Tuesday, December 31, 2013

Vincent Girolamo

Big Vinny Girolamo 12.05.47 - 09.12.79

After the completion of his military service in 1966, Girolamo joined the Hell's Angels and became the sergeant-at-arms of the Manhattan chapter. He is responsible for the club's motto "When in Doubt, Knock 'em Out" and their insignia "Evil Force".

On September 21, 1977, 22 year old waitress/girlfriend Mary Ann Campbell died after Girolamo pushed her from the roof of a 6 story building. That night, the drunken Girolamo was also accused of attempting to rape two other members. Girolamo was charged with Campbell's murder but before he could stand trial, he died from an injury to his spleen after a dispute turned physical with Oakland Hell's Angel President Michael "Irish" O'Farrell.

Girolamo is featured prominently in this fascinating documentary about the outlaw biker gang. Hurricane Vinny enjoys third billing, right after Sonny Barger and Sandy Alexander.

Hells Angels Forever, 1983 documentary

Observer Reporter, 1979

Three Can Keep a Secret if Two are Dead

Showdown- How the Outlaws, Hells Angels and Cops Fought for Control of the Streets

Trouble with Angels, NY Times 1994

The Vroom of Engines, NY Times 2007


Saturday, December 14, 2013

A Rude and Nasty Pleasure or The development of the Bulldog

A compilation of excerpts derived from
Researches into the History of the British Dog, G. R. Jesse (1866)
Of Our English Dogs and Their Qualities, W. Harrison (1907)
Dogs Their History and Development, E. G. Ash (1927)
edited by Casey Couturier

An examination of plates, books, and documents shows that the bulldog, as it is to-day, is indeed the astonishing achievement of the breeder's art, started during a time when such characteristics of the breed were desired to add to efficiency in the sports in which it was then actively engaged. But the earlier breeders had only moved a comparatively short way in the direction, and it is the work of more recent breeders to bring to perfection the points required. The history of the breed is therefore a comparatively recent one, though considerable matter has accumulated to suggest breed antiquity. Mr. Lee states in his book of 1894, that though ancient writers have been quoted by various authors ad nauseam, and though interesting their testimony often is, it does not necessarily refer to bulldogs, and that the best evidence is in the pictures of the end of the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, which show clearly from what types the present-day species has been evolved, and I might add, how recently this has taken place.

It is certainly a great achievement that the modern bulldog, without the application of force to cause deformities, has the very developments which in earlier times were rare, and when present, more often than not, were the result of maltreatment.

When bull-baiting and dog-fighting ended, the dog was bred for "fancy," and characteristics desired at earlier times for fighting and baiting purposes were exaggerated, so that the unfortunate dog became unhappily abnormal. In this transition stage huge, broad, ungainly heads were obtained, legs widely bowed were developed, and frequently the dog was a cripple. Then gradually the desired points were rounded off and the transition stage had passed. How these changes of type were obtained is difficult to say. Even now, when the abnormalities are no longer so exaggerated, the modern variety would have no chance to succeed as a bull-baiting dog, but for that purpose he is no longer required.

The earliest mention of a bulldog occurs in a letter written in 1632 from St. Sebastian by Prestwick Eaton to one George Willingham, of St. Swithin's Lane, London, now in the Record Office. "Pray," it reads, "procuer mee two good Bulldoggs, and let them be sent by ye first shipp" ; but it is very questionable as to what the writer meant by the word "Bulldogs," whether merely a smaller mastiff or bandog. The bulldog then was certainly not the bulldog of to-day, for even a hundred years later, sporting prints and such illustrations as shown by Bewick in I790, and by subsequent artists in the works of Taplin, Bell, and Colonel H. Smith prove this so. Earlier illustrations, these occurring in illuminated manuscripts, woodcuts, early etchings, and engravings as well as descriptions, suggest that the bulldog as we know him did not exist. Dr. Caius, Gesner, Abraham Fleming, Aldrovandus, had not heard of such a dog, authorities only too anxious to discover strange forms of life. Certainly in Dr. Caius' letter to Gesner we find a mention of dogs used by butchers, known naturally enough as butchers' dogs, probably the first step in the naming of the breed. We see that this is more than likely the explanation, for, according to Dickson in his work on the breeding of livestock of 1823, he shows a picture of a dog, naming it "Bulldog or Beast dog," the word "beast" of course being a rural expression for cattle.

The butcher, requiring a dog to bring up his cattle, naturally valued the dog the more if able to face a bull when such necessity arose. Quite possibly, therefore, the word bulldog was used instead of butchers' dog, to describe such a mastiff or mastiff-type animal more fleet on foot than the heavier variety. The popularity of bullbaiting acted as an incentive to butchers able to practice in the precincts of the slaughter-house, "trying" their dogs and developing their art. A good bull-facing dog was of some monetary value and could be disposed of to some of the wealthier frequenters of this sport. The phrase "a dog for bull-baiting" would be shortened into "a bull-baiting dog" and "a bull dog." Thus the term "bulldog" would pass into the language. But the bulldog then was nothing like the bulldog of to-day.
Whitaker, in I77I, describes the bulldog, but does not allude to the type of head for which the breed is to-day noted, nor to the bow legs and bow body. Illustrations of I775 show the bulldog to be long-legged and with the face of a mastiff, and in Linnaeus's work (I792) the bulldog is named mollosus.

Even if all this was not enough, examinations of the butchers' dog or bulldog depicted by Bewick and on prints of later times show that the variety was without doubt a small mastiff. with a comparatively long head. We might suggest, as an explanation, that the word "mastiff" was dropped when describing these smaller mastiffs, as the mastiff proper was found too slow for butchers' work and at a disadvantage when facing a bull. The introduction of greyhound crosses, the later held in high esteem for speed, would be popular, so that butchers' dogs or bulldogs, faster than the mastiff and yet retaining that breed's ferocity, were evolved. Here was a step to reduce size and weight and increase speed, and the greyhound can be seen in specimens of that time.

