Before Pixel, our pit bull, entered our lives, I had first a poodle and then a Dogue de Bordeaux. I never experienced the kind of intolerance from people toward either of these dogs that I have faced with the pit bull. Does this breed really deserve the aggression directed at it by society? Sometimes I feel like I need a T-shirt that says, “Don’t bully my bully!”

It was 2019. I saw a photo of a not-yet-Pixel in a Facebook post: a friend wrote that someone had abandoned a pit bull on the highway, and for three days, they hadn’t been able to retrieve him—he wouldn’t let anyone get close. My friend was searching for someone to foster the dog after they managed to catch him. I convinced my husband that we could take the dog in for a few days. Why not? What could possibly go wrong?

Before Pixel, neither my husband nor I had any experience coexisting with pit bulls. We had heard the same things everyone else had: their jaws have several tons of pressure, they’re aggressive, and they’re “fighting dogs.” I don’t know how we managed to push aside these stereotypes in our own heads and decide to take in a stray pit bull, but we did it.

Some people managed to catch the dog on the highway and bring him to the vet. So, my husband spent five hours a day sitting next to Pixel, “holding his paw” while he received IV treatments. It was then that their extraordinary bond started to form.

I remember when we first brought Pixel home, my mother was lying on the bed, flat on her back, her hands covering her eyes, and wailing, “No! No! If you keep this dog, you’ll never see me here again! It’s either him or me!” She was terrified that this “fighting dog” would tear us all apart, especially the children. She desperately questioned why we would bring a huge dog off the street rather than adopt a cute little puppy. When I brushed it off, saying I didn’t want to deal with puppy messes, my son backed her up, “Better puddles of pee around the house than puddles of blood!” Yes, it was difficult for all of them to get past their prejudices about pit bulls. But Pixel was the one who took the initiative and won their hearts.

The decision to keep him permanently wasn’t easy. He was a dog with no known history (or, rather, with too much unknown history), displaying animal aggression and numerous traumas. He was scared to pass through doorways, feared any raised hand, wouldn’t let us take his measurements (for winter clothes), didn’t know how to play with toys, and wouldn’t let anyone touch his neck. He needed an enormous amount of understanding, an approach to his wounded soul, and intensive training with dog handlers. And we took on that challenge.

We adapted our lives to suit him—he deserved this. We chose a house in Irpin specifically with Pixel in mind: it had a large, enclosed yard where he could run freely (because of his animal aggression, walks around town were nearly impossible; managing 34 kilograms of muscle was rather difficult, especially for me). We changed our lifestyle and work schedules to ensure that we could run with him daily deep in the forest, where no one else was around.

Despite his animal aggression, Pixel was not dangerous to people. He was the gentlest dog I had ever known—intelligent and empathetic. And his animal aggression was directed only at larger ones; he left smaller ones alone. He even protected a gaggle of goslings he had been given to care for. He was so gentle with Latochka, the Chihuahua who joined our family in 2020… And he was absolutely fascinated by the world of toys, treasuring each gift he received! Pixel never destroyed a single toy in his life; instead, he would lick them and “care” for them. Yes, he was very peculiar, but also truly incredible (I write “was” because, in 2021, Pixel did not survive a surgical procedure and passed away on the operating table)!

Pixel

What truly struck me, however, was the attitude of others toward Pixel. Almost every walk we took was accompanied by hostile comments about the dog and aggressive remarks aimed at me as his owner. Every discussion about pit bulls on social media where I tried to defend the breed led to a barrage of hate in the comments. I could guess where it was coming from.

I would come across posts that portrayed pit bulls solely as killer dogs. For example, one media outlet used a photo collage showing a pit bull apparently snarling at a child. The boy, terrified, covered his face with his hands, and the pit bull’s teeth were almost touching his face… In reality, the designers had used a picture of pit bulls at play, cut out the image of one, and placed it beside the child. A completely manipulative collage!

Whenever Ukrainian publications mentioned a dog attacking a person, regardless of the breed, the accompanying image was often of a pit bull. Things like this infuriated me! I highlighted these manipulations on my social media in an attempt to dispel the stereotype about the breed. I understood that this was why people on the street reacted so aggressively to Pixel and me, why they called the police on us.

But my readers didn’t want to hear about these manipulations. They said: “But pit bulls are ALWAYS attacking children. Just look at what the American press writes!”

Even the leisure options that were marketed as dog-friendly were out of reach for us. People were afraid of pit bulls. We never let Pixel off his leash unless we were deep in an empty forest, and we always kept a muzzle on him. But even that didn’t help. I felt constantly harassed, no matter where we went.

Only elderly grandmothers, who were disconnected from the continuous media barrage about “killer dogs,” treated Pixel kindly. I remember one time when we were walking downtown, and an old lady, seeing Pixel from a distance, exclaimed, “Ohhh, what a sweet doggy! Such a good boy!”—and came straight over to him. And Pixel went to her, and they hugged and kissed each other: a “toothy crocodile” and an adorable old lady.

