American Dog - A Reflection on Dogs and the Media

Dogs are the best friends of men? A boy and his dog? We take them as pets, we love them, feed them, give them shelter. Their lives are in our hands.

As a dog owner, I get weepy when I see those darned ASPCA commercials. You know the ones I mean. Labs stuffed into overrunning cages, poodles half starved and covered with mange. Those commercials are emotional. It's horrible what we do to our charges.

Speaking of television, let's think about another little something you may have possibly seen. Flashing ambulance lights and hysteric people. Little Jimmy Doe from two towns over was attacked by two dogs.

When you see the news next, it's reported that Jimmy is now in stable condition and the two snarling pit bulls have been picked up by the local humane society or dog pound.

Now let me paint you a picture that you don't see on the news or any television special.

Big man doesn't just want any dog, he wants one he knows people fear on sight. So he goes to this guy whose name he heard through the grapevine or read in the local trading journal. Big man takes a look at what's offered, but of course he only wants the biggest of the litter. Money is exchanged, sometimes authenticity of breed papers, and Big man goes home with a sweet, cuddly little puppy. But puppy is raised in one lone room of the house, shouted at for approaching outsiders other than those it shares the house with; praised when it snarls or growls at strangers.

Yes, dog is a man's best friend, but that doesn't mean it should only have one friend.

Here's another picture you won't see on the news.

Little man's been raising dogs for years. The new round of pups is going into training, over thirty in all. They're given growth hormone shots, fed massive amounts of dog food daily, weights attached to their legs as they run, tires (one, sometimes two and three and four) tied to their chains when they are outside. Then one day they are left hungry, and the next day... and the next. Then, in a small area out back, little man throws two of the pups together with a piece of meat. They fight, not until death but just until one eats. Both are praised, given treats. This becomes part of their weekly training. Eventually fighting another dog becomes natural to them.

That doesn't mean it is their nature.

My friend and fellow horror writer, Damien Walter Grintalis, has recently posted this Quiet Plea to Writers on Behalf of Her Dogs, and I echo that plea. For far too long has the media (and that means all media... news, music, art) portrayed the American Pit Bull Terrier as some ferocious and uncontrollable beast that preys on mankind whenever given a chance. Most of these dogs you see are not the standard of the breed. It was indeed not even two decades ago that Spudz McKenzie was the most well known pit bull in the country. And well loved. The Budweiser dog was t-shirt famous.

I own pit bulls... I rescue pits when I can manage to. Damien is a pit bull owner and if I'm not mistaken, both her pits are rescues as well. We know that these dogs are gentle and loving and loyal pets. We know they can live alongside other dogs in happiness with nothing more than the general dog squabble that happens with any breed of dog if there are more than one in residence.

I'm asking that we change the standard. What these dogs get from the general public is fear. They don't ask for it... it's their standard. And they don't fucking deserve it.

One final note: Read Damien's post. Read this one. Know that you're hearing from better experts than Suzie Day on Channel 9. We own these dogs. I own these dogs still, even after my daughter was attacked by a dog of the very same breed two years ago on Halloween. Because I know that anything with teeth will bite. Our children do, but we raise them to know that they shouldn't bite. Why shouldn't we raise our dogs the same? Teach them better, they will be better.

I'm asking for those who know and write to write about this. If you own pits and know they aren't what the media makes them, write about it. If you are afraid of them because of what you've seen, please read with an open heart. If you're one of those that perpetrate this awful outlook on pit bulls, consider what you're doing. You're making them monsters... and they're just dogs. We're responsible for our children.. and for our dogs. Teach them better, and let them be pets.

We raise our kids... and we raise our dogs. Think about it.

~Effie

And soon it shall pass...

So, it is time for my return to the woefully neglected world of Little Bits and Pieces. Soon enough, regular postings shall happen. Sporadic silliness, constant craziness and the unfailing barrage of foul language that is... well, me.

I know y'all have missed me. Admit it.

