The other day was another heart-stopping, beautiful day in Stanley Park for Dante and I. Maybe you’ve seen us running? I’m the guy leashed to the vicious dog.
Yeah, the pit bull.
Or maybe you see his floppy ear, his big, brown eyes, or his tongue waving in the wind? Truth is, I can tell by the way you look at me what you see in Dante, my Staffordshire Bull Terrier.
They say every dog resembles his owner. I say you can tell a lot about a person by the way he looks at your dog.
In the last year I’ve seen every kind of reaction. From the dizzy media attention to the overheated political plays, I can understand why.
With its breed ban, Ontario has stumbled down a costly, moronic path. Vancouver has prudently not followed suit, not because it lacks craven politicians, but because they’re not callow enough to disregard the findings of the City’s own policy experts.
Vancouver does not have a bad-dog problem. It has a need for responsible owners. It also needs better enforcement and penalties. The real problem, gone largely unnoticed, is our dog-infested burg doesn’t license, by the City’s count, more than 20 percent of its population. The revenue shortfall—a fiscal misdemeanor, really—is the reason we cannot adequately enforce the bylaws already on the books.
In a few days, it’ll be Dante’s third birthday and our first anniversary together. He may be a mean flirting machine and the king of every Kitsilano boutique into which he’s lured, but that doesn’t change the way people see his breed.
In a very real way, if you own one pit bull, you effectively own them all. It only takes one dog’s momentary misbehaviour in a Burnaby park to paint all our dogs as baby-eating monsters. Every owner becomes the negligent, steroidal punks we’re made out as in radio call-in caricature.
So let’s make a pact.
Dogs**t to doughnuts, my dog doesn’t need much. Just a little space curbside and the occasional hydrant. A shrug if he barked at your Pekingese. (I would, too.) What Dante really needs is for you to trust me. If you trust me behind the wheel, why not behind the leash?
In return, you have my utmost respect for your own reasonable concerns: safety for your children, your dogs, your soccer balls. I have no trouble telling you Dante’s first bite will be his last. I take my dog’s conduct, and your right to feel safe, with great seriousness. It’s a measure of my respect for our city, our parks, and our quality of life.
My dog and I don’t need your adoration, but we can’t do without your respect. You have mine. Dante and I, we have years ahead of us to earn yours.
Jeff MacIntyre (jeffmacintyre.com) is a Vancouver-based freelance writer.
