The Pits


I was running in Bronson Canyon last week and noticed the above sign posted all over the neighborhood. First, I’m very sorry for your loss. Second, do not name your dog Lambchop, and then be surprised when he’s eaten. He looks delicious. When I got to the to the base of the mountain a coyote trotted across the street. Lambchop did not stand a chance in that neighborhood.

I continued down the hill, and was running in place, waiting for the light to change at Franklin. There was a very cute guy walking a pit bull and heading toward me. I’m not afraid of pits, because I know some that are really sweet, but I’m always cautious around them. I was recently reminded on every corner by what appeared to be Lampchop’s last looks to the camera alive. Just as I ask the guy if his dog is friendly, the dog falls on his side to the pavement. It then uses it’s legs to scootch closer to me. It looked like a seal. I bust out laughing when the dog rested it’s head on my sneakers and presented it’s belly for rubbing.

“YES, he is friendly, I see,” I say to the cute dog walker.

“Yeah, we trained him not to jump up on people. Now he overcompensates, and finds other ways to introduce himself. He’s discovered that this method usually gets him attention and affection.”

Adorable. I am so trying that. 

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