Pit bulls are "my breed".
You know when you find "your breed". They just click with you. Like peanut butter and jelly, strawberries and cream, whatever pat little analogy you want to insert here. You find the little things about them fascinating, things others might not understand unless they too are aficionados of the breed. You realize that you will never own another breed of dog (or you will always have at least one in your life) because you just can't imagine life without them. You become irrationally excited when you see someone else with your breed, dragging your poor dog across the pet store through crowds of screaming, hyper kids and other dogs that really shouldn't be taken to pet stores because they're either terrified out of their poor minds or obviously have it out for other dogs no matter their size (or both)--all so you can coo and exclaim and make googoo eyes at their dog and get the same little shot of confidence back as they take the time to do the same over your dog.
Pit bulls do this for me.
I love their friendly, over-the-top clownish personalities. Their big, dopey grins and their constantly wagging tails that can lead to a condition called "Happy Tail" (which can unfortunately, in severe cases, lead to medically necessary tail docking--and is also why I will never own a coffee table). I love their big blocky heads, their wrinkly jowls, their beefy muscular bodies. I love their eager to please, laid-back natures. I love everything about them, even their potentially dog aggressive natures, because it's a remnant of their heritage, a testament to where they came from and where they're going, and ties in to their remarkable courage, drive, and tenacity. I love that they're the stereotypical "tough guy with a heart of gold".
I just love them to pieces and no amount of bad publicity or ignorance surrounding them will ever change that. Even if I were insulted every day over my choice of breed, even if BSL was enacted in my area, I wouldn't give them up. It would be hell; it would be a little depressing; it would just all-around suck. But I'd rather live in a tent in the woods with them, then ever give them up. I've actually lived out of my car for a few days with Kane and even though it was awkward and cramped and gave me a doggy odor, it's nothing a few good spritzes of Febreeze can't fix, and I don't regret doing it until I could find a place to live with Kane.
One of my favorite things to do is search for pit bull pictures online. Old ones from their dog-fighting, just starting to get into the show-ring days. Current ones with their dopey smiles or regal poses. Anything in between as long as it makes a good picture and gives me a stirring in my heart for the breed.
Some time later this week, I'll have a post devoted to some of the legendary fighting dogs, like Ch. Crenshaw's Jeep ROM, Colby's Pincher 24xw, and Ch. Giroux's Gunner 4xw ROM, to name very few.