Amos – Part 1: The Weekend Foster That Never Left
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Part 1 of 3 in the series: The Dogs Who Owned Our House: Dana and Amos
If you’ve read any of my blog posts over the years, you might remember a three-part series dedicated to our German Shepherd, Dana. At the end of that post, I noted that we were done with dogs. But five months after she crossed the rainbow bridge, we adopted a little pitbull named Amos.
That was September of 2015
.
My wife met Amos when his rescue group showcased some of their dogs at a local pet store. She came home and told me she thought she bonded with a pitbull that day. I looked at her like she was nuts. We were still trying to get over Dana, and I really didn’t want that responsibility again. Even with teenage boys at home, I knew I’d end up being the primary caregiver—just like I had been with Dana.
Josh and my wife were both ready for another dog in the house. My wife wanted a male because the female dogs we’d had always gravitated toward me… must have been my animal magnetism. Seth and I were having a much harder time with the idea. I knew what my job would be, and Seth felt like he’d be “cheating” on Dana.
Eventually we agreed to at least meet Amos and see how things felt.
The first thing Amos did when he came into our house was jump on the couch.
Josh and Seth were sitting on the chaise when this big-headed, muscle-bound little pitbull trotted into the room, looked around for about three seconds, and launched himself right between them like he had been living there his whole life. No hesitation. No invitation. He just wedged himself into the middle of them, leaned his blocky head against one of their legs, and looked perfectly content.
We all started laughing.
At that moment, I knew I was in trouble.
We were told Amos had been found on the streets in Atlanta and was believed to have been used as a bait dog. Those are the dogs thrown into the ring to get fights started. He had visible scars on his head, and when they found him, he had a large gash around one ear. The top of that ear had to be cropped, leaving him with what Josh called his “Yoda ear.”
They estimated he was about three years old. Despite everything he’d been through, he was friendly, happy, and just wanted pets and snuggles.
We decided to foster him for the weekend.
He never left.
Of course, there were adjustments. We were used to independent, graceful, fiercely loyal German Shepherds. Now we had this goofy, Velcro-clingy, wants-to-be-up-your-ass-every-minute-of-the-day pitbull in a china shop.
Pitties jump. They try to kiss you while simultaneously bopping you in the face. Amos would tear around the house chasing his ball and knock over anything—or anyone—in his path. He wasn’t being insubordinate.
He was just being a pittie.
He had been fostered with other dogs and seemed fine with ones he knew. But as he got more attached and protective of us, he became reactive toward unfamiliar dogs. We also didn’t socialize him as well as we probably should have.
Luckily, his “brothers” made up for that.
We did have a couple of early incidents.
Amos was very much a hunter. I’m not sure if that’s just a pitbull thing or something he developed surviving on the streets. One day he caught a rabbit in our backyard. I didn’t realize what was happening until I called him over and he turned around with the back half of the rabbit sticking out of his mouth.
I eventually got him to drop it.
Unfortunately, the bunny didn’t make it.
Lesson learned—I needed to be faster.
When Amos was outside in “his yard” and another dog walked by, he didn’t just bark. He made this loud, pterodactyl-like screech until the other dog left his “turf”.
One morning while we were getting ready for school and work, I let him out and heard the pterodactyl noise start up. Then suddenly, way too quickly, it stopped.
That was not a good sign.
I ran out the door and saw Amos outside our fence wrestling with a seventy-year-old man and his little Bernese Mountain Dog. Amos already had his huge mouth around the dog’s neck and was shaking it. I honestly think he thought it was a game.
I jumped over the fence, caught my foot on the top, and landed flat on my back. Yes, it was probably funny.
I grabbed Amos, but he wouldn’t let go. The man was trying to whip him with the leash, which Amos completely ignored. To him, we were just more dogs joining the fight.
I called for Seth. He ran out and managed to pry Amos’s jaws open. I went flying with my dog, and the other guy went flying with his.
I apologized immediately and told him to get his dog checked out and bring me the bill. I also noticed his leg bleeding—like he’d been bitten. We didn’t know which dog did it, though I had my suspicions. I told him to bring that bill too.
To this day we don’t know exactly how Amos escaped our fenced yard. Our best guess is he pushed through a bent section at the bottom of the fence and went after the other dog.
After that I fortified the fence with poles and bricks so he couldn’t push through again. And from that day forward, Amos was never outside alone.
The gentleman came by the next day. His dog had a small wound but would be fine. He himself needed a stitch and a tetanus shot. Thankfully Amos was fully vaccinated.
The total bill was a little over $300.
He also left us a very kind note thanking us for taking in a rescue dog and being responsible about the situation.
We definitely dodged a bullet.
But in hindsight, that moment was also the beginning of us learning exactly who Amos was going to be.
And over the next ten years, we got to know him pretty well.
In the next post, Amos settles into our lives, discovers his love for sunbeams and long walks, and teaches us that life with a pitbull is never boring.
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