what kind of labyrinth is this
that sends you laughing
without smiling
I got bit by a dog when I was a kid. A young kid, four, and I got my face ripped half off by a Pit Bull. It was pretty bad, I understand. I remember. I remember the dog. I remember its markings. I remember the yard, and the house, and the chain that was not quite strong enough. I remember the screaming (not mine) and the blood (mine). I remember the blaming and the apologizing, everything. I remember that for a long time my mother was worried that I would never look normal. And I still have scars, we've talked about them (you and I, not me and her). The squint. The smile. The scars that you cannot see unless you know what I looked like before.
I feel like I look all right. I do not give it a second thought. Sometimes I can feel the ones in my mouth if I run my tongue around. The ones around my eyes are much more pronounced when I am twenty pounds lighter. But it does not occur to me to wonder if I would have had a different face if my eyes were that much larger. Cause, really, what is the point of that?
And I love Pit Bulls. I have had Pit Bulls since. They are great dogs, fantastic animals. I love them and I would have a house full of them if I could. The best dog I have ever had, and I have had a lot of dogs, was a Pit Bull named Bochy. I fucking love that dog, wherever he is now I love him. And people that know about that thing with the other one, the first dog, especially people that remember as well as I do, they go How can you live with a Pit Bull? How can you let a Pit Bull in the house with you, with your children, when you know what they are capable of? And I go What the hell, man? Look at this dog, Bochy, tell me he is not the greatest dog you have ever met. And they look at him, sideways, and go Yeah but you know what he's capable of. It could happen at any second. No warning. And maybe this time you do not get so lucky. Maybe this time it is your neck instead of your face. Maybe this time is the time that you don't remember. And I will defend that fucking dog and that entire breed, because you cannot blame them all for the mistakes of one poorly trained animal. You can't. And you can't live like that, always wondering, always avoiding, cause really you don't know. Yeah it could happen. I could also get hit by a train while I am in the store, you don't know. But really, I do know, don't I? Cause it's happened before, so I can't say that I don't know. Except that I do not work that way. I am optimistic. I hope for the best. Thus I have Pit Bulls, because I love them and am not going to hold it against them simply because I have one horrible experience on my record.
But really? If that dog, that first one? If that dog's owner died, or if that dog ran away, or if that particular one, the one that ate my face and missed my jugular by thismuch, if that very same animal came to me reformed, would I feel the same way about him?
without smiling
I got bit by a dog when I was a kid. A young kid, four, and I got my face ripped half off by a Pit Bull. It was pretty bad, I understand. I remember. I remember the dog. I remember its markings. I remember the yard, and the house, and the chain that was not quite strong enough. I remember the screaming (not mine) and the blood (mine). I remember the blaming and the apologizing, everything. I remember that for a long time my mother was worried that I would never look normal. And I still have scars, we've talked about them (you and I, not me and her). The squint. The smile. The scars that you cannot see unless you know what I looked like before.
I feel like I look all right. I do not give it a second thought. Sometimes I can feel the ones in my mouth if I run my tongue around. The ones around my eyes are much more pronounced when I am twenty pounds lighter. But it does not occur to me to wonder if I would have had a different face if my eyes were that much larger. Cause, really, what is the point of that?
And I love Pit Bulls. I have had Pit Bulls since. They are great dogs, fantastic animals. I love them and I would have a house full of them if I could. The best dog I have ever had, and I have had a lot of dogs, was a Pit Bull named Bochy. I fucking love that dog, wherever he is now I love him. And people that know about that thing with the other one, the first dog, especially people that remember as well as I do, they go How can you live with a Pit Bull? How can you let a Pit Bull in the house with you, with your children, when you know what they are capable of? And I go What the hell, man? Look at this dog, Bochy, tell me he is not the greatest dog you have ever met. And they look at him, sideways, and go Yeah but you know what he's capable of. It could happen at any second. No warning. And maybe this time you do not get so lucky. Maybe this time it is your neck instead of your face. Maybe this time is the time that you don't remember. And I will defend that fucking dog and that entire breed, because you cannot blame them all for the mistakes of one poorly trained animal. You can't. And you can't live like that, always wondering, always avoiding, cause really you don't know. Yeah it could happen. I could also get hit by a train while I am in the store, you don't know. But really, I do know, don't I? Cause it's happened before, so I can't say that I don't know. Except that I do not work that way. I am optimistic. I hope for the best. Thus I have Pit Bulls, because I love them and am not going to hold it against them simply because I have one horrible experience on my record.
But really? If that dog, that first one? If that dog's owner died, or if that dog ran away, or if that particular one, the one that ate my face and missed my jugular by thismuch, if that very same animal came to me reformed, would I feel the same way about him?
posted by machine central at 2:04 PM
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