So, what has Miss Effie been up to? Stuff. Lots and lots of stuff. Some hard, some painful, some enraging. Some I'd just rather not talk about. It might not be behind me, but I have a little breathing room.

I hate some damn drama, you know that? Drama pisses me slap the fuck off and I just want to throttle someone. I am not, by nature, an extremely violent person, but drama makes me very, very violent - in feeling even if not in practice.

My life, over the last several months, has been constant drama. And no, I have not killed anyone yet. Aren't you proud of me? I feel positively smug, my friends, smug indeed.

So, it is nice to return to the old blog and get it going again. I have missed blogging my little bits of insanity and pieces of me. I have missed abusing you all.

As you were.

Peace & Love
~Effie

Memor...

No Spotlight Weird Today, people, that will be tomorrow, featuring Necrotic Tissue. Check back then.

As most of us know, we in the U.S. are having a holiday today; Memorial Day. For those that have died fighting for the U.S. in wars spanning centuries. We honor our dead; for they truly are ours and we are proud.

Though many members of my family are and have been military, there have been none lost and I am grateful for that. I am grateful to those who have borne that grief, while still devastated that they had to do so. My family is fortunate, and I am grateful.

Illi quisnam intereo, nos gratias ago vos. Nos memor.

~E

Rewrite, rewrite, rewrite!

Hello there.

As I talked about last Friday, I have decided to rewrite my novella and turn it into a novel. Well, I am proud to announce that the rewrite has begun. All other projects, save one collaboration with another writer and of course my short stories, will be on hold until this rewrite is done.

From here on, this project will be called "Sister" for the sake of the blog, although that is not the true title of the work. If you have been a follower of my blog for a while, and have read my posts, then you know which project this is. After months upon months of putting it off, I have finally started rewriting it. It is a rather big undertaking. The novella has its moments that are extremely good, but for the most part, the writing skill is so varied that I am forced to just rewrite the entire thing and use the great parts in the new manuscript.

So this begs a question. Of course it does, do you not know me by now? There is always a question.

In rewrites, what kind of goal do you set? Me, I am hoping to get a chapter of writing rewritten a day, which means this project will be done within thirty days, give or take a few. Maybe forty days, as I have some extending to do.

When rewriting, do you take it as it comes, or do you make goals? This is my first major novel rewrite. I had a novel that I revised and revised and revised in, but never a total rewrite. The revise, revise, revise did not work for me. I ended up with jilted scenes and chapters that seemed unrelated to the true story even though they were... THAT novel is a total mess and it will take a lot of work to make it "doable" again. That novel, I am afraid, is one of those epic tales that spans generations and will be much larger than the 80,000 words it is now. But that is another topic altogether.

Rewriting a novel or novella is largely different than short story rewrites. I can write, rewrite, revise, edit and submit a short story in a single day. In hours, if I am really cooking. A novel... totally different story.

To be fair, even though "Sister" has been a long going on (read as years) project, it was written in a matter of months. It was simply that those months were spanned out over several years. So, I have some work ahead of me. The story arc is fairly consistent, but there are monsters around every corner, no redemption for my protagonist (how is that for fucked up?), and of course, tons of people die throughout the story. I admit that I like to kill main and or major characters. But that need not happen in all of my stories.

I am growing, people! It is a frigging miracle.

So, can I write a horror novel without killing loads of people? Sure I can. I can leave people alive. Does that mean no one will die?

Say it is not so!

Well, it is not so, people. I will kill someone... just not quite so many someones.

So, tell me a bit about rewriting the novels. It is a new experience for me and I would like some other takes on the experience.

And on Friday, along with my word counts, look for some news from me with... clickable linkage (haha, not clickable this time).

Bet you are really curious now huh?

Till then...

Peace & Love,
~Effie

Halloween... and fall is almost over!

It's that time, y'all. I promised pictures of my little slice of America and here they are.

