I had a bad feeling about this one. It wasn’t the rainy weather or the two guys bullshitting in loud tones outside our window. There was something indefinable in the air – as if something were lurking behind the smell of urine coming from the seedy motel next to the Cow Palace, or hiding in between the noise of the crackheads in the parking lot.
Or maybe it had something to do with the fact that we had come from four different states to fight our dogs in an illegal dogfight in a warehouse somewhere south of Market. Maybe it didn’t. I didn’t think about the illegal aspect – at least not in a city like San Francisco, that has been known to break a few rules now and then. To some of us this was just a hobby, to others a livelihood, but we were also here to have a good time.
We didn’t know it when we arrived, but the warehouse was only two blocks from the county courthouse. The place was big, and like most new warehouses was well-lit. We walked through a maze of hallways until we arrived at the pit; the air was full of smoke, laughter and conversation.
The pit was about 14-by-14. A barbecue area with hamburgers and hot dogs cooking on the grill was just to one side of the exit hallway. The whole place was finished in plywood sheets painted white and put up lengthwise to make the arena. Five foot-high golden trophies leaned against the wall, gleaming for the winners. Eighty people were gathered about wisecracking, smoking and talking about dogs.
Our mood softened as we exchanged stories with other breeders and handlers. Despite the belief that we are vicious people, most of us love our dogs. I believe that pit bulls were born to fight, and that all we are doing is giving them an opportunity to do what is in their nature. All the stories you hear about the dogs biting on people are true, but one important detail is left out: it is not the breeders who are doing this, it is the irresponsible kids and adults who buy them and don’t know how to deal with their dogs. I have 20 dogs and four children – and not one of my kids has ever been bitten.
It was amazing to see all the different types of people who were there. You had your basic workingman rubbing up cheek-by-jowl with lawyers in suits, aging guys with ponytails from Oakland and the East Bay, punks with tattoos and educated-looking men in jogging outfits from Palo Alto. All were bound together by a common love of gambling and the questionable respect that is earned by anyone who is good at doing something illegal.
At one point someone yelled out, "Whores upstairs – cut your own deals!" A murmur ran through the crowd – a mix of humor and displeasure. Professional dog people don’t need that kind of shit at a wager. It just gives the rest of us a bad name. I was more interested in looking for clues about the dogs – something to give me an idea which way to cast my bets. I was good at betting on the fights, and wanted to keep both my record and my wallet intact.
The first two dogs were brought out, and washed down for any poison that an unscrupulous owner might put on his dog’s fur. The referee yelled out, "Face your dogs." The dogs were brought into the arena and made to face each other. "Face and release!"
The dogs – two small pit bull bitches – launched at each other and fought savagely for about a half an hour, until one of the bitches quit. Her owner conceded the match, then took her over in the corner and put her to sleep with a lethal injection.
Dogs that quit, will quit again. Killing a dog that quits is part of the ethos of the business. Personally, I think it makes the owner look good at the expense of his dog, but there is a certain perverse logic to the whole thing.
The next fight involved some poor handling and could have been won by the dog that lost, if the owner had been more experienced. He didn’t let his dog go for the kill when it could have, and then his dog lost. He called a "turn" and took his dog to the corner for a "scratch," which is the only legitimate break the dogs are allowed. By then, the other dog had recovered to the point where he took the match. Strategy is everything in these fights.
The third fight was mediocre, but the betting was hot and heavy. The fight was over quickly, and money changed hands. Nobody welches on their bets at these fights. If you do, your ass is in serious trouble.
A fourth fight was scheduled, but the dogs weren’t present. One of the coordinators of the fight went to get the handler and his dogs; apparently they were at a nearby motel. Nobody knew why they were late.
The handlers weren’t happy about going back to the motel and bringing the dogs to the warehouse, but what they didn’t know was that the Humane Society and the SFPD was going to follow them back to the motel. (We later discovered that we too had been followed by the police that morning, but they lost us in heavy traffic, and the two guys who were jiving it up at the hotel were undercover cops.)