The seventeenth and eighteenth centuries were the heyday of the sport of bullbaiting and dog-fighting in England, and the development of the breed on special lines was to be expected. Bull-baiting, though varying considerably from time to time, could be divided into what is known as the "let-go" and "turn-loose" matches, both needing dogs of considerable ferocity and perseverance, but also dogs quick in their movements. But the bulldog, though mainly engaged in bull-baiting, was also in great favor as a dog-fighter.

In dog-fighting speed of movement was of little importance, for a dog able to keep its body lose to the ground had the advantage. Whilst bull-baiting, therefore, caused certain developments, the dog-pit was responsible for others. At bull-baiting the dogs entered into a "turn-loose" match were liberated two or sometimes three at the same time, whilst in the "let-go" match the dogs were let go alternately, each dog having its second, who ran towards the bull with it, to goad it on. We might add that in these "let-go" matches, to show the sporting spirit of fair play, the bull had its second, who by shouting "Halloo" gave it notice of the loosing of the dog. Some bulls, we read, would dig a hole to put their noses in, and in some contests a hole was prepared for their use.

But though here and there, and very frequently perhaps, bull-baiting was an organized sport, many a meeting took place without any consideration of rules and was engaged in by dogs of all kinds, irrespective of breeding, size, or shape. So any dog might be a bulldog, though it appears that by common consent the mastiff type was considered to be justified with the title.

Bull-baiting was, more often than not, a bull securely tethered to a stake or a ring fastened into the roadway, stirred up into a paroxysm of madness by a crowd of men, armed with instruments of torture, and a numerous assembly of dogs of all kinds. Taplin gives us a vivid description of such a scene, the bringing-up of the purchased bull with the herd of cows, his separating from them, and his leading through the streets on a chain, and a rope attached to a stout leather collar round his neck, his horns quite possibly muffled with tow, tallow, and pitch. The bull was led through a crowd of ribald onlookers, [For many days before, every heart beats high with the coming joy . . . every window is filled with children to enjoy the scene, not a street or avenue but is crowded."-Taplin.] and doubtlessly great care was taken not to excite him by ill-usage whilst he had good opportunity to use his great strength. As soon as he was tethered to the stake the attack started; hissing, shouting, and waving hats, and the blows from sticks from all sides, and the twisting of the tail or the pointed sticks driven into the body, woke the bull up. Surrounded by enemies, in a frenzied condition of blood-lust, the sport for which he was intended commenced. The noise grew worse as the unfortunate bull, roaring with pain and fear, and the madness to end it all, had the dogs attacking his head and seizing on to his nostrils.

Once held, the bull was more than ever at the mercy of his enemies and could be subject to inconceivable cruelty. A time came when agony and misery brought no amusing nervous response, and we read how on one occasion a bull beaten by the torment had boiling water poured into his ears to liven him up to a more sporting spirit.

By a will dated May I5, 1661, one George Staverton gave the whole rent of his dwelling-house, situated at Staines, in Middlesex (after two years), to buy a bull annually for ever; which bull he gave to the poor of the town of Wokingham, in Berkshire, to be there baited, then killed and divided. (In revenge because he was once chased by a dull.-E. FARMAN) He instructed that the offal, hide, and gift-money (collected from the spectators) were to be laid out in shoes and stockings to be distributed among the children of the poor, the chief Alderman and one Staverton (if one of the name should be living in the town or neighbourhood) to see the work truly and justly performed, that "one of the poor's piece did not exceed another in bigness."

The bulldog was able to afford other forms of amusement as well as facing bulls or other dogs in combat. In the reign of Queen Anne, an advertisement tells us that on a Monday as well as a great match to be fought between two dogs of Hampstead at the "Reading Bull" for one guinea "to be spent," and the "fairest Bull of fireworks," bear-baiting, and other forms of bull-baiting, a bulldog was also to be drawn up with fireworks. Pepys went to a bull-baiting at Southwark on August 4, 1666, when a dog was tossed into the boxes-"a very rude and nasty pleasure," he writes.

At a bull-baiting at Bury St. Edmunds in 1801, the bull-baiters hacked off all four hoofs, during the early stages of the affair, leaving the unfortunate bull to face his tormentors on bleeding stumps.

Whether such a variety as the bulldog would have existed at all if the sport of dog-fighting and bull-baiting had not been popular is difficult to say. But it seems more than likely that no such breed would have been evolved.

It was during the bull-baiting times that dogs were required about 16 inches high weighing up to 45 lb., and attempts were made to breed such dogs, able to hold on to a bull, without being compelled to leave go to obtain its breath. It seems to me quite possible that pug-dog crosses, or even pug-dogs, were used to cross with the smaller mastiffs, crossed-greyhound to obtain the desired shortened head. Certainly Edwards's description of a bulldog and his illustration of 1800 somewhat substantiates such a suggestion, and indeed he even mentions that this may be a solution of the development of the bulldog type.

Under the title of Canis pugnax he describes the variety to have a round head, underhanging jaw, and smooth coat, and states that he believes that " probably by accident or design " a mixture of the pug-dog and mastiff took place, and suggests as the pug has been bred small and their original size must have been much larger, that such a cross was feasible.

Bulldogs, he tells us, stood 18 inches high, and weighed about 36 lb.

The round full head and short muzzle, small ears, which he describes, are similar characteristics to those of to-day, but in some ways the characteristics are decidedly out when compared to modern types. We read that in some the ears are turned down; in others they were perfectly erect and such were called Tulip-eared. (Typical of French Bulldogs, but a serious fault in the bulldog proper.)

The chest, Edwards tells us, was to be wide, the body round, the limbs muscular and strong, the tail thin and tapering, and in some curling over the back, in others hanging down, Those with tails with a downward carriage, "rarely erected, except when excited," were termed tiger-tailed, and appeared to be rare. He tells us also that the skins were to be loose, "thick particularly about the neck, the hair short, the hind feet turned inwards, hocks rather approaching each other," "which seems to obstruct their speed in running, but is admirably adapted to progressive motion when combating in their bellies," and that "the most characteristic point the under jaw, almost uniformly projecting beyond the upper."

