The American Dog

I was reading about the cowbird this morning. Some locals were saying they remove the cowbird eggs from other nests, completely unaware of the harm they do to the other bird’s eggs. Why must we interfere and add our own emotions to the natural world? 

At the risk of sounding callous, I do believe that we would have far less animal injuries if we would respect nature, including the domestic dog. I was listening to a show/podcast and the host made mention of banning pit bulls. It was frustrating to hear the Pit Bull be compared to exotic beasts when it is just a dog. I thought we were past these uneducated opinions.

Those who try to defend the pit bull do so in a certain ignorance that is also frustrating to me. They call or write into the show to compare a domestic dog to guns or cops, but it is not so. The American Pit Bull Terrier is simply a domestic dog. Unfortunately, many governing officials and people all around the world have turned on this historical breed. I love the American Pit Bull Terrier’s history and it truly is the American dog. It’s so sad to see so many turn on it without any real knowledge of the facts surrounding dog bite incidents. There simply is no epidemic of fatality by pit bull or even by all dogs(I say this with certainty based on CDC statistics). However, the attacks that do occur are generally within the family and very rarely is it an actual purebred dog.

And here I may sound callous, but apply whatever feeling you might have with the knowledge that my intent is to protect and keep a breed of dog that I am quite passionate about. I blame the general public for shaming families who decide to rehome a dog with behavior issues. I see no place for human aggressive dogs within the family home. There is too much risk to visitors and to the household. They may have a place with a strong, experienced trainer and, if possible, as working dogs. I do think bored members of our society need to stop behaving as experts in matters they know nothing about. Online bullies express that all dogs are good and we should prioritize the dog over the safety of family and that simply cannot be. The dog is still an animal and can still have major issues.

The solution: To focus on breeding stable dogs. But this anti breeder, save-all-dogs mentality is quite harmful, I think. It lacks respect for dogs, it throws out common sense, and it leads to my preferred breed being picked out and banned. The purebred American Pit Bull Terrier is not a vicious death bringer, it is but a dog. As all purebred dogs have, it has certain genetic traits. The terrier in the dog can commonly be exhibited in it’s prey drive. Not all American Pit Bull Terriers exhibit this trait, but many do. Most will also exhibit levels of dog aggression. Dog aggression is not limited to the APBT, but can be found in many breeds or even mixed breeds. Through proper socialization and early training, we can become more experienced in handling and managing the innate dislike of other dogs our breed can exhibit. This makes us better dog owners.

However, human aggression is NOT a breed trait. If you have a pit bull or mix that exhibits aggression or crippling fear toward people, I would suggest the dog be euthanized. Do not wait for an attack to happen, do not ignore the signs or excuse them. Do not endanger your friends and family. Any mixed dog with a single pit bull feature will automatically be labeled incorrectly and it will not be about the owner, or the circumstances surrounding an attack, but the starving media will devour my breed for views, for greed. Breeders and American Pit Bull Terrier ambassadors take this very seriously and so should the person who decides to pick up a pit bull or mix from the shelter or craigslist. You take on a great responsibility and if you do not want it, do not do this breed a disservice by ignoring it’s common breed traits.

I do believe with any breed or mix, you must learn how to read them. How to manage them around strangers. Many breeds and mixes have been culprits of dog attacks, but no one cares about those numbers, they only focus on the APBT, their mouths dripping venom.

Not all dogs are the same. Not everyone should own high energy dogs. The government doesn’t need to be involved in these matters. And I feel betrayed by the podcast host for reiterating a ban on the breed as a solution. What an uneducated and harmful thought.

I type this on a rainy morning with a purebred, senior American Pit Bull Terrier resting among various house cats. I’ve grown up with these dogs. Many of the ones I knew in my youth were street dogs. The American Pit Bull Terrier is confident, joyous, and stoic. It is an entertainer and an athlete. It is a unique and remarkable breed that I will always love and defend. For me, life on this planet would dim if the large smile of our American dog was smothered forever.

The Defendant

Can a crowd obtain justice?

Will a man cement his fate?

When you look at all he’s done,

Do you consider what he’ll create?

Will it matter if he’s innocent?

Are you able to differentiate

The emotion from the evidence?

Or will the tears choose his fate?

Will the chaos beyond the doors,

Send echoes into the courtroom?

Will the stoic man, once praised,

Put on the cuffs and mask of gloom?

