Compton, circa 2008.

A big white pup — part American bulldog and part pit — refuses to be a fighter and is tossed in a pallet yard with a broken leg. He is rescued by Downtown Dog Rescue, where he is known as Mikey.

We lost our pit bull Deuce to cancer a few months before our wedding in June 2009, and we were devastated. We thought that it would be a long, long time before we were ready to adopt another dog, but our downtown loft started to feel awfully empty without a tail-wagging occupant. So, we began the search for our new pup. We both knew we wanted another pit bull — any stereotypes, preconceptions, or fears we previously had regarding pits had been entirely dispelled by Deuce’s fierce loyalty, playfulness, and affection. Tammy, however, adamantly wanted another pocket pit (Deuce had only been 40 lbs), one that she would have no problem walking on a leash and that could sit in her lap like Deuce had.

We found a listing for Bradley, a three year-old medium-sized red-nosed pit, at Downtown Dog Rescue, contacted Lori, and set up a meeting, only one week before our wedding. Bradley was friendly enough, and at about 40 to 50 lbs, just the right size. “Bradley’s great with other dogs,” Lori told us, “Let me bring his buddy Mikey out to show you!” Out comes Big Mike, bounding up to us with puppy enthusiasm, and Mikey promptly attempts to lay his 75-pound self upside down onto Kevin’s lap. Done.

I got my first dog in 1980 when I was 14 years old. He was a beautiful stray American Eskimo Spitz/Samoyed mix, and my brother was outside on a beautiful summer day in the suburbs of Chicago, and along came this dog. My brother lured him into the house, unbeknownst to our mother who was at work. When she came home later that evening she heard barking. Then she saw this streak of white bounding towards her. The she asked (or rather shouted) “whose dog is this and where did it come from!” My brother sheepishly replied “I just opened the door and he came right in”. I was officially hooked.

Snow was the first dog I ever really came into contact with in my young life. The vet thought he was around 1-1/2 years old. We had a lot of fun with him for 12 years, on the day my sister got married, August 8, 1992, Snow had a massive stroke. My boyfriend (now my husband Mark) raced over and we took him to the vet and they stabilized him, but by Monday he was in worse shape than when we brought him in, so I called my family (minus my sister who was on her honeymoon in Hawaii) to let them know that he had to be put down, and ask if anyone would like to see him prior to that. I called the vet and gave them the okay, and my first beloved dog was gone.

My husband and I were married on October 9, 1993 and when we bought our first home in January 1994 I announced very tearfully that I had to have another dog, I couldn’t handle being without one any longer. In April, a litter of black Labrador Retrievers was born, and the weekend of July 4, 1994 we brought home Smokie Bear. He was a bundle of trouble!!! One year later, we adopted a sweet Rhodesian Ridgeback we named Daisy Mae, and I felt that our family was complete. I was wrong. Our neighbors’ cat had just had kittens and I fell in love with a sweet black kitty who I named Boris. Boris was raised with the dogs; therefore he was the most awesome cat ever. He would come when I called him, he loved to be around people, and he loved his two huge cousins. We acquired Rascal in 1999 from a friend of my mom who fell on hard times and had to move in with a friend who was highly allergic to cats. She asked if we could keep him for a year, and she thought she would be back on her feet.

We have had Rascal now for 11 years, and he is still […]