In I799 there was a classic fight between a monkey and a bulldog, but the bulldog depicted is a small and lighter mastiff and not the pug-like bulldog shown by Edwards. The fight, indeed, was to be the slaughter of the monkey, but it turned out otherwise. An engraving of the scene is given in the "Sporting Magazine" of I779, with the following description:
A curious battle took place at Worcester, between these two animals, on a wager of three guineas to one, that the dog killed the monkey in six minutes ; the owner of the dog agreed to permit the monkey to use a stick about a foot long. Hundreds of spectators assembled to witness the fight, and bets ran eight, nine, and ten to one in favour of the dog, which could hardly be held in. The owner of the monkey taking from his side pocket a thick round ruler, about a foot long, threw it into the paw of the monkey, saying, "Now, Jack, look sharp, mind that dog." "Then here goes for your monkey "cried the butcher, letting the dog loose, which flew with tiger-like fierceness. The monkey, with astonishing agility, sprang at least a yard high, and falling upon the dog, laid fast hold of the back of the neck with his teeth, seizing one ear with his left paw, so as to prevent his turning to bite. In this unexpected situation, Jack fell to work with his ruler upon the head of the dog, which he beat so forcibly and rapidly that the creature cried out most eloquently. In short, the skull was soon fractured, and the dog was carried off in nearly a lifeless state. The monkey was of middle size. A famous monkey to fight dogs successfully was kept at Westminster. This monkey, when attacked, bled the dog to death.

In 1801 a bulldog, also of mastiff type, was tried against a man, and, though handicapped by being partly muzzled, yet did considerable damage to his opponent. The "Sporting Times" gives an engraving of the scene:
"An engagement took place between a Gentleman and a Bulldog; (for a wager) some time ago. On the sett too, the Bulldog so far mastered his adversary as to bring him to the ground; and, notwithstanding the animal's mouth was nearly closed by the muzzle, he fastened on the body of the Gentleman; and if not instantly taken off, would have torn out his bowels."

One of the first serious attempts to put an end to bull-baiting was a Bill introduced into Parliament in 1802. We read that " The pluck of the English nation would certainly decrease, if the Bill became Law." [Mr. Windham, in opposition to the Bill.] So strong Was the resistance, and so plausible the arguments, the Bill being labelled as a conspiracy of Jacobins and Methodists to make life dull and to bring to an end constitutional Government, that it was defeated by I3 votes. A second attempt was made in 1829, but it met with similar treatment, being defeated by 45 votes. But much spade-work had been done, and there was hardly a reference to the bulldog made in speeches or in writing that did not refer to its moral turpitude, and the awful part it played [Further accounts of bull-baiting appear in "Dogs in English History.] in the sickening scenes of cruelty. [There was considerable feeling on this question. At the end of the eighteenth century and early in the nineteenth century writers describe the bulldog as "the criminal of the canine world as a monster of ferocity".]

Bull-baiting, thanks greatly to the outspoken criticism of a clergyman of the Church of England, [The Rev. Dr. Barry in I802.] became less popular, and in 1853 was prohibited by law. But the it sport " had done its work; the bulldog had been developed to be a dog of remarkable tenacity and endurance. At a bull-baiting in the North of England a man for a small wager cut off the feet of his dog, one by one, whilst it was holding on to a bull ; and it is recorded that a butcher on another occasion, in order to sell his bulldog puppies, cut the bitch, then very old, and almost toothless, after she had pinned the bull, into several pieces with a bill-hook. The puppies were immediately sold for 5 guineas apiece. [Sheridan, in his speech in favour of a Bill to abolish bull-baiting (1802).] On both occasions the dog held on whilst being mutilated, in the latter until dead.

As well as tenacity and endurance, the bulldog "fashion" required a dog on stout legs, nimble and quick, though overmuch size was then not desired, and to be able to " play low," as it was termed, was considered an advantage. This "play low" gave the dog the power to keep close down to the ground, below horn-level, if it was possible. It led to a development towards shorter legs and bow-shaped body. These latter characteristics were more than ever important in dog-fighting, and so when bull-baiting ceased, the minds of bulldog breeders were centered on the development of the bow legs and short front legs. Cropping was necessary and the ears of the bulldog were cut off close to the head, thus preventing an adversary from obtaining a grip there.

The forebodings of writers who feared the extinction of the bulldog breed if bullbaiting ceased [The last recorded bull-baiting took place at West Derby in 1833.] proved incorrect. Dog-fighting was allowed and was immensely popular.

Of the many rendezvous the Westminster Pit was a noted one, and here sportsmen of all grades of the Society of the Metropolis and sightseers from other parts of the world congregated. We read in contemporary accounts of the dogs held by their backers, howling with rage, or " in a silence still more ominous," eyeing each other, with their " tongues licking their jaws." We can imagine the gasping, growling, and barking of those held waiting their turn. Some would make for the head, others the throat, others for the legs. In a silence only broken by the sharp, short, tense breathing, they fought it out. When a dog released its hold, a round ended, the seconds then sponged and wiped the fighters. A fight might last a few minutes, some lasted for three or more hours.

Two noted dogs, "Young Storm" and "Old Storm," each weighing nearly 70 lb., had won every contest in which they had been entered. "Old Storm" on two occasions had brought the fight to an end by killing his adversary, and "Young Storm" at two years old had fought four combats of over an hour each.
There was a dog "Belcher," the winner of I04 battles, the property of noted prize-fighters of that day. At one time Humphreys had him, and later Johnson and Ward. Ward sold the dog to Mellish for 20 guineas, and it was from him that Lord Camelford obtained him, at a cost of a favourite gun and a brace of pistols. No pedigrees were kept, and "Old Storm" and "Young Storm" and "Belcher" may or may not be the ancestor of some of the dogs of to-day.

A play-bill of 1819 advertises a match between two dogs the property of a sporting nobleman, weighing 43 lb. each, to take place at the Westminster Pit for 100 guineas, the contest being between "that famous white bitch of Paddington whose wonderful performances are so well known to require no further comment," and a brindle dog of Cambridge, "a remarkable and well-known favourite, as his form bears extensive proof."