The insatiable eyes, with mouth agape

Can be seen as shadows on all the walls

Its spiny hands are waiting to grasp

A hated man, abandoned by the law

Revisiting a moment

I found a stack of papers from my high school days. I love finding these old notes and sketches. I remember myself during those high school years as if I were a child, not myself. Not myself as I am now. I see her as so hopeful, but she was alone a lot. These words and drawings she created were truly blessings in keeping her occupied. I am grateful to God for the inspiration. Anyway… moving on. I found this one poem, it was short. I might have been 16 or 17, there’s not a date on this sheet of paper. The original poem is a little bland, but powerful to me because I understand what she wanted to describe. So I have rewritten it. It makes me smile as it must have all those years ago. Thank you, young Elizabeth.

How can I explain His love for me?
It is like I am surrounded by shimmering pillars
How I imagine lighthouses look during a bright, starry night
A light coat of snow across a forest of evergreens,
The trees silhouetted against the falling sun
His love for me casts shade when the sun scorches my skin
His love wraps around me when the frozen ground chills me
He is my paradise, my hope, my joy
To think He died so I could find Him, could arrive home
How can I explain His love for me?

Can They Hear?

…The desperate plea of a soul.


I like to dig up very old poetry and make it better. I’ve been rewriting my poems and stories for so long, that I haven’t written anything new. I’m finding it difficult to start.

Whenever that would happen, I would start off with whatever lame line I could think of. I’d write one or two lines, sometime more, before finding the soul. Then those sad, introductory lines are deleted forever. No thank you, no gratitude for choppy, sad letters.

Let’s try one now and see if I can keep the first couple of lines?

The rust, The storm, Listening to the lyrics of a sad man.

Why do we idolize and leech from disappointing spirits?

Or is it admiration for the talent we wish to wield?

There is a tinge of jealousy among the inspiration.

I weave my disappointment with a joyous word,

in hopes my joy will overcome the frown.

And it always does. This joy creates a large smile,

My strength stems from the feeling of accomplishment.

No frown, no despair can hold me very long.

When the bitter pull of jealousy crumbles you,

smile through it, keep smiling until you’re

standing above the puddle of self-hatred

You are bigger than the sticky grime of society.

And there is one who gives this joy. Find Him.

Let me think

Why does my mind race? I used to think I was unique. I don’t know if I am disappointed or relieved to know that there are others. What this large open realm has revealed has been useful. We all know. We all feel that silliness when we ask a question in a social setting, simultaneously typing it into a blank bar.

However, it is the only life I know, and the only life we’ll ever know. Instant. It’s almost here: the end.


In silence we learn who we need to be,

What we must do to stay unchanged.

Our thoughts spread out the strategy

In unison, we nod. We wait for their order.

Their lie to pacify the weak.

Do they know our minds communicate?

We are not alone. You are not alone.

Rise against the false sincerity!


Silence can challenge even the sharpest glance.

In our silence we will shake the universe,

it will break, then they will hear the sound of strength.

I Only Want You To See…

It was a small crowd loosely surrounding the stage in a house of blues venue. The band Blue October had their instruments set up and the lead singer, Justin Furstenfeld, sat at the edge of the stage – armed with a guitar. He looked into the audience silently as the rest of the band members walked toward their instruments. I stood in the crowd with my sister and I watched Justin. His eyes lit up with a brilliant idea. “Okay guys. We’re going to try something new, we’ve never done this before…” The rest of what he said telepathically made its way into my mind. He stopped talking, but somehow I knew he wanted one of us to start singing a Blue October song and if one person could get most of the audience to start singing along, Justin would motion for the band to start playing the music and we would roll into the song. 

The crowd cheered and I could hear all the different lyrics being sung out. Scattered attempts to start a song flew around the venue, then without even thinking about it, I sang, “I must have sneezed, On knees, I freeze, I mean…” The crowd continued the lyrics with me, “I just choked up…”

“Yeah, come on!” Justin stood up and looked at me, eagerly waiting for everyone to join in. 

So we continued,”Somehow I slept, I dream, I mean, I dreamt of nothing !” We all cheered and Justin was just about to signal to Ryan, the violinist, when the singing stopped; complete silence.

I choked up. I could not remember the next word and the crowd stared at me. They only knew as much as I knew. I tried to keep it going by singing the only line I could remember,” I only want you to see, My favorite part of me..” They did not follow my lead. I sang the line again, alone, but was cut off by the crowd cheering in an attempt to get the band to play a song as I had just butchered this brilliant idea. Justin broke his gaze with me and was clearly devastated that it didn’t work, but he wasn’t going to Let It Go. He got the crowd to cheer and asked us to try again. I disliked that I messed up. The attention was no longer focused on me and it bothered me. I turned to my sister to laugh with her about how silly my screw up was since the song was one of my favorites. The concert came to a sudden stop. I looked over and Justin was approaching us. I lead him through a door and into our living room. I attempted to keep him entertained by giving him my journal. The journal was home to my many poems, scribbles, and drawings. The drawings were surprisingly good and creative, but Justin dismissed the entire book as childish. He even let out a laugh. I had to respond that children had a certain innocence and therefore I was fine with being seen as childish. He started to walk away from me and back through the door, when I shouted, “Wait!” He stopped and looked at me then told me that I would have to fight for him. 

