[Crossfire Bulldogs]

Bill Johnson - Rocky Mountain news


December 24, 2005
A little Christmas story.

It is, to my mind, as outrageously sad as it is joyous.

It is about a dog. His name is Sherman, and he turned 1 on Dec. 16. He spent his birthday on death row in the Denver dog pound. Sherman, of course, is a pit bull.

Year's end, I think, is a good time to reflect on what has transpired the previous 350-odd days. And we ought to revisit, if only for a second, the ban on pit bulls in Denver.

Everyone is moved with each story of a pit bull mauling. There is hue and cry, and yet another city outlaws the terrier. Evil things! And we move on.

There is always another side, another effect, to the laws and other measures we take in the name of making ourselves safer. So the story of Sherman and his owners, Sheryl and Dana White, is one that ought to be told.

They haven't been back to their southeast Denver condominium since Dec. 16, the day an anonymous neighbor picked up the phone and told the authorities about Sherman.

The animal control officer walked into their festively decorated home - he did, at least, knock first -and asked to see the dog.

Sherman, whose mother was a pit bull and father was a Rottweiler, playfully licked at the officer's shoes as he inspected him.

"Yep, he's a full-blown pit bull," the officer said before pulling out a pen and his citation book and ordering Sheryl, 53, and Dana White, 42, to appear in court on Jan. 23.

Sherman was still licking the man's shoes when he led it away.

Every day for the past week and some, the Whites visited Sherman at the pound, the most they were ever allowed to do being stroking their dog through the bars.

Sheryl White, despondent over the loss of her dog, began calling and e-mailing any and every rescue group she could think of. A woman named Sonya put her in touch with a woman named Marcy, who directed her to Rita. They would help, they told her.

It had only been a year ago, at Christmastime, when they first laid eyes on the dog. Their daughter, Moriah, 24, an Air Force pilot at Tinker Air Force Base in Oklahoma City, was adopting one of a fellow airman's litter of puppies.

Did she and dad want one, too? Moriah asked.

"We met her halfway in Hays, Kansas," Sheryl White recalled. "We saw Sherman and fell in love."

Denver had not yet re-enacted its pit bull ban, which at the time was still caught up in the courts.

"We took our chances," Sheryl White said. "And by my reasoning, since we got Sherman during that hiatus time, I thought we would be OK. Maybe I just got caught up in my naivete."

And besides, Sherman has always been mostly an inside dog. He is well-mannered and had excelled at obedience school.

"Even when the officer came to the house, Sherman was laying on his back, squirming, his legs splayed, you know, looking like he was skydiving," Sheryl White said. "I just didn't think they would do anything," Sheryl White said. "I thought wrong."

She would not cry in front of the officer,

"I'm a pretty tough, ol' cookie," she said. "When he left, though, I did. A lot."

While she waited for Sonya and the others to help, she arranged with her boss to live on the grounds where she works. It is in Littleton.

"We have no place else to go," Sheryl White said. "We'll just make this a rental property," Sheryl White said of her and Dana's Denver condo. "We're doing it for Sherman. He's part of our family."

She knew almost immediately that they could not stay. Everywhere in the condo is a memory of Sherman: his toys, the teeth marks in places where he would chew, the spot on the sofa where he always sat.

"There was no way I could continue to live here with that. People always ask me why I just wouldn't get rid of the dog. Well, would they just give up their child?"

Friday morning arrived. Sonya had found for them a woman, not a resident of Denver, who would rescue Sherman. At noon, she would fill out the paperwork for his release, and deliver him to their new home in Littleton.

"Sonya and the others," Sheryl White said softly, "they were like our guardian angels. They wanted to get Sherman out before Christmas. And they were there every step of the way. They didn't just rescue him, they rescued us."

She and Dana still face the possibility of a maximum $1,000 fine and a year in jail when they appear in court next month.

Sheryl White says she doesn't care.

"I'm going to fight now against this ban, which is unjust and prejudicial against dogs that have never done anything.

"I don't think they know who they've messed with. I've got the boxing gloves on. And I hate to say this, but I'm going to be (the city's) worst nightmare."

She will make the plight of pit bull owners like herself more widely known, she said. She will help them, as she has been helped, and educate others.

It is, as she pointed out, a great Christmas story.