Yo yo that a red nose?
When we first started looking at pit bulls I saw that some were described as red nose. A few days after we got Ginger, Joe mentioned that people were coming up to him on the street and commenting in an almost reverential way about her red nose. I was experiencing the same thing so he investigated.
Red nose pit bulls are from an old, revered line of pit bulls originating in Ireland that are the foundation of today's American Pit Bull Terrier. Though this bloodline is as diluted as it can be, certain communities see red nose pit bulls as status symbols. Pit bull is a blend, not a pure breed, and red nose pit bulls are perceived as being the closest to purebred you can get. Teenagers and adults come up to us and ask how much we paid for her and who we got her from and when we tell them she's a rescue they look at us, confused. It's like saying we got a Cadillac for free, or, even better, an Avanti that still runs.
A few days ago I was walking her through a nearby garden and a guy yelled over "Want to sell your pit?" I looked at him, incredulous. Did I want to sell my dog? By the time I got home I was shaking. My head had gone from a guy simply asking a question to worrying about someone wanting to steal her. My feet planted as fear and fury brewed.
I'm not surprised my maternal instincts are feral, but they blend curiously with also being a total Jewish mother.
"I should knit her a scarf to keep her neck warm," I say daily to Joe.
"Her neck is fine," He says to me.
"A little scarf. A cowl. I'll make her a little cowl. Maybe get her a sweater. She'd be so cute in a pink little sweater."
Joe watches my lips move as I switch to wondering if we should get her booties since the sidewalks are covered in salt then I finish my yarnball of thoughts with "she'll eat the booties right off and choke on them."
Yesterday Joe pretended to consider a pink sweater for the dog because it was my birthday. It was a great birthday; Joe went to the Dominique Ansel bakery and got pastries to start the day, then I heard from a lot of friends, then I took Ginger to a snow covered basketball court and she played with another dog there, which meant she slept while we watched 'Hitchcock' with Helen Mirren and Anthony Hopkins. (Loved the movie idea, good acting, loved the use of sound but the movie is a mess.) I'm coming down the final stretch of finishing a project and whenever I get to this place I'm distracted by bits and pieces of another world. I steadily grab my phone to text myself an idea or better dialogue or something to add or cut in a scene. It was the perfect movie for my head since, like Ginger, I could watch and look around the room and watch some more and think about breakfast and quickly text myself and chuckle then go back to movie and not miss a beat.