Felanie and Dozer

What can I say? I love my dogs! And I owe them everything.

Felanie, my first dog, changed my life forever. It was because of her that I started creating websites. It was because of her that I started writing. It was because of her that I went back to school to get a master's degree in technical communication. She showed me the path to a real career and a real destiny. Sometimes I think about where I would be now if she hadn't been dumped on me. I think I would still be wandering aimlessly through life, working at dead-end jobs, having no real interests or goals to work towards. Felanie is my inspiration, my guide, and my heart dog. She passed away in February 2008, and she will be dearly missed, but she lives on in this website and in my heart.

We adopted Dozer from the local pound. He bonded to me so tightly that he has become like a second shadow, a big white furry beast that follows me everywhere I go without question. I believe he saved my life—or at the very least, prevented critical injury—by protecting me from three very large, very aggressive dogs that charged the two of us while we were on a walk. Dozer fearlessly jumped in front of me and threw himself into the group of attacking dogs and presented a display of ferocity that I had never seen before and have not seen since. But it was all noise and bluster; Dozer didn't want to hurt anyone if he could help it. The three dogs exchanged looks as they leapt back from this snapping, roaring monster. After a brief face-off, while I held my breath and Dozer stared straight at the dogs as if to say, "You really wanna do this? I'm ready!", the three dogs turned and took off. Dozer immediately turned around to look up at me with a huge grin on his face: "Did you see that, Mom?" Though I felt like my legs had been replaced with jelly, Dozer and I walked back home and neither of us had so much as a scratch.

So I am a very fortunate person. One dog taught me to live, and the other saved my life. Yet, my dogs' heroic deeds go unsung except here on this website. No news station will ever run a piece about my wonderful pit bulls. No one will never make a movie about them, or write a book about them. Dozer will live here, with me, quietly and without notice, until the day he dies. (Felanie already did that.) That's okay with me, but I admit that I'm very tired of total strangers judging my dogs based on their looks, not their deeds.

This is not to say that my dog is a perfect angel, but whose dogs are? All dogs, of all breeds, come with quirks. Small flaws don't change the relationship between us. My husband is far more difficult to deal with, and much more dangerous to society (ever seen him drive?), than the dogs are.

My pit bulls, like all dogs in loving homes, are wonderful companions. They sleep, eat, and play just like any other dog. Dozer cuddles in bed with us in the evenings, and when I tell him "off," he jumps off and goes to his own bed. He tolerates baths and nail trimmings, begs and shakes on command, and plays fetch. He knows the difference between "blue toy" and "Kong toy." My friends and neighbors are impressed by Dozer's language comprehension and his obedience, and his reckless backflips have occasionally drawn onlookers.

Felanie was all this and more while she lived; she and I had a blast in agility classes, and her high intelligence and obedience was a boon to us all. She mothered more than one baby animal, including a kitten and a baby bird, and was well-known for her gentle, quiet demeanor. She was well-loved by everyone, including the staff at the vet's office. Her lymphoma diagnosis was a huge blow—to me, she was the cornerstone of our family, the hinge we all hung on. She was much, much more than "just a dog"—she was the most important member of our family, old and wise and benevolent like a village elder, a seemingly permanent fixture in our household. When she passed away, I had to rethink and revise my concept of family.

Friends, neighbors, and family members sometimes come to me for advice about dog behavior. I guess they assume that if I can turn vicious, man-eating pit bulls into pussycats, I'm some sort of amazing dog whisperer. This idea both amuses and annoys me, because it's based on erroneous premises. In terms of behavior and proper management, pit bulls are no different from any other dog. But it shows how firmly ingrained the "vicious pit bull" stereotype is, even with people who have met friendly pit bulls (like my neighbors). Most people seem to feel that pit bulls are naturally programmed for violence and aggression, and they think it takes an amazingly talented dog handler to overcome those "urges to kill." What a strange notion, especially since I consider myself a rather lazy trainer, and my personal experiences with dog handling and training, while probably above those of the average dog owner due to sheer curiosity, are still far below what is required to be considered a professional.

I hate to say it, but my family, human and canine alike, is very normal—and very boring. I'm sure my dogs are a real letdown for those people who are convinced that pit bulls are vicious monsters.

What's up with Felanie's cropped ears? Where did her name come from and how do you pronounce it? Is Dozer really a pit bull? Find out these answers and more by visiting each dog's webpage!

Felanie        Dozer

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