You don’t know me, my name is Lennox. I am, I mean, I was a dog. I had a family who loved me, they still love me but I am dead now. My mom and dad are hard working, honest people. I had a little girl too. She is handicapped and I was her therapy dog. Boy do I miss her. Worry about her too. I had it all, a family who loved me and a job to do. And I was a good boy too. Life was great.
The one day, out of the blue, there was a knock on the door of our home. We lived in Northern Ireland. It is the dog warden. My Mum, she said, won’t you come in. I will fix you a nice cup of tea. So she goes into the kitchen and I am sitting there wondering what to do to entertain our guest. The dog warden pulls out a tailor’s tape measure. Seems strange to me, what is she fixing to do? She comes over to me, measure my muzzle and chest. Aha, she says, this dog is a pit bull. Seize him! She drags me out, my Mum is crying, my little girl is sobbing. I don’t know what to do. Be good they call to me, and I was. I was a good dog every day I was in captivity until the day they killed me. They killed me because I was a “Pit Bull”, they killed me for being a dangerous dog even though I was a good boy. You see, where I lived, pit bulls are designated to be “dangerous dogs” even if they are gentle as lambs.
Which brings me to why I am reaching out to you from heaven. I don’t have too much to do up here, you see. Sometimes I watch your TV show. You are a nice lady, I can tell you are. Dogs sense things like that. Maybe you don’t know any of the good people who own pit bulls, but they are out there. Families with pets, and we make good pets too. Remember Petey on the Little Rascals? He was a pit. I have a suggestion, maybe you could stop by the Southampton Animal Shelter and meet a pit. And meet a family who owns a pit. After that, you might have a different point of view about pit bulls, like they are good dogs owned by good people.
You see, pit bulls need all the help they can get. I have lots of company up here in heaven. Pit bulls killed for the way the look. I think that is called discrimination, at least that is what I heard someone say before I was killed.