On January 18, at the same Pit, "‘Boney’ a well celebrated dog" and "a novice" "Gas," lately introduced to the Fancy by Charley, to whom the dog belongs,"were to meet, the stakes to be L40. On this occasion the pit is fully described. It was illuminated with great splendour, "an ellegant chandelier and a profusion of waxlights, "and it proved a great attraction, as nearly 300 persons were present. At 8 p.m. the battle started. Though " Gas " had taken the lead from the very first, the celebrated dog "Boney" was favourite at 3 to 1 until the last ten minutes, and at the end of one hour and fifty minutes "Boney" was carried out insensible, the novice lately introduced to the Fancy by Charley had won. We read particulars of "the bleeding" and the recovery.

So popular were these dog-fights that to fail to know the name of a bulldog was to prove oneself out of touch with the world's affairs. Jesse [Researches into the History of the British Dog (1866)] tells us that a relative, while riding through Wednesbury, stopped at the toll-gates, on hearing the church bells ringing, and asked the reason. "‘Old Sal's’ brought to bed!" came the answer. Being none the wiser, he inquired who this "Old Sal" might be. "‘Old Sal!’ ‘Old Sal!’" he repeated as if addressing a deaf person-"don't you know who ‘Old Sal’ is?"

Then the toll-keeper explained that "Old Sal," a somewhat ancient but celebrated bull bitch, had just borne her first litter of puppies, and the bells were sending glad news around the countryside.

But dog-fighting came to an end, the law stepped in. It continued for some years, taking longer to die than bull-baiting! The latter attracted attention, but a dog-fight could be carried out successfully with few being any the wiser. Often at night the company would collect in a backyard, or clear away the forms and tables in the bar-parlor.

In 1871 an article in a Birmingham paper describes a dog-fight at Walsall: Dog-fights, according to this authority, were constantly taking place. Visitors were subject to careful scrutiny and a detective had little chance of obtaining admittance.

The "old-world" bulldog fancier, to whom bulldog-fighting was a means of sustenance, gradually died out. Such a man was Ben White, who had a "trial ground" in Harper's Field, and later in Old Conduit Field, Bayswater, where clients could try the dogs either on some unfortunate badger or in combat with each other. After the death of Ben White, Bill George took over, altered the name to "Canine Castle," and there, with a change of name, changed the tone of the place. Dog dealing was his business: times had changed, the dog show era was starting.

Bill George [Bill George died on the 4th of June I884 at the age of seventy-nine.] became noted as a reliable authority on all and every breed. His business methods were above criticism and his name became a hall-mark, especially in the bulldog world.

It is to do with bulldogs that Punch, in 1864, shows us a picture of a pleasant visit to this Canine Castle, and Mr. Punch is evidently taking up as little space as it is possible for mortal man to cover. The bulldogs in barrels; their chains are long; the safety-zone limited! [see page 9 of ABR #14) But these bulldogs are not the broad, powerful, cloddy, short-legged creatures of to-day, though they show a marked step in that direction.

more fun reads at Bulldog Spirit

Sunday, December 8, 2013

America's Dog, then and now.

November 15, 1844  Baltimore, Maryland
The first known recorded pit bulldog fatality.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Dead–We regret to state that the apprehensions expressed by the physicians on Wednesday evening, have proved true, and Mr. John A. Dubernar, who was so severely bitten by the dog of Mr. Rozell, on Saturday last, now lies with the dead. He expired at his residence, in High street, yesterday morning. Mr. D. was a native of France, but has been a resident of Baltimore about fifty years. He was much esteemed by those who knew him. His death is a melancholy comment upon the impolicy, we might almost say, the criminality of keeping dogs so ferocious in their character as this one was, in the the yards of private dwellings. The bull terrier, and this dog was one of that species, is perhaps the very worst description of dog,   with which we are beset in our community. They are always fierce, and, it is a rare circumstance, that even their masters have control over them–when they once take hold, death has been frequently found necessary to make them loosen their grasp. Such animals should never be kept in the yards of private swellings. We have received a note from Mr. Roszell, in which he states that injustice has been done to him in our previous account of the matter. We may have, and according to his statement, did slightly, err in reference to the the mode and cause of the attack made by the dog upon the colored woman; but in the main, it was correct. We did not doubt, and do not now doubt, that every thing was done by the family of Mr. R. to prevent the catastrophe, which has ended in so melancholy a manner. But the very fact of the inability of those who lived in the house to restrain him, is evidence conclusive of his ferocious character. We would not do injustice to Mr. R.; we have no such motive–and we feel assured that no one in this community regrets more sincerely than he does, this sad affair.–The lesson, we trust, will be a profitable one to others.

Nearly 170 years later and we have still not turned a profit on the lesson Mr. John A. Dubernar tragically learned.

Dangerous By Default

vintage bull terrier (badrap loves to promote the myth of "America's Dog")

For the most complete record of american pit bulldog fatalities, see http://www.fatalpitbullattacks.com/.

Vintage Bulldog ad

Hold fast
click to view larger

The Legendary Bulldog

Saturday, December 7, 2013

1878 America's Dog attacked America's First People

CRAZY HORSE'S SQUAW IN TROUBLE.  – A terrible fight occurred yesterday afternoon at the corner of Ferguson and Sixteenth streets, between Crazy Horse's squaw and a young bull terrier, The terrier was brought to this city form Fort Laramie a day or two ago. At the Fort it had learned to despise Indians, and always fight them. Yesterday when the dog ran across Crazy Horse's squaw, who has been in the city about a year, and is said to be found at the corner named on sunny days, there was an instant declaration of war by the canine. At the moment of attack the beautiful Indian widow was against a post, smiling languidly upon Turck and Roberts, who were sitting in Joslin & Park's window. Her back was turned to the dog and he sprang at her well-developed calves with fury. So unexpected was the attack, and so lightning-like the motions of the terrier, that he bit both limbs before Mrs. Crazy Horse could turn around. The owner of the dog, who loves Indians less if possible than his dog seeing that the squaw was about to injure the dog, sprang upon her and grasped both arms, holding them with a vice-like grip which defied her frantic efforts to get free. The terrier was busy, and for a full fifteen minutes it was allowed to tear and rend the helpless squaw, even springing into her face, biting out one cheek and tearing off the under lip.  Satisfied at last, the pale face released the squaw, mounted his horse, and giving a shrill whistle disappeared, followed by his dog. Drs. Preshaw and Tuttle were at once summoned by M. D. Altmen, and dress Mrs. crazy Horse's wounds, which, though severe, are not considered dangerous, as the loss of blood was less than usual. – Cheyenne Leader.


hats off to
Inside the Dark Dark Sick Minds of Pit Bull and Other Dangerous Dog Owners

excellent find!