So, what kind of spooky things have I for you? Well, they aren't all spooky and scary, in fact none really are to me, but you know how that is. I'm jaded. So... first up is the fallen log.



I love downed trees. Especially ones that have fallen naturally. I like the moss that grows on them, I like how they almost always look like they are telling a story.

This one is not far from my house, out in the booger woods maybe seven miles from me. I just love how it looks. It makes me wonder how many kids have walked across it to get to the bigger trees on the opposite bank so they could swing on the vines in those trees.

I just love it.


So now, fall foliage! My area has gorgeous autumns... most years. This year we had an odd thing happen with the leaves and since it wasn't as beautiful as it normally is, I wanted to share how strange it was instead.

First, the leaves started falling before the trees actually changed colors. Odd yes, but not unheard of.

This little country back road goes nowhere--literally, it starts off the side of the main road and goes on for a mile or two, then stops. It leads to nothing but more woods.

What like about this little stretch of road is that you never, ever see any vehicles on it, but it still doesn't overgrow. ot that there aren't any vehicles that go down there, but really, why would they? There's nowhere to go.




So what's up next?



Ah! Tree roots that just make me giggle. These things are all over the place. When you live in the mountains, you get used to seeing tree roots that have grown above ground, usually on the side of a steep incline on a mountain. These kinda look like teeth, I think, but my imagination has artistic license here. I'm sure they don't really look that way to other people.

Foliage!!!!


After the first leaves fell, we got a little gold and yellow, but it wasn't special like most years. Most autumns around here are fan-fucking-tastic. But, with all the rains we've had and the strange weather of this summer and fall, I guess it just wasn't going to happen.

I got cheated, I tell ya!

There are some colorful pics in here, but there aren't many. You shall see, I promise.

This is down the road a stretch from my house.




And this thing is a tree.

Or was, anyway.

Just a rotted tree stump but I dig it. It sets my imagination going.

Wonder why things rot the way they do? Why they make those different shapes and such. It's wild, that's for sure.

Anyone else think that this looks like the perfect place for a mouse to live? I don't know why, but I just think it looks like a mouse house.

Nothing really special, but you know.





AND LOOK AT THIS!!!





It's a frigging headless grasshopper!


Technically, anyway. The head is laying beside the body, completely separated. I just had to include it.









Remember earlier when I said some leaves fell before the trees turned? Well, here's some turnage, but it's nothing great. A little gold, a little orange. This is the view from my kitchen window.

And just as the trees did turn to the brighter colors I know and love (like to the left here)... they all fell off. Like, within two days of fully changing color.

I.

Was.

PISSED!

I love walking through the woods when the trees are gold and maroon. But instead.





I got one color, then another.



Instead...



THIS IS ALL I GOT!!

By the time the maroons came out, there was no trace left of the incredible golds and oranges that are normally there.

That sucks!


And this....


This is the house next door. It's up the hill from my house and when I was a kid, my best friend and her family lived there. I've slept in that house and yes, it was creepy and scary. It still is.


Of course, it didn't look quite this bad when I was a kid. So, I've watched this house go from being a family home to an abandoned house, to a falling down wreck. And is it haunted, you want to know?

Yes. It's always been haunted that I know of. Way back when, in the beginnings of the 1900's, a young mother died in the upstairs giving birth to her youngest, and fourth, son. Five years later, her oldest son (by then he was 16) murdered his father on the front porch with an axe. I've actually heard the woman talk upstairs, and my friend's mother said she could feel people get in bed with her, but you know.






Sorry about the slight glare and bad quality of the photo. I took it from a moving vehicle.

Just trees and mountains. More colorful leaves!!!















Both pictures, same tree. On the left is from early July.

















The right is from last week.









It's wild seeing how much a few months can change something.


And lastly, vines that look like a giant spider. I love these... they're just too neat.



Oh... and before I forget. I had, repeat, HAD pictures of the old graveyard up the road. But, with my old pc going on to that big motherboard in the sky, I no longer have them. I'll have to replace them and share, along with the story of the graveyard.

