Pit bulls are incredibly strong dogs, as anyone who's ever owned one can attest. Coco's ability to leap into the air is a constant source of amazement to me; if a tantalizing object is dangled before her, she can jump from a standing position to a height of over six feet. When I play fetch with her, she can catch the stick or frisbee before it hits the ground -- as far as I can throw it. Nothing particularly heroic about any of it, although I don't doubt that under the right circumstances, Coco would display what we'd anthropomorphically call heroism. That's because the strength of these dogs is matched only by their utter devotion and determination.

If you are a good person and have raised a good dog, knowing that you have a dog that would not hesitate to lay down its life for you is very touching. Humbling, even.

The problem, of course, is that bad people raise bad dogs, and the dogs don't realize they're bad, as they're just doing what dogs do based on centuries of tailoring their survival to living with man. If you're a dog, your identity is generally tied to that of your owner. Which is why it so horrifies me to see an otherwise good dog in the wrong hands. It's more irritating than reading about "gun violence," because in the case of a bad guy misusing a gun, the gun is not a victim, whereas a misused animal is. Frankly, if we consider the number of pit bulls owned by lowlife scum, what amazes me is that there are as few incidents as there are.

Quite ironically, the fact that there are so few attacks on people is an unintentional but logical byproduct of the dogs' historic background of being pitted against bulls, bears, and other dogs for sport. While the medieval brutes who bred these canine gladiators were anything but kind, they could not tolerate any dog with the slightest inclination to attack humans, for otherwise how could they have pitted them? Under the rules which evolved in dogfighting, the dogs had to be handled routinely, picked up, separated, then faced off to determine whether a dog was a coward, or whether it would walk across the "scratch" line to take hold of the other animal. Dogs that turned away, or tried to jump the pit were considered defective, as were dogs which displayed any tendency to turn and bite humans -- even in the heat of combat. The result over the centuries was a dog that was downright amiable, even clownish -- in many cases almost ridiculously so.

Now, this is not just my opinion -- many, many students of the breed have noticed this over and over again. (A fascinating New Yorker piece explores the phenomenon in detail.) It seems like a paradox to people, but it isn't. I've always suspected that the "natural born entertainers" were more likely to survive the sadism and cruelty which inhered to these blood sports -- perhaps out of pity, perhaps simply because people enjoy being entertained. Like it or not, the cruel spectacles were also circus performances, and people like circuses, and shows. (Shades of WWF, perhaps?)

There's a famous account of a huge pit bull with rippling muscles which was being judged in a dog show, and which had patiently stood at attention and put up with the usual poking, probing and gawking. This he bore with unflappable patience and dignity until suddenly a small and yappy Chihuahua (probably suffering from an inferiority complex) broke loose from somewhere and attacked the pit bull in a total frenzy. People were afraid the little dog would be killed with one bite, but the pit bull's owner/handler ordered him to be still. The Chihuahua was really aggressive, though, and although the bites weren't having any physical effect, the onslaught of this tyrannically impotent rage was nonetheless ruffling the pit bull's sense of pride, and he kept looking reproachfully at his master, as if pleading with him to do something. This was many years ago, when people still thought this sort of thing was great entertainment, and as neither dog was being hurt, the crowd was laughing uproariously (at both dogs' expense).

Finally the pit bull could take no more, and he devised a plan to put an end to the suffering. Firmly but gently, he took hold of the Chihuahua by the scruff of the neck, lifted him off the ground and quite deliberately, walked over to the nearest trash can, got up on his rear legs, and carefully placed the Chihuahua in the trash!

Something like that requires what we humans would call premeditation and deliberation.

While putting a Chihuahua in a trashcan might not be what most of us would call heroism, I think this pit bull confrontation with a bear would be:

An Ontario man who killed a 200-pound black bear with a hunting knife says his faithful dog saved his life -- twice.

Tom Tilley, 55, of Waterloo, Ont., had been portaging last Thursday in northern Ontario near Wawa with his five-year old American Staffordshire, Sam.

He said they were walking toward the beginning of the portage to retrieve the canoe when he heard Sam start to growl.

"And I turned behind me and 20 feet behind me there was this black bear coming up the trail, sneaking up behind me," he said.

"If Sam hadn't growled, I may not have known until it was too late."

Tilley's first instinct was to try and make lots of noise and make himself appear bigger. He also started to slowly walk backwards, but nothing seemed to be scaring off the bear.

Suddenly, the bear took off down the portage path, ran through the brush and came onto the portage trail behind Tilley -- cutting off his escape route.

"At that point I kind of realized I might be in a bit of trouble."

"The bear seemed to me to be acting aggressive. I'm not a big guy and I could very well easily be prey."

At that point, his dog Sam placed himself perpendicular to the bear, across the path. The bear dug its teeth into the dog's back, and Tilley said he became enraged.

"I love my dog very much, and my first thought was, 'You're not going to kill my dog'."

"The momentary distraction that Sam provided to take the bear's attention away from me gave me the opportunity to run behind the bear, straddle its back and begin to stab it.

"I kept stabbing until it was dead.

There's more here about the dog's recovery:

WATERLOO - Since the swell of national attention highlighted the heroism of Tom Tilley and his dog Sam, offers have flooded in to pay for the dog's medical treatment.

Some callers want to nominate Sam for a canine hero award.

[...]

Sam was wounded when the bear clamped down on his back, tearing away skin and leaving several puncture wounds.

Since the incident last Thursday, Tilley and Sam have been inundated with media requests from across the country, as well as with calls and e-mails from well-wishers.

"Personally, I'll be glad when it dies down," the soft-spoken Tilley said Monday.

Sam is recovering well.

"We went to the vet today. We were hoping to get some of the tubes out from the surgery, but they're staying in for a little while longer."

These remarkable dogs still provide mass entertainment, even though we call it "news."