Thursday, November 28, 2013

I'm thankful for google, vintage and all of my secret squirrels

''A few years ago, we weren't focusing on pit bulls. A few years from now, we won't be focusing on pit bulls.'' RANDALL LOCKWOOD, 1987

a few years?

We've been focusing on the pit bulldog problem for the past 200 years and if Ledy Vankavage succeeds, we will be focusing on pit bulldogs for the next 200 years. The popularity of dog breeds will always wax and wane but the pit bulldog will remain a constant threat.

Orlando Sentinel, November 15, 1987

Occupy Maul Street

Monday, November 18, 2013

Safety before bull-dogs

There is super fine vintage muckraking over at Pit Bull Attacks and Dogfighting in Illinois. It's the kind of research that should be done by a "research council" rather than livestock fear mongering and the other sleight of hand tricks that KAREN DELISE has become so well known for.

Here's a taste. Be sure to check it out.

1. The bull-dog is essentially a dangerous animal, and when kept under present conditions it constitutes a perpetual menace to human life. Enough accidents have already happened to admonish all thinking men that women and children are entirely unsafe under present conditions.
2. These conditions will become even worse when these bull-dogs will have bred with the street curs, producing a generation of mongrels even more dangerous and under less restraint that the pure bred individuals.

If bull-dogs are unsafe and vicious, as they seem to have proven themselves within the last few weeks, let us get rid of them. Let us get some other kind of dog. Safety before bull-dogs.

Thursday, August 8, 2013

BOUDREAUX' ELI Vintage Match Report

Sixth Match:
Males at 38 pounds.
Cajun Rules, Howard Tee, Referee
Pete Sparks, Timekeeper

Jack is using a red dog called Bozo said to have been bought by Sonny Sykes from Jerome Hernandez. Floyd is using a black which he calls Eli. The black gets the first hold as Bozo gets skin hold in throat. Black is getting into the throat of Bozo as Bozo works the ear trying for a shoulder. 50 to 25 bets being made. Bozo the favorite. Black is showing good and working for Bozo's throat. All the dog fighting in the previous match is being wrapped up in a ten-minute space of time in this fight. Black gets in Bozo's throat at 14, then Bozo throws one leg over the black's shoulder, gets an ear and throws the black dog. Bozo gets a shoulder and shakes and the black dog gets a mouth hold and gets him off. Black up at 15 and into the throat. The black comes up and the bets shift to even money as both dogs are working the shoulders and front legs. Bozo gets the nose and shakes at 21. Changes to a hind leg, gets stifle and shakes. Bozo is working front leg. Back to mouth fighting at 25-minute mark. Bets getting hard to get at even money as first one then the other gets on top and gets nose and mouth. The black acts as though he has shot his wad. Bozo has opened up the black's front leg and the black is weakening. Story is that the black has heartworms. 38 and a pick up, Bozo to scratch. Made determined scratch, gets a front leg and the black goes into Bozo's neck. 40 a pick up, black scratches hard. Bozo gets nape of neck and the black goes down. 54 a pick up, Bozo to scratch. Made determined scratch. 57 pick up with black to scratch. Trotted over and took hold, gets an ear and Bozo goes down. Bozo makes a good scratch at the one-hour mark. One minute later the black makes a good scratch and Smith gives up the fight. Black makes a good courtesy scratch. Eli is the winner in one hour and one minute.

Pete Sparks

Wednesday, August 7, 2013

Dead Game by Andrew Vachss

I'm no good until I get hit the first time.
Tony says I'm a slow starter.
But once I get going, nothing can stop me.
I never quit. Never.
I looked across the ring. I'm fighting a black guy tonight. Bosco, I think his name is.
It doesn't matter what his name is.
This is the first time I saw him. They don't let me face the other guy at the weigh-ins anymore. Sometimes, I go after them right there. I have to save it for the fight.
He's a little bigger than me, but he's still inside the weight limit.
He's younger than me, too.
But I've been around a lot longer. You can see it on my face. And all over my body. Experience counts for a lot in these fights. You can't tell if a fighter's any good until he gets nailed the first time, that's what Tony says. Then you find out about his heart.
They say it's in my blood, fighting.
But I really only do it for Tony.
I love him.
He's been with me since I was real little. He gives me everything.
I train the old way. Special food. No sex before a fight.
They say that's why we started fighting. For sex. To have our pick of the bitches.
But I could have sex even if I didn't fight. I fight for Tony.
I work out all the time. Tony even built a special treadmill for me, to build up my endurance.
If you get tired in these fights, you lose.
I never get tired.
I watched the black guy across from me, waiting for the signal to start. I watched his eyes. He wasn't afraid.
They never are.
Down here, the purse is nothing . . . all the money comes from betting.
Tony always bets on me.
I'd never let him down.
I'd die first.
I'm not afraid of dying. It's just sleep. And you don't wake up.
I faced the black guy. Tony rubbed the back of my neck, getting it loose.
The crowd screamed.
We bumped once and the black guy came at me.
He was quicker than me. I took his first shot right in the chest. The fire exploded in me and I tried to tear his head off.
He went down, but he got right back up.
The referee separated us a couple of times when we locked together, but they never stop these fights.
It was a long time before I took him out.
Tony carried me out of the ring.
I couldn't see Tony, my eyes were torn.
The other guy hurt me real deep.
I was going to sleep.
I heard Tony crying.
I felt his hand on my head.
Patting my bloody fur for the last time.

