signed an endorsement deal with Michael Vick. People want me to protest this. A year or so ago, Burger King came out with a commercial stereotyping pit bulls and Rottweilers. I went on the TV news in San Diego to protest it. I had Hercules pee on the Burger King sign. Our local segment was picked up by the national news. The next day, I was in fucking trouble. Even though I have the right to take a stance, I can’t protest a company that’s paying my network. They don’t have ads on Animal Planet, but they were supporting twelve other channels owned by Discovery. It got from the top of Burger King to the top of Discovery like … 
bang
. We went into crisis-management mode. They had a huge meeting about it. I got a lecture.

It comes down to a choice of staying on the air or fighting with Burger King. I have to choose my battles. It’s the same thing that’s happening with Nike right now. If we are cancelled, then we don’t have a way to reach a larger audience. I’m between a rock and a hard place. Do you think you can destroy a multinational company with one piss on a sign? I know I can’t. I have to think of the bigger picture. How can I serve the dogs? Nike is a national sponsor. I’m under the gun. I understand now what it is like to have to hide out from fans or to bow to corporate sponsors. Just ’cause I am not commenting on Nike. No matter what I say, half of the people will hate me, and half of the people will love me. That’s who I’ve always been, and that’s who I’ll always be.