“So, I get a pit bull named Keith and everybody told me Keith’s gonna be your best friend. And I gotta say, maybe my ninth best friend.” – Neal Brennan
I have only one question for my dog Sapphire. It’s a simple question, a question she has been asked many many times. I ask it and then I give her the answer and yet she remains bafflingly oblivious every time I ask.
“Sapphire, who’s the boo?”
Blank stare.
“Sapphire, are you the boo?”
Again, nothing. Now any reasonable being could ascertain the answer simply from context clues. So, I go full-on open book test mode.
“Sapphire, I think you’re the boo…”
Now here’s the part where she should probably say, “Oh shit, right right right, sorry… I don’t know where my head’s at. I’m the boo. Totally.”
But rather than answer me she just lies back and waits for the belly rubs.
“Alright, Sapphire, you win.”
Before I got Sapphire, I thought of getting a cat. Cats are low maintenance. They don’t need to be walked. They’re pretty self sufficient. Leave some food out for them and they’re golden. Hell, cats outlive their dead owners most of the time. But when I looked at cats online for adoption, they just didn’t speak to me.
I had friends who adopted pit bulls, and I knew that I wanted a pit bull. Why?
My first girlfriend had a pit mix. She was a vet student, and she saw a little brindle dog recovering from an injury in the hospital where she was working. The ball of the ball and socket joint in this little dog’s hip broke. I think they removed the bone and, because she was so young, the scar tissue that formed there was enough for her to be able to walk for the rest of her life. However, she had this cute little struggle to get up on the couch. Three other friends of mine adopted pit bulls and I babysat one of them while my friends were on their honeymoon. They are incredibly sweet dogs who love to wiggle their butts and get pets. Sure, they can be trained to kill humans but so can humans and you all keep having babies. So, I don’t want to hear it.
I went to an adoption event outside of the Unleashed PetCo store on 7th ave in Park Slope and I saw Sapphire. She was this thick, scowling tan pit mix who did this little hop up to greet me when I went to pet her and I think that’s what did it. I didn’t adopt her right away, but I kept an eye on her on the Badass Animal Rescue website.
At the next event, I went, took her for a walk, and decided to take her home.
And that’s when they dropped some bombs on me, that she had had heartworm, and she actually had serious kidney disease that I would have to maintain. She had several medications that I would need to give her for the duration of her life. But I thought, in for a penny in for a pound. Besides, walking around that pet store was like walking around Cheers with Norm. “Sapphire!” “Hey, Sapphire!” “Is that Sapphire?!”
When I adopted her, they asked, “are you going to change her name?”
Why the hell would I do that?
Those first few months were a little scary. I had brought a living thing from the animal kingdom into my home and entrusted myself with keeping it alive. This was very new for me. I took her to the vet several times, sometimes in tears because I was afraid because she wasn’t walking (a few years into it, I realized that she’s just stubborn and needs to be pulled sometimes), or because she seemed lethargic. I was told by a vet, “this is a very sick dog, is there a reason you took this on?”
I remember pretty early on she woke me at 5:30 and went to the door. I said, “Sapphire, it’s too early to go out!” When I woke up at 7:00, I came into the living room to see some piles on the floor. “Oh,” I thought, “she must have been angry and chewed up something of mine.” Wrong. She had to go. She let me know and I ignored her. She pooped all over the floor, little archipelagos everywhere. It looked like a poop map of the Pacific Theater.
She now has a crate. I put her in her crate every time I leave the apartment because before I did that she would always eat something of mine: usually a book or an article of clothing. But in her chewing Hall of Fame, I would put my old bike helmet, a work iPad (it had a protective cover, so the iPad itself was fine), and, ironically, a picture of her and I together that a friend sent me.
The first time I left her alone for several hours to go hang out with a friend in Manhattan, I came home to my trash spilled all across the floor, all of my plants knocked over, and many of my books chewed in addition to several rage shits scattered strategically throughout the apartment.
People refer to their dog as their best friend or their buddy. They refer to their dog as part of the family. I would say the latter is true but not necessarily the former. If anything, Sapphire and I are like an old married couple. We’re in it for the long haul but the honeymoon has been over for a while.
As I understand it, parents often don’t like it when pet owners compare their experience to that of parents. However, there is one thing that I think we can all agree on, mine is the best and better than anyone else’s. So make no mistake, I will look after and defend my boops. (That’s one of the main nicknames along with Saphy, Saphs, and Saphy B where the B stands for “boo.” It should be mentioned that one might be able to sing “Saph Saphy Boo” to the tune of “Love Me Do” by The Beatles if one were so inclined.)
I get pissed off at people who don’t like her or give her a dirty look just because she’s a pit bull. (You can read more about my anger database here if you wish.)
One time I was waiting in Starbucks, and I walked away from the counter with Sapphire. A woman nearby said, “Umm, do you MIND?! Just walk your dog right over to me.” I hadn’t. We were all just waiting in the same area. “You don’t know peoples’ experience with dogs.” I found that ironic given the fact that, as a man, I am far more dangerous to her than a pit bull. (A fact she could have gleaned as I yelled, “go fuck yourself,” at her as she exited. Like I said, I will defend my boops. I do have one exception, though. When people with Caribbean accents steer clear of my dog, I let it slide. I have a hunch that a roaming dog probably bit them when they were a kid. I once told a nanny, “Don’t worry, she loves people,” to which she replied, “If he’s got teeth in his mouth…” Fair point.)
Sometimes I feel like I’m her manager taking her to public appearance where she can greet her adoring fans. People on the street smile at her and ignore me. Sometimes they stop and pet her and tell me how sweet she is and I say, “I know, I got lucky with her.” “You really did,” they say.
She can take me for granted. But I’m just the dude who feeds her and picks up her poop. People encountered in the world are far more exciting and worthy of crazy tail wagging. She brings joy to people, it’s really fun to watch.
Most of the time, she’s just chilling, sleeping on my couch. Well, it’s her couch. She commandeered it shortly after moving in. I tried to get her not to lounge on it but some battles cannot be won.
A few weeks ago I was talking to a friend who told me that his city was considering banning pit bulls after a man had been mauled to death by nine of them. (And it took nine, one human could have dispatched with that same man quite easily, just putting that out there.)
And he said, “Why get a pit bull when you can get another dog?”
The question seemed so crazy to me that I didn’t even know how to answer. Have you met Sapphire? She’s the best. Why wouldn’t I want a pit bull when Sapphire’s one?
She’s a pain in the ass, yeah. She walks where she wants to walk. If she wants to sleep in bed with me, I can’t stop her. If she doesn’t, I can’t coax her.
Most nights I say goodnight to her as she snoozes on my couch. And I feel glad that she has a couch and that she’s probably pretty happy lying there instead of where she was rescued in St. Thomas, tied to some pole.
In the morning, I’ll walk into the living room, and she’ll lazily lie back as if to say, “alright, chump, make with the belly rubs.” I’ll feed her and then get her harness for her morning walk. She’ll stop randomly and piss me off and I’ll pick up her poop and she’ll stop for someone who she knows will pet her.
We’ll come home and she’ll hop in the couch and curl up. I’ll sit at my desk to start my workday.
I’ll look over at her and ask, “Sapphire, who’s the boo?”
“Sapphire…”
“Sapphire… Christ, we’ve been over this…”
