Even now, in her final moments, the year old pit bull could still remember what it felt like to be loved. At night, jammed into her cramped pen, the scent of her mother came back to her. The memory of warm nuzzles and sloppy kisses felt like home. She could also recall the people that had cared for her and her litter mates. Her favorite had been a little girl with curly hair that would scratch a spot behind her ear that made her leg shake as if it had a mind of its own. Then the angry man came. What followed was a horrible existence of heavy chains, solitude, beatings, and physical tests that lasted until her entire body ached. Today was her first fight, or ‘roll’ as the angry man called it, and it would surely be her last. She’d been paired against a Rottweiler that towered over her, despite being the same age. He took the advantage from the second they’d been launched at each other, his bone-crushing jaws closing around any part of her he could catch hold of.
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