When the war began, I temporarily moved to the United States, where I received a job offer at a university. With me was Latka—the Chihuahua we had brought from Ukraine. But his longing for the pit bull was showing: the more of a dog there is, the better.

Despite all of Pixel’s quirks (quirks due to his complicated past that remained largely a mystery to us), I realized that pit bulls were the best breed for me personally. They are intelligent and active, loyal and a bit goofy, straightforward without any deceit.

After a month of searching, Burya (Storm), a gray “half bull” (so-called because she’s half the size of Pixel), entered our lives.

Burya

The first thing I did then was take a service dog instructor course. In the U.S., there are three categories of assistance dogs: emotional support dogs (which don’t require any formal training and can be of any breed), service dogs (like guide dogs), and psychiatric service dogs. The latter two must possess specific qualities and go through a three-part training program. This includes general obedience, then something akin to a city behavior course, and, finally, specialized tasks based on the needs of the person they are helping. By the age of five months, Burya had learned the entire necessary program and later successfully passed the exam.

Why did I decide to do this? Remembering my experience with Pixel in Ukraine, I wanted to prevent any issues with the dog on account of her breed. After all, when a dog wears a red harness and a service dog badge, people look at that first rather than the breed.

However, we never ended up needing the harness or badge—there was simply no need. The difference in attitude toward pit bulls between the U.S. and Ukraine is striking. Here, there have been ongoing projects for years aimed at overcoming stereotypes, and they work! Yes, not all states allow pit bulls. But in those where they are permitted, they’re treated just like any other dog. I lived in Colorado, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey, so I can discuss them specifically.

First of all, dogs here don’t wear muzzles, regardless of the breed. You can’t buy a muzzle at a chain pet supermarket because it’s not in demand. They are probably available in specialty shops, but I’ve never seen one personally—neither for sale nor on the street.

Secondly, keeping dogs on a leash is a universal requirement for all breeds. There’s no distinction that says, “These breeds must be leashed or muzzled because they’re ‘killers,’ but these breeds are fine.” The rules apply to everyone. You can’t even let your dog off-leash in the forest. The only exception is specially designated dog parks, which are available everywhere and easily accessible.

Dog parks are divided into zones for “gentle” and “rough” dogs. Bulky pit bulls can freely play in an environment with other similarly built dogs without the risk of trampling anyone… The parks are well-equipped, with toys, benches for owners, water, and some dog exercise equipment. So yes, even though the rule is that dogs must always be leashed, there’s an alternative in the form of such environments.

Thirdly, the fact that you have a pit bull does not change how people treat you. No one grabs their children in fear, avoids you during a walk, or pulls their own dogs away—instead, everyone is eager to hug and pet Burya. The attitude toward her is wonderful! Everywhere pets are allowed, she is welcomed. There’s no bias against her because of the shape of her head or her overall phenotype.

Shelters in the U.S. are overflowing with pit bulls. I became curious about why this is. Shelter workers explained that the breed is very popular among people with limited financial means. So, these dogs often end up in shelters when their owners, for instance, cannot afford to keep them (it’s extremely expensive in America). Only after seeing how popular the breed is here did I understand why there are so many reports in the American press—often cited by pit bull critics in Ukraine—about attacks by pit bulls. It’s simple: if Labradors were just as popular, shelters would be full of them, and they’d be the ones making headlines for most attacks on humans.

Regarding the term “fighting breed,” there’s actually no such classification in dog breed taxonomy. Any dog involved in fights can be considered a “fighting dog.” Historically, pit bulls have indeed been used for this purpose more often. Initially, the ancestors of modern pit bulls were used for baiting large animals—bulls, bears, and others—a cruel form of entertainment. They were ideal for this task because they are strong and resilient. When this “entertainment” was banned in the 1830s, dog owners shifted to dog fighting. Over time, pit bulls were selectively bred to excel in these new roles: they were made even stronger, with a high pain tolerance, exceptional endurance, and loyalty to their owners—humans needed to be able to pull the dog away from the heat of a fight without getting bitten.

A dog is not inherently a “fighting” dog. It is people who make them fighters. Any dog can be turned aggressive. Similarly, those same people can make a dog into a helper, a caregiver, a nanny, or a guardian. Pour love into any breed or mix, and you’ll have a “kissing dog.” Abuse any breed or mix, break its psyche, drag it into fights, and you’ll end up with a “fighting dog.”

Pit bulls are simply dogs that have been dealt a bad hand. They’ve persistently been made into “fighters.” But that’s not in their true nature. So why don’t we turn them into kissing dogs instead? All it takes is patience, love, and freedom from stereotypical thinking.

The texts in the Columns section reflect only the author’s opinion and do not necessarily align with the position of UAnimals media’s editorial team.