This must have angered me in some way because the dream then suddenly took me to a large church surrounded by hostile zombies. I had to prove my loyalty by decapitating a zombie rat with a shard of glass from a broken window. 

I had this dream about two days ago and it has been floating around my mind since I had it. So I thought, Where better to place it than right here on my blog. I had to share it with my sister who agreed with me that it would be brilliant if Blue October let us choose a song in that way. The last time we saw them was a month ago at the House of Blues in Anaheim. I have been listening to several of their new songs. I can only assume that this had influenced the first part of my dream. It just surprised me because I am not obsessed with the guy. I adore the lyrics and the music and the concerts are a blast to go to, but I was begging for his attention in my dream which is just not something I would do. Or maybe I don’t know myself very well. The journal is what interests me most. I do happen to have several journals half filled with poetry and some tiny scribbles here and there, a tree or an eye or sunset scraped onto the paper. They are more like pin-art that relate to my words. I don’t have creative drawings, or colorful drawings like those in that journal. Maybe it’s something I ought to add to my little empty books.

My sister and I had just finished The Walking Dead season 3 on Netflix the night I had this dream. I am pretty sure this is the reason behind the zombie rat in my dream, but why did it happen so abruptly? I love reading too much into my dreams, because when I do I can usually find something a little bit deeper.

So here is my explanation after a couple of days of thought. I went to an Apologetics Conference last night where Ravi Zacharias was a speaker, and I just listened to John Lennox speak this morning. All this inevitably led me to this saved draft, where I reread my dream. It suddenly became very clear. The concert was the world setting. Justin a symbol for someone I am obsessed with, someone I love dearly and could never live without, my Lord Jesus Christ. I choked up because of my realization that I have stopped reaching out. I started with a passion, but then my singing stopped, the prayers and poetry to my Savior have lessened as I began to simply wait for the world to end (more on that later, maybe..).

So my mind tried to contain Jesus to try to prove that I have not gone anywhere. Leading to the Justin that was in my house. The journal had everything I wanted to be in it. I wish I could show someone the journal. It was full of the talent I wish I had. So I tried to say to my own creator that the journal is what my life should be like. I believe that brought out a warm laugh not a mocking one as I had originally interpreted it. The message being that it was time to step out of my fantastic dream world and to face reality and fight. Fight in God’s name. Perhaps that is why the next setting was in a church. I need to stop sitting around and waiting for eternity to happen. I know that God exists and I know the reality of the eternal life, so why in the world am I so self absorbed?? There are people I know that do not believe God exists. I know people who believe in God but live in a way that mocks the seriousness and sacred things of this life. Why am I silent about something that bothers me? I think the reason I don’t say anything is because I have paper and books and ideas to occupy my time. I have the internet to listen to lectures and debates, but when am I actually going to apply what I learn? There are zombies out there who would tell me to keep my beliefs to myself. They would say to let them eat away at the people in this world with their horrid entertainment, with their societal beliefs about human rights, but if I wanted to share that God is here now and forever I would be mocked.

***This blog post was saved as a draft on 11/08/2013. For a second I thought I had lost my mind, until I realized it was a dream LOL. This is not a thought or dream I’ve kept with me. It’s been forgotten, thank goodness I saved it. It’s interesting looking at the old me, my old fears. I think today, I am not afraid. I only wish I knew a way to share the good news.

A small soul waits

I could hear it, they called out to me.
So sweet and clear, they called…
Asked that I might lend my being,
reach out and wrap warm arms around them.
The laughter, so pretty and clear,
but why must it change?

They weep now.

The sobbing scrapes my heart,
The mind wanted to give up,
Nearly broken.
Could they hear my drying heart snap?

I could not console my caged heart, except by reaching for the sweet laughter.

A heart that has given up is not dead. A heart that has suffered and calls out for help lives and I will give it a home.

The Great Indoors.

This is a saved blog post from 2012 that had not body, just this title. It made me laugh. It’s fitting for today. I have the awesome opportunity to work from home and I am so very grateful. I miss restaurants. I am eager for normalcy, though I realize it will be a new normal. Too much has changed, and maybe for the better. This optimist certainly thinks so. I’ll see all the beautiful, monstrous faces outdoors very soon, I think. I can’t be imprisoned forever.