by Shorty Rossi
Nope.
In Mexico, the house has hard tile floors and no carpets, which is much better for a house full of dogs; much cleaner. I had stacked a few cases of wine near the kitchen, and one day, I came home to find a broken wine bottle on the floor. I thought it fell, or the dogs knocked it over. I did, however, think it was suspicious that there was no actual wine on the floor. Then it happened again. Then it happened a third time, and this time, I caught them in the act. Mussolini grabbed a bottle of wine in his mouth and slammed it to the ground while all the other dogs waited around for the goods. I hopped out. “Aha!” Mussolini had red wine dripping down his chest. Bebi had red all over her mouth and Geisha wouldn’t look me in the eye.
I wasn’t mad. I love them. It’s like something kids do. Sneak a sip of your drink. Do something devious. Just to see if they can get away with it. I find it hilarious. (But not when they tear through drywall or Valentino destroys the leather couch.) One day he chewed through plaster, ripped the couch open, destroyed the remote control, and got in the garbage can. That was not so hilarious.
But I have to admit that out of all my dogs, I have two favorites. Geisha is my girl. She’s been with me from the beginning, and she’s been the most important to me. She’s the one that got me interested in advocacy and breed awareness. She’s the one who inspired me to fight to save the dogs. She’s the reason I’m doing what I do now. But then, I also wanna give it to Hercules, ’cause he’s become the poster child of every pit bull in this world. He’s showing the world who these dogs really are and who they can be when they are well trained and loved. Everywhere we go, Hercules gets more attention than me. He’s become a symbol of this struggle. He’s got those big eyes and a gentle, playful demeanor. He can just sit there and pretend like he’s better than every human being. Whether he knows it or not, he’s actually done more for this breed than a lot of humans in this world have done.
So, no, I wasn’t going to endanger Hercules’s life to prove a point in Denver, but it sucked being without him. My back was really acting up. I had to use a cane, and I felt like an idiot. When you don’t use a cane on a regular basis, you don’t know how to maneuver. I fell on my ass a couple of times.
I just put the vest on under my clothes, and it was cold enough out that I wore my trench coat so no one could tell I had it on. I was trying to concentrate on the march and the reason I was there, but at the same time, in the back of my mind, I was thinking, “Are these guys serious?” We got through the march peacefully, then I was allowed to speak to the council members.
These are the same council people who voted to ban pit bulls twenty years ago. They are still there, sitting like rigid skeletons in their chairs. They have never been around pit bulls and they’ve never personally witnessed pit bull aggression or attacks. They have their opinions based on nothing, and they refuse to listen to anybody else’s point of view. They’re power hungry, and they like their feelings of self-righteousness. I told them: “You have a one-in-twenty-five-million chance of being bitten by a dog, and of those bites that do happen, only six to eight percent are pit bulls. You have a one-in-twelve chance of being a victim of crime. So, who are you chasing? The wrong animal!”
I kept going. “I have twenty-plus years of experience dealing with this breed. I’ve witnessed every bad thing that can happen and every good thing that can happen. The only thing I’ve never seen is a human being attacked by a pit bull. I have never seen a pit turn on a human, and I have never been bitten by a pit myself.”
I was on my soapbox and loving it. “And just like kids who’ve had a shitty life and end up in trouble can be reformed, and go on to be loving, productive people in society, so can dogs who’ve been trained to fight. They can be rehabilitated. The majority of Michael Vick’s dogs that were used for fighting or used for bait were placed in homes with other dogs or with other kids. I’ve met quite a few of the people who own them. It’s not the dogs that should be put down. It’s the humans.”
I have no idea if they actually heard a single word I said. Some people hear only what they want to hear, words that support their own opinions. Everything else just sounds like … blah, blah, blah.
It is one thing to march and make speeches. It’s another thing to make it personal. We had an owner named Louise who had to give up her pit. We had to sneak the dog out of the city and she was bawling her eyes out. The dog was howling and crying. I knew the emotionality of it all would be good for the episode, but it was too much for me to take. It was painful to watch.
It’s one thing for people to hear about the bans. It’s another thing for them to see the bans in action. If they can visualize it, they are more likely to act. With Louise crying and the dog howling, it touched people’s hearts. That was the moment that caused people to pick up their phones and write letters. The response to the Denver episode was swift. We were swamped with e-mails. People were pissed. I posted the address of the councilmen so people could e-mail them directly, and send letters supporting our protest. I’ll print it here again now. Let the city of Denver know how you feel. Let them hear it from the rest of the country. From the world.
Councilman Charlie Brown, Cached City Council,
District 6
City and County Building
1437 Bannock St., Rm. 451
Denver, CO 80202
Phone: 720-865-9534
Fax: 720-865-9540
E-mail: [email protected]
www.denvergov.org/charliebrown
Tell Charlie Brown that the demonization of pit bulls is unfair; that punishing responsible owners for the actions of a few is no basis for creating a law. Tell him that it’s a proven fact that BSL does not reduce the number of dog bites or the incidence of fatal attacks. Tell him that in the UK, dog bites actually increased fifty percent after the Dangerous Dog Act passed in 1997. Tell him that in Prince George’s County, Maryland, a task force studied the effects of the county’s BSL policy, and found that the law cost taxpayers $250,000 a year, with no positive effect on public safety. Tell him that the Centers for Disease Control, the American Veterinary Medical Association, and the National Animal Control Association all oppose breed-specific legislation.
Then tell him he can kiss Shorty’s little white ass.
