| by Max Rust, DVM It is often said veterinarians must have an inordinate love for animals, but they also are often called on to deal with the harshest realities of human and animal relations. If my dog tale lacks the cloying sanguinity of All Creatures Great and Small, hopefully it is not totally devoid of optimism. A year ago in June on a hot Sunday afternoon, as I lounged in torpid repose (you know you're getting old when summer is no longer your favorite time of the year), the local television news aired a story about dog carcasses found in the back yard of a Tulsa, Okla., residence. It was alleged the owners were fighting Pit Bulls in the garage, and, when a dog was killed, they would drag it into the yard and let it deteriorate. Some dogs were still alive, so I knew I would be involved in the case. 'The pitiful remains of a Pit Bull:' When he was found, Pete looked like a skeleton with hair, curled up so tightly he could have been mistaken for a water dish. Feeling old, tired and prefessionally burned out, I wondered why I had volunteered for the grim task of animal-cruelty exams and necropsies. I guess as depressing as it was, it seemed like important work. Maybe I wanted something to feel sorry for. If that was the case, I was about to get my wish. The following morning I headed for the pens housing the dogs from the news story. It's hard enough for me to walk through the rows of dog runs at the shelter, knowing that most of the animals will have to be killed. Sometimes I get the urge to open all the gates and set them free, but that would not solve their problem. They suffer from that "most terrible disease", in the words of Mother Teresa, "of being unwanted". When I got to the first dog's run, it looked empty. He was curled up so tightly he could have been mistaken for a water dish. As he tried to stand up, I could see the pitiful remains of a large Pit Bull dog. Bones jutted out everywhere. He looked like a skeleton with hair, and the hair he had was in sparse, dirty little tufts among numerous fight wounds, scars and mange. His ears had been clumsily chopped off, and the unhealed edges made him look like a macabre Mr. Potato Head. I recoiled in horror at the thought of what this poor, wretched dog had endured. What sort of dissolute soul could do this to a helpless dog? After staring at him for what seemed an interminable period, I realized I had five more animals to examine, so I had to move on. Driving back to my clinic, I thought how depraved it was to treat animals this way. I kept seeing the Pit Bull's face. This poor dog had been beaten, starved, mutilated, forced to fight for his life and, worst of all, socially isolated. Dogs are very social animals ... more so even than humans. How can humans be so inhumane? I resolved to rescue him; I couldn't leave him there to be euthanized. That's the only way Pit Bulls are allowed to leave the shelter--dead. I wanted him to experience at least one good day on Earth. If possible, maybe I could even show him what it's like to be loved and wanted. A rescued Pit Bull restores a veterinarian's flagging spirits. Today Pete displays the glossy coat and high spirits of a typical Pit Bull as he enjoys life with owner Max Rust, DVM. It would take some string-pulling from the district attorney's office before I could get him released from the shelter. After all, he was a Pit Bull, the paradigm of canine incorrigibility. That is what the media would have you believe. The truth is the American Kennel Club registered Pit Bulls as early as 1936 [as Staffordshire Terriers, now called American Staffordshire Terriers], and they have long been favored for their courage. Fanciers call it "gameness"--loyalty and intelligence. Unfortunately, their fighting reputation has popularized them with a lot of unsavory characters who ushered in a spate of backyard-bred, people-agressive curs. Real Pit Bulls are so people-friendly they don't even make good watchdogs. I'm not a Pit Bull fancier. I'm more of a cat person, but let us remember, as "Uncle Mattie" [dog trainer Matthew Margolis] says, "There are no bad breeds, just bad breeding". We transferred the dog to my clinic and started treating his multitude of problems. I had no idea what kind of dog he would be personality-wise, with all the abuse and privation he had suffered. His face was blank except for the sadness in his sunken eyes, but he was easy to work on. With considerable effort from all concerned, along with lots of treats and loving attention added to the antibiotics, vitamins and medicated baths, the 30-pound skeletal specimen was morphed into a solid 75-pound dog. After a couple of months, a shiny coat hid most of his scars, and his glum look had been replaced by an infectious grin. Meanwhile, my jaded karma had been ameliorated by his astonishing progress, not to mention his buoyant, stiff-upper-lip charm. Somehow he had managed to come through unimaginable hardship, not only clinging to life but maintaining a positive attitude that was an inspiration to me. We named him Pete. He and I started going on daily walks around our neighborhood, and it wasn't long before I was feeling better than I had in years. Dog walking is good exercise for man as well as dog. Pete loves and is loved by all the neighborhood children and for the most part has even become a gentleman around cats and other dogs. Transformed into a doting pet parent, I beam with pride at any compliment directed at him. With a cake and party hats, we recently celebrated Pete's unofficial birthday. We guess he's 4. Rhonda Rutledge helped celebrate Pete's unofficial birthday. I think it's safe to say that Pete has helped me at least as much as I have him. When asked what breed he is, I've been known to answer, with a slightly cryptic grin, "He's my 'Healer'". So it was that Pete and I came to heal each other and in the process became bonded in lifelong friendship. [His previous owner was incarcerated for approximately 1 1/2 years.] By healing each other, Pete and Dr. Max Rust formed a lifelong friendship. Taking a bite out of animal cruelty remains a formidable if not impossible undertaking, but for the sake of Pete and others like him, I have no intention of giving up. Veternarian Max Rust owns the Animal Care Center in Tulsa, Okla. Dog Fancy Magazine |
| HIS BREED? THE HEALER |
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| HIS BREED? THE HEALER |
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