I dare you to spot the pitbull in this lineup.

But naturally, we can trust reporters to be experts on recognizing a Pittie.

Via Ace, whose media skepticism takes a sharp nosedive—so to speak—when animals are involved.

The husband and I continue our negotiations on the issue of a puppy: he now no longer insists that the canine be entirely inanimate, but informs me that one with a key in the back would be acceptable.

I, on the other hand, have decided it doesn't have to be a Pittie, a German Shepherd, or a Labrador, but can be a smaller terrier mix. So we're getting closer!

Puppies! Yippee!

Posted by: Attila Girl at 05:43 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
Post contains 110 words, total size 1 kb.

Twenty-three months, with the possibility of three months off? You've got to be kidding me.

This wasn't, like, the man had an animal he didn't know how to train, and he lost his temper with it. This was systematic—more than premeditated.

I'd suggest turning him over to Mandy, but Mandy would just jump up on him, lick him, and try to get him to throw a tennis ball for her to fetch. She's exactly the type who would have been executed by this piece of shit.

Not so if he were turned over to Mandy's Aunt Joy, the "Dirty Harry" of Pit Bull Advocates. That would be some rough justice—though not anything like what he put those dogs through.

Now go buy a "Happy Endings" calendar from the folks at Pit Bull Rescue Central. Or maybe one of the fun calendars and T-shirts from the BAD-RAP people (Bay Area Doglovers Responsible About Pitbulls). After all, they have one that features pitties and children—and another one geared toward nudists! What more could one ask?

(Photo by Julia Fishkin; borrowed from Pet Monologues.)

Posted by: Attila Girl at 10:09 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
Post contains 187 words, total size 1 kb.