
FosterMom often describes Chick as an “ambassadog,” which I think means that Chick’s charm, good looks, and positive attitude easily win over skeptics and show how loving these tough-looking dogs can be. Common early reactions to Chick include, “He’s really a pit bull? But he seems so friendly!” or “He’s so well behaved for a pit bull!” or “Does he bite?” or, my personal favorite, “He could turn at any moment.” But Chick’s admirers quickly are convinced otherwise.
When we first met, we were not too interested in each other. Chick emerged from the shelter and dove headlong into the important task of sniffing the ground. He breathed deeply, relishing the outside-of-the-shelter earth and all its scented mysteries. It was the equivalent of a man long at sea who gratefully kisses dry land upon his return. Chick was getting a good whiff of freedom.
I, on the other hand, was apprehensive. Although FosterMom had told me all about how friendly and gentle Chick was, I had never met a pit bull. I contemplated his big boxy head, thick neck, and wrinkly forehead. I offered a hand. Not nearly as interesting as dirt. I took his leash, and he dragged me, zigzag, across the parking lot.
It was a short and successful courtship. When we got home, Chick began to show off his charisma. He curled up happily on his new dog bed. He offered his warm, pink belly for a good rub.
Plus, I soon learned that Chick and I have a lot in common. We both enjoy tennis…

playing in the snow…

reading the newspaper…

admiring art…

studying for law school exams…

and, every once in a while, enjoying a glass of good scotch.

We became fast friends.


“He could turn at any moment . . . and give you a big, juicy, tuna-flavored French kiss.”

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