Pit bull girl no more

When you don't have a job, it seems as though you have to craft an identity for yourself, a response to the inevitable "And what do you do?" at parties. A big piece of my self-image for the last two years came from being a member of the shelter team that took long-termers--mostly pit bulls and pit mixes--on two-mile group walks. Team membership is limited to the best dog handlers among the many volunteers who work with the shelter's canine population.

I liked the image of myself as a tough, middle-aged woman who could walk two pit bulls at at time; it counteracted the reserved, ex-librarian stereotype. I've been jumped on, leaned on, slobbered on, and given extravagant kisses by pit bulls. But as much as I love pits, I never lost sight of the fact that they are physically strong and--if untrained, as many dogs who end up in shelters are--can be strong-willed.

Last Saturday, one of my charges was acting out. For the first time on these walks, I feared for my own and both dogs' safety, particularly since we were near a busy street. Curiously, the other team members, including the staffer who leads the group, just continued walking while I tried to get the female pit bull under control. Eventually the entire group was out of sight. By the time they finally realized I wasn't with them, I had been nipped repeatedly and the dog who was behaving (sort of) had blood streaming out of one of his eyes. It was a horrific experience that could have been averted if even one other person on the team had offered me some assistance.

I resigned from the team the next day, losing a piece of myself in the process.