So anyway, that's it. That's fall around my place. Hopefully next year will be a bit brighter and I can show y'all how beautiful it truly gets around here. Oh... and...

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Peace & Love, y'all
~E.

When Just Rescue isn't Enough

Here's another insight to my life that my readership may not know. I'm a big dog lover. I love dogs of all kinds. St. Bernard's are my favorite breed, but the ones that really hold my heart like no other are pit bulls.

I have a four-year-old male pit named Sarrow. He's red and white, red-nosed and too gentle to bite at flies. He's been in my family since he was three weeks old, and been a complete joy from the moment we brought him home. He's a beautiful dog, weighing in right at 70 lbs. A good weight for a medium sized pit. He might be a tiny bit fat. I can't help it, I have to spoil him.

That's him above, in his play area outside.

Today, though, my heart was broken. I met a beautiful little girl pit named Chancey. She is only three-years-old, tawny and white. She seems gentle and has taken right up with my children, my husband and I.

Chancey, though, hasn't had such a happy life. For a long time, she was left on a mountain top with no food or sufficient water. She received no human love or attention--no one even lived at the place where they left her chained, outside, with no dog house or cover. She's full grown, as tall as my Sarrow, but poor Chancey can't weigh but 25-30 pounds. Every bone she has shows through her skin. She has no muscle mass, no fat stored on her body. She literally is skin and bone. The pads of her paws hang from her feet, even the joints of her toes knob through the skin and fur. I nearly cried when I saw her in the condition she is in. Her neck and legs have abrasions from being chained for so long with no slack to play on. Can you see the difference in the sheer size of these two dogs? Can you?

Well, what could I do? I brought her home with me. When a friend of mine and my husband's called and said he knew where a neglected female pit had been left, I had no idea how bad it was. I've seen neglected and abused dogs, rescued my fair share, and I've never, ever seen a dog this thin. My friend wanted to keep her himself, but he knew he couldn't afford to feed her. So he called me. And now, my family has grown yet again. Do I mind? Hell no, I don't mind. If I could, I'd rescue every animal I see that suffers neglect and abuse. I'd take them all.(And I'll post new pics of her once she's healthy again. This one doesn't show how ghastly it looks up close, but you know)

But it makes me wonder if rescuing is enough. There are times, as is the case with sweet, gentle Chancey, that it's never going to be enough. Will she always wait until she's alone to eat, so that nothing can take her precious food away? Will she always ache for attention, as I can see in her liquid green eyes that she aches now? When I held her, loved on her, she just leaned on me--like her frail frame could barely stand without my support. Her tail flicked back and forth with each stroke of my hand on her head, but it never reached a full wag. She just didn't have the energy. And when I took my hand away, I saw her lean under it, trying to make the gentle touches stay. She has missed being loved.

She will not miss it again.

I can't keep every dog. I know that. This will make my third amid a veritble menagerie of pets. Turtles, frogs, fish, birds, cats and dogs. I have some of every one of those animals. I can't take on all the abused dogs I see. Though I'm a horror writer, my heart is so big that if I could afford it, I'd give every one of them a home and the special attention they need. Because no one else will. Especially for a pit bull.

These dogs have been given a stigma that nothing but caring and understanding will out-do. These animals want only to be loved, like any other breed. They are not fierce killers, but gentle darlings who are forced to kill by the bastards who use and abuse their awesome strength. If they will not kill, they are left to starve, as Chancey was.

So next time, dear readers, you see a thin dog with sad eyes--stop. Take a chance, as I've done with this sweet girl Chancey. You may get a trusted friend... and you may instantly become a saving grace in a life that, before you, had no meaning beyond the three feet of chain that held it down.

There. I'm fairly certain I've destroyed my hardened image, but I don't care. Sometimes, it's good to be soft too. To love. Chancey has a chance now, and that is all that matters.

Peace & Love, y'all
~E.