Absence of Malice

Sometimes, it is the absence of something that brings attention to it.


Captain sits quiet beside me, wrinkly muzzle tipped up, tawny eyes taking in the bustle of Dorval Airport’s Air Canada cargo. His airline crate stands ready and we’re just waiting for my daughter to sort out his ticket. This boy, who I only met yesterday has already stolen my heart.

An Air Canada worker in the distinctive orange vests walks in and her eyes light up. Trotting over, she ignores me and bends, hands outstretched. “Bonne chien! Ma petite chou”... sweet dog she cries, taking his blocky head between her hands and rubbing his ears. Wiggle butt Captain grins and slurps messy pink kisses all over her face, body vibrating with pleasure. Calling to a co-worker, another orange-vested cargo employee walks over, grinning. Greeting me, he compliments me on my “beautiful” dog and bending rubs the excited dog’s flanks.

Captain is in heaven. Muscular body vibrating with pleasure, ears close to his head, eyes squinched shut in ecstasy, he radiates positive energy and affability. These are simply two more of what has been, almost without exception, an incredibly positive response to this beautiful dog.

Walking him outside, before the office opened, I had been approached by at least five people, each of whom wanted to meet “my” dog and ask about him. Without exception, they were shocked to the core when I told them that not only was this friendly, sweet-natured puppy a pariah in Ontario, but based on nothing more than his looks, he would be given a death sentence – like thousands and thousands of dogs like him. So encompassing is this concerted genocide, that Captain could not even be flown out of Pearson with impunity but had to be driven to Quebec.

Oddly, it was not until the innocuous reality of being greeted in a normal manner that I realized just how pervasive and poisoned is the atmosphere and environment in Ontario. It was, in fact, the “absence” of fear, the “absence” of loathing, the “absence” of disgust (against me for having “that” kind of dog) that brought home what a sick society exists in Ontario. Media frenzy, ably abetted by a government not averse to using myth and superstition as a weapon has created in the minds of many Ontarians a skewed and negative belief that the (usually improperly) labelled “pit bulls” are pariahs and to be avoided and despised.

A pervasive plan to demonize thousands of dogs based entirely on their appearance has been spectacularly and tragically, successful – and in its success the Liberals garnered goodwill and votes. The manipulative and sociopathic bastards that spearheaded the annihilation of innocent dogs have admitted that it was done primarily to create sound bites; Michael Bryant himself, the arrogant, alcoholic, cyclist-murdering godfather of BSL admits that he created the legislation more as an “ego” boost than because of any real belief that certain breeds were more dangerous than others. After all, the very experts they called to pass judgment on whether “pit bulls” were inherently unstable and dangerous debunked and undermined their claims.

Reality is not a tangible actuality for those who have espoused and continue to support breed specific legislation. Thus, a dog who “looks” a certain way (wide-set eyes, blocky body, short-haired) is magically transformed into a ravening, bloody-thirsty monster with “locking” jaws. The fact that DNA may indeed show that not a drop of American Staffordshire, American pit bull or bulldog is in the helix is irrelevant – he “looks” therefore he “is”.

It’s time. Kneeling, I hug my sweet boy and he washes my face with slurpy pittie kisses. I feel my eyes tear up and as I gently guide him into his crate, they fall, wetting my cheeks. He looks anxious, frightened. His young life has been uncertain and disrupted this past week. From the safe, loving haven of four months in a foster home, to a chaotic couple of days being health checked to the introduction and stress of meeting me and then journeying from province to province, he is scared.*

My heart aches and I feel rage consume me that the arbitrary and capricious actions of sociopathic politicians condemns him and thousands like him to an undeserved death. I am angry, really, really angry that this boy – greeted so unreservedly and enthusiastically here in Quebec – would be denigrated, despised and feared in Ontario. My daughter and I cry as we watch Captain leave, but I know he goes to a loving home and a place where he will be treated based on who he is, not what he looks like. A place where he will be allowed to live in freedom and without fear.

BSL MUST end. It is arbitrary, grossly inefficient, supremely misguided and has in fact rubberstamped the genocide of thousands of dogs – innocent of anything other than looking a certain way.

Bye Captain. Live free, my friend.

*Not saying where I got him from in case they get in trouble