Andrew Vachss is an american author, attorney, dangerous dog fancier and advocate for children and animals

Sunday, August 4, 2013

Ode to pit dogs

I am a bulldog
I fight because I love it
I live for the box

Good Pit Dog

He is a pit bull, brindle and white
A fast head dog with an even bite.
He can take his punishment and not mind it a bit
For he’ll always scratch and stay in the pit
It takes him no time to finish the rat
He stays with a badger, has not mercy for cats.
He’s one of my best and he’s game to the core
He’ll toe the scratch, I can ask for no more.
He has no fear for whatever he faces
Disposition is good and his looks they are aces.
He’s one of those dogs that money can’t buy
I’ll keep him a lifetime, until he does die.
But before then he’ll fight for me many a time
Make me proud of his winnings, bring me many a dime.
He’ll uphold the name of our pet dog, all right
For he’s not a show dog, but one that’ll fight.
And that’s what we all want, dogs that are game
Wherever you take them, they’ll bring you no shame.
They need not be handsome, nor good for the show
But just good pit dogs, rarin’ to go


Now the past is gone you see
And the pit is in our care,
The future should concern thee
of the game we're all to share.

Many a dogmen have come
And meny dogmen are here,
With very few pits being born
Of gameness we all hold dear.

We must always watch our guard
To test and prove pits game,
By scrathing and rolling hard
All pit dogs earn their name.

Game pit dogs never quit
while dog men cry and laugh,
For the pit would'nt be a pit
the pit would be a staff.

Pits should remain in sport
To this dog men all agree,
for proven game hard fought
Is what the pit is suppose to be.

No title, author unknown
written in the 1800's about a Bulldog and a Terrier

Oh me name it is Michael McCarthy
And I come from a place of renown,
I had a bet with old Timothy O'Flaherty
That me bulldog would wallop the town.
Now he told me of one Terrance Murphy
Who lived away out in the bog
That kept an old black and tan terrier
That would murder me twenty pound dog.
Champion he was a dandy
Till Murphy, the dirty old hog
Came along with his black and tan terrier
And murdered me twenty pound dog.
Now I led out me bold twenty pound hound
He looked just as good as a king
How he eyed that black and tan terrier
As they both dashed right around the ring.
Now they fought for an hour and a quarter
It was away out in the bog
The terrier took all the laurels
And a corpse lay me twenty pound dog.
Now I swore I'd have satisfaction
I off with me coat and me hat
I made a race for the whole Murphy faction
From big Terrance to little Pat.
Then I made a race for the terrier
And I kicked him right into the bog,
And all the way home I swore vengeance
Sweet vengeance for me twenty pound dog.


Today in the pit i did meet my match,
but my legs are broken and i can't make the scratch.
Please pick me up now so i can fight another day,
but money and pride has got in the way.

You know I can't win as I let out a battle cry,
looks like this pit is where I will die.
Look into my eyes did I not give my best?
But you knew that already when you did the game test.
This is for all the game pitbulls that never gave up,
your masters betrayed you for fear of losing a buck.

No Title, author unknown

Big blue comes in growling, he’s thrashin round wild;
not bred of Grand Champions, just taunted till riled.

Ol Blackie sits there patient, tail wagging with glee,
cause he’d done some rollin and knows how it’ll be.

Washed down and toweled; the time, it drew near.

Big Blue’s lookin vicious, he has fifteen pounds
but that black dog just sat there, staring him down.

When the moment came, both exploded out their corners
and met in the middle, but an inch towards Blue’s owner.

Blackie was quicker, but Blue had a bite
that black dog took a beatin, near an inch of his life.

Fifteen minutes went by, most thought it was done;
but a few in the crowd saw the table had spun.

Big Blue got winded and the black one, he knew;
caught Blue by the shoulder, his vigor renewed.

Blue quickly turned, cold fear in his eyes
so back to their corners to give scratchin a try.

Blue came in charging and easy to read
when black saw him comin his tail doubled speed.

Black took what he’d learned and held to it that night,
by twenty-three minutes it was no longer a fight.

Ol Blackie went home, one under his belt;
Big Blue, well he went with the cards he was dealt.

That black dog proved game, the blue not so much;
like all of his kind, just over grown mutts.

The Pit Bulldog by Howard "B"

There's a mighty creature on the prowl,
They don't bark much and seldom growl,
Can crush a bone with the slam of it's mouth,
You can find them East, West, North and South,
When you face them off and let them go,
The fight will last till one can go no more,
Unless you have a cur, and there's alot around
A good Dogman will put these in the ground,
No other dog can stand the pain,
But a good pit bull has his claim to fame,
Some stay in the corner and won't cross that line,
'Cause the mighty pit bull is one of a kind,
we must stand by our dogs united as we all should know,
'Cause the future holds more matches and we all love a good show,
I'm a new comer and this is true,
But I'm into the dogs deep, just like the rest of you,
If we meet in the pit, lets all remain friends,
'Cause we're all pit bull lovers, till the very damn end.

Sacs And Sticks

Burlap sacs and sticks
Were leading the pack,
They brought in the picks
Big bets on a black.

Black showing great mite
Still buckskin was quiet,
Both conditioned right
Fed the right diet.

All night they were matching
Both showing strong rolls,
Still buckskin was scratching
When black quit his hold.

The keep was now mending
They blew out the wic's,
Now came the tending,
Burlap sacs and sticks.

An Ode to the American Pit Bull Terrier by Solitaire

From Ireland and England, into America they came;
Brought by fanciers and families intrigued by the game.
As combatants, warriors and gladiators of the sport;
Valued for gameness, ability, mouth, and the sort.
With feirceness and courage beyond compare,
They face their rivals with a peircing glare.
The sound of percussion made all throughout,
Seems the only emitted with each clout.
They were bred to win, whatever it takes;
Never to quit, despite the stakes.
Eager, relentless, wholehearted they'll go;
Revealing bliss by tail wagging to and fro.
The desire to trimph, even when circumstance is poor,
Separates this breed from others; a quality to adore.
In contrast to their character as portrayed above,
The American Pit Bull Terrier can exude love.
They are gentle, sweet-tempered, humble and meek;
Can be lively, vivacious, delightful and sleek.
Effusive and charming, total characters they are;
Intelligent and sly, and can get away with far.
Living to gratify and please their masters,
They will forsake life to protect from disaster.
The most misunderstood of their kind;
Due to ignorance; so we pay no mind.
They are noble, heroic and bad to the bone,
Formidable, muscular, and eager to be shown.
Epitomizing what a dog should be,
They reign supreme, you would have to agree.

THE BRINDLE DOG by J.R. LeManquais

There once lived an overgrown kid near our lot,
Who owned a large mongrel whose name I forgot.
The boy was a bully, his dog was the same,
And they both used their size to play a mean game.

All the kids in the neighborhood feared this tough nut,
As the house dogs for blocks feared this over sized mutt.
Toy Poodles, or Collies, or Terriers small,
Made no difference, the big cur could handle them all.

The pair soon were famous, their game they played well,
For they had every dog near the tracks cut to hell.
One day a new family took a house down the street,
they owned a trim brindle dog with white blaze and white feet.

His eyes were quite small, his muzzle looked strong,
His low carried tail was fine pointed, not long.
He carried himself with a confident air,
On the street he'd pass dogs as if they weren't there.

A few telltale scars on his shoulders and head,
told a mute story better than if it was read.
Fifty pounds of spring steel, he was quick as a cat,
And he'd fight if he had to at the drop of a hat.

Then one day in spring down by the kids hut,
The big bully came, and behind him his mutt.
The two dogs stood rigid and to my surprise,
The yellow cur was twice the brindle dogs size.

The big dog moved in, but his jaws snapped on air,
The thing he had lunged at, well it just wasn't there,
A clever side step had avoided his jump,
Something clamped on his throat, he went down with a thump.

He tried to break loose, he was fighting in fear,
His head it was pounding, couldn't see, couldn't hear.
His wind was cut off, he was beaten and through,
and the big kid astonished, he had enough too.

When they got :Brindle" off, "Yellow" got to his feet,
and with tail between his legs weakly went down the street.
now I wonder if anyone reading this creed,
could tell me what was this brindle dogs breed?

Who The Rebel by Nick the Greek
(ode to a snitch)

He was a friend, a good friend of mine
I trusted him to a 'T'
I never thought the day would come
That he would be telling on me.
When it first went down, the rumors were out
That he started to sing
I could not believe it, I argued with many
Because to me he was the King
But time would tell and prove me wrong
That he was no friend indeed
He ratted me out, with a list of others
Who thought he would be a bad seed
Families he ruined, lives are shot
Nothing but anguish and pain
I believe you keep your mouth shut
Especially when living the fast lane
But sometimes you learn in the game of life
Who your friends really are
Often times too late, no turning back
A Valuable lesson by far
So here I sit after telling the feds
I had nothing to do with him
A son of a bitch, a low life mother
He made the light in the game go dim
So let us recover, get stronger by this
Whatever the price may be.
He does not represent the South, Nor the Game
He is just shit to me!

Saturday, August 3, 2013

The Blood of a Champion - Floyd Boudreaux

The Blood of a Champion
-Floyd Boudreaux

He may be a large dog, Maybe small,
He will fight one dog or he will fight them all,

He will give you all he has to give,
It's the only way he likes to live,
He has earned the respect of poor men & kings,
He has fought in the open, in the pits and in the ring, He has fought the wolves, the bull and the bear, For his own life he has not a care,

He will not cower, he will not cry,
For to be called a curr, he would rather die, A cur and a fighter are not the same, for a cur is a quitter, and a fighter is game,

We don't force him to fight, he can quit at anytime, But its not a bulldog that stands the line, When we speak of bulldogs the words that fit, are those like courage, stamina and grit,

In the pit he is powerful, fierce and wild, But at home will sleep with the smallest of child, He knows not the meaning of the word quit, he likes it on the chain, but longs for the pit,

The blood of a champion flows in his veins, He can stand the heat, He can stand the pain, If it comes to the scratch, he'll make the run, when he hears his master's cry "go get'em son!".

Friday, August 2, 2013

Grand Champion Little Jack by Tom Ratliff

Grand Champion Little Jack by Tom Ratliff

Here is a story about a champ I know
In his younger years he was ready to go
His teeth were strong his body firm and tight
With swiftness and alertness he was ready to fight
His nickname was Judo Jack because of his style
He would wrestle his opponents down
And their owners would throw in the towel
The history of Little Jack is one that's intriguing
For now he has two offspring to see this is believing
His son is a champion with a grip like steel
He made all his opponents bow down at his will
His daughter is unique in her own way
A two time winner what more can I say?
Her ability and swiftness and blinding speed
Would make all other contenders stand up and take heed
To give you a rundown is easy enough
Because Jack is a Grand Champion that's showed his stuff
Opponents he's fought had well reputations
But to get into the pit with Jack was pure annihilation
He is one of a kind who was raised with care
An EIGHT time winner he had style and a very hard bite
When he arrived at the site
All his opponents no matter what size weight or height
Little Jack was ready to give them all a fight
When the dust cleared the inevitable was done
From the cheers of the crowd you knew who had won.

Sunday, June 30, 2013

Concerning a Dog-fight by Banjo Paterson

Andrew Barton "Banjo" Paterson 

Australian bush poet, journalist, author
February 17, 1864 -  February 5, 1941

Dog-fighting as a sport is not much in vogue now-a-days. To begin with it is illegal. Not that THAT matters much, for Sunday drinking is also illegal. But dog-fighting is one of the cruel sports which the community has decided to put down with all the force of public opinion. Nevertheless, a certain amount of it is still carried on near Sydney, and very neatly and scientifically carried on, too -- principally by gentlemen who live out Botany way and do not care for public opinion.

The grey dawn was just breaking over Botany when we got to the meeting-place. Away to the East the stars were paling in the faint flush of coming dawn, and over the sandhills came the boom of breakers. It was Sunday morning, and all the respectable, non-dog-fighting population of that odoriferous suburb were sleeping their heavy, Sunday-morning sleep. Some few people, however, were astir. In the dim light hurried pedestrians plodded along the heavy road towards the sandhills. Now and then a van, laden with ten or eleven of "the talent", and drawn by a horse that cost fifteen shillings at auction, rolled softly along in the same direction. These were dog-fighters who had got "the office", and knew exactly where the match was to take place.

The "meet" was on a main road, about half-a-mile from town; here some two hundred people had assembled, and hung up their horses and vehicles to the fence without the slightest concealment. They said the police would not interfere with them -- and they did not seem a nice crowd to interfere with.

One dog was on the ground when we arrived, having come out in a hansom cab with his trainer. He was a white bull-terrier, weighing about forty pounds, "trained to the hour", with the muscles standing out all over him. He waited in the cab, licking his trainer's face at intervals to reassure that individual of his protection and support; the rest of the time he glowered out of the cab and eyed the public scornfully. He knew as well as any human being that there was sport afoot, and looked about eagerly and wickedly to see what he could get his teeth into.

Soon a messenger came running up to know whether they meant to sit in the cab till the police came; the other dog, he said, had arrived and all was ready. The trainer and dog got out of the cab; we followed them through a fence and over a rise -- and there, about twenty yards from the main road, was a neatly-pitched enclosure like a prize-ring, a thirty-foot-square enclosure formed with stakes and ropes. About a hundred people were at the ringside, and in the far corner, in the arms of his trainer, was the other dog -- a brindle.
It was wonderful to see the two dogs when they caught sight of each other. The white dog came up to the ring straining at his leash, nearly dragging his trainer off his feet in his efforts to get at the enemy. At intervals he emitted a hoarse roar of challenge and defiance.

The brindled dog never uttered a sound. He fixed his eyes on his adversary with a look of intense hunger, of absolute yearning for combat. He never for an instant shifted his unwinking gaze. He seemed like an animal who saw the hopes of years about to be realised. With painful earnestness he watched every detail of the other dog's toilet; and while the white dog was making fierce efforts to get at him, he stood Napoleonic, grand in his courage, waiting for the fray.

All details were carefully attended to, and all rules strictly observed. People may think a dog-fight is a go-as-you-please outbreak of lawlessness, but there are rules and regulations -- simple, but effective. There were two umpires, a referee, a timekeeper, and two seconds for each dog. The stakes were said to be ten pounds a-side. After some talk, the dogs were carried to the centre of the ring by their seconds and put on the ground. Like a flash of lightning they dashed at each other, and the fight began.

Nearly everyone has seen dogs fight -- "it is their nature to", as Dr. Watts put it. But an ordinary worry between (say) a retriever and a collie, terminating as soon as one or other gets his ear bitten, gives a very faint idea of a real dog-fight. But bull-terriers are the gladiators of the canine race. Bred and trained to fight, carefully exercised and dieted for weeks beforehand, they come to the fray exulting in their strength and determined to win. Each is trained to fight for certain holds, a grip of the ear or the back of the neck being of very slight importance. The foot is a favourite hold, the throat is, of course, fashionable -- if they can get it.

The white and the brindle sparred and wrestled and gripped and threw each other, fighting grimly, and disdaining to utter a sound. Their seconds dodged round them unceasingly, giving them encouragement and advice -- "That's the style, Boxer -- fight for his foot" -- "Draw your foot back, old man," and so on. Now and again one dog got a grip of the other's foot and chewed savagely, and the spectators danced with excitement. The moment the dogs let each other go they were snatched up by their seconds and carried to their corners, and a minute's time was allowed, in which their mouths were washed out and a cloth rubbed over their bodies.

Then came the ceremony of "coming to scratch". When time was called for the second round the brindled dog was let loose in his own corner, and was required by the rules to go across the ring of his own free will and attack the other dog. If he failed to do this he would lose the fight. The white dog, meanwhile, was held in his corner waiting the attack. After the next round it was the white dog's turn to make the attack, and so on alternately. The animals need not fight a moment longer than they chose, as either dog could abandon the fight by failing to attack his enemy.

While their condition lasted they used to dash across the ring at full run; but, after a while, when the punishment got severe and their "fitness" began to fail, it became a very exciting question whether or not a dog would "come to scratch". The brindled dog's condition was not so good as the other's. He used to lie on his stomach between the rounds to rest himself, and several times it looked as if he would not cross the ring when his turn came. But as soon as time was called he would start to his feet and limp slowly across glaring steadily at his adversary; then, as he got nearer, he would quicken his pace, make a savage rush, and in a moment they would be locked in combat. So they battled on for fifty-six minutes, till the white dog (who was apparently having all the best of it), on being called to cross the ring, only went half-way across and stood there for a minute growling savagely. So he lost the fight.

No doubt it was a brutal exhibition. But it was not cruel to the animals in the same sense that pigeon-shooting or hare-hunting is cruel. The dogs are born fighters, anxious and eager to fight, desiring nothing better. Whatever limited intelligence they have is all directed to this one consuming passion. They could stop when they liked, but anyone looking on could see that they gloried in the combat. Fighting is like breath to them -- they must have it. Nature has implanted in all animals a fighting instinct for the weeding out of the physically unfit, and these dogs have an extra share of that fighting instinct.

Of course, now that militarism is going to be abolished, and the world is going to be so good and teetotal, and only fight in debating societies, these nasty savage animals will be out of date. We will not be allowed to keep anything more quarrelsome than a poodle -- and a man of the future, the New Man, whose fighting instincts have not been quite bred out of him, will, perhaps, be found at grey dawn of a Sunday morning with a crowd of other unregenerates in some backyard frantically cheering two of them to mortal combat.

Monday, April 22, 2013

The Bull Terrier

There's a snow white dog with a coal black eye.
Whose temper's as true as his courage is high.
He's the last in a scrimmage – and the last one that stops,
For when he does fight he fights till he drops.
He knows nothing of meanness and nothing of fear,
For a gentleman's heart has the White Cavalier.

He stands like a boxer, firm, active and keen,
With his punishing jaw, long, powerful and clean.
He's up on his toes, all ready to go
Like the flash of a gun to meet playmate or foe.
He's strong as a bulldog, as fast as a deer,
There's no dog with the dash of the White Cavalier.

His coat and his character both are snow white;
His look is determined; his manner is bright;
He stands at attention, all muscle and bone.
A knight fully armed for holding his own.
As mild as a maiden, as proud as a peer.
A prince among dogs is the White Cavalier.

The Sun, September 22, 1912