10
The Boss
ieutenant Dave from Long Beach Animal Control called to tell me that he’d just rescued a pit bull from the back of an empty house. A neighbor reported the dog as abandoned. After twelve years of being the beloved family pet, the family had moved and left their dog behind. When he showed me the picture, she looked like Hercules and Geisha. She had the same coloring and eyes. She was old and covered in bedsores. I couldn’t stand it. I said, “You know what? I’m taking her. I don’t know what the fuck I’m gonna do with her, but I’m taking her.” There was just no way I could let that pretty girl, who might die tomorrow of old age, die alone. She belonged with a family. I put a call in to one of my rescue groups, and we found a retirement home for old dogs. I picked her up and took her to her new home, where she could live out the rest of her days in peace, and surrounded by new friends.
It’s moments like that that confuse the hell out of me. I don’t understand humans. How could a family do that? The dog was there for them for twelve years, and they just left her there to die. If they weren’t allowed to bring the dog to their new home, they could hide the dog in the car, sneak the dog in, find somebody else to keep her, do something. Even dropping the dog off at a rescue organization or a no-kill facility is not a solution. Money doesn’t grow on trees, and these shelters are at maximum capacity all the time. People try to drop off their dogs, but aren’t willing to make a donation to the shelter, and then get mad when they’re told that there’s no more room at the inn.
I could open up a kennel for two thousand pit bulls, and within two weeks, I’d be full, with no potential homes for the dogs, and the overhead of having to feed, water, clean, and care for them. If I kept my doors open, I’d have ten tho
usand dogs in a few months. I’d have to win an eighty-million-dollar jackpot to open up and run a facility. It’s the only way we could be self-sufficient, and not have to rely on the random donations of caring people.
It’s frustrating to wake each day and find yet one more example of human cruelty, but rescuing dogs will always be a part of who I am, just like performing and entertainment will always be my career. The business of “the business” may drive me crazy, but I make my living as an entertainer, and being a talent manager has financially supported my cause of pit bull advocacy. The two are intertwined and inseparable in me. I can’t turn either of those aspects of my personality off, and why would I want to? Dogs and Hollywood have been good to me. They gave me a purpose. They gave me a second chance. They saved my life.
It’s not an act. People think I carry a bat, climb fences, smash windows, or break into cars to save the dogs on Pit Boss ’cause it’s dramatic. Or they think I’m being told by the producers to act that way. To me, it doesn’t matter if the cameras are rolling or not, if there’s a pit bull in trouble, I’m gonna smash shit, I’m gonna climb shit, I’m gonna break shit to get to her. That bat is always in my car, or by my front door. I could probably sell it on eBay for a small fortune, but I don’t need a producer to tell me to use it. The only thing the cameras do is keep me from being arrested. They come in handy when somebody calls the cops.
Do I have to pick my battles when I approach with my bat? Yeah, now that I’m a public figure, I do. Nike has just signed an endorsement deal with Michael Vick. People want me to protest this. A year or so ago, Burger King came out with a commercial stereotyping pit bulls and Rottweilers. I went on the TV news in San Diego to protest it. I had Hercules pee on the Burger King sign. Our local segment was picked up by the national news. The next day, I was in fucking trouble. Even though I have the right to take a stance, I can’t protest a company that’s paying my network. They don’t have ads on Animal Planet, but they were supporting twelve other channels owned by Discovery. It got from the top of Burger King to the top of Discovery like … bang. We went into crisis-management mode. They had a huge meeting about it. I got a lecture.
It comes down to a choice of staying on the air or fighting with Burger King. I have to choose my battles. It’s the same thing that’s happening with Nike right now. If we are cancelled, then we don’t have a way to reach a larger audience. I’m between a rock and a hard place. Do you think you can destroy a multinational company with one piss on a sign? I know I can’t. I have to think of the bigger picture. How can I serve the dogs? Nike is a national sponsor. I’m under the gun. I understand now what it is like to have to hide out from fans or to bow to corporate sponsors. Just ’cause I am not commenting on Nike. No matter what I say, half of the people will hate me, and half of the people will love me. That’s who I’ve always been, and that’s who I’ll always be.
And yeah, I scream at my employees, and demand perfection out of them. Anyone who works for me, I tell them, “You can wear jeans, but you better have on nice shoes and a dress shirt. You are a representative of me.” These are my rules. They’re basically the same rules I typed up as a kid, when I was daydreaming about my British butler and my executive suite. I expect nothing less out of them than what I expect out of myself. I hold them to the same standards. I want them to work hard or go home. If I was soft-spoken and didn’t yell and had unlimited patience and didn’t push the people around me, I would not have a company. I would’ve gone bankrupt, and I sure as hell wouldn’t be on TV.
I’m the boss. I’m living proof that when you have a dream, you can do it. No matter what it is. Do it! It was my dream to be a businessman in the corporate world. Well, maybe I’m not in the corporate world, but here I am. I accomplished the business side of the damn thing. I’ve used Facebook and social networks to build my business. Not too many people get their own reality show, and turn around and market it to make real change; to have a lasting impact on the world. I wasn’t built to be a manager at Best Buy or Walmart. I wasn’t built to be political. I understand that I’ve been built to be the face of this movement. That everything I’ve lived through in my life has prepared me and propelled me into this job, the job of promoting the breed.
Looking back, I understand that who I am today was created by what I went through. If I hadn’t had a father who was a fucking ass, if I hadn’t run away to live in the projects, if I didn’t go to prison, I wouldn’t be who I am today. I was a work in progress. My greatest triumph in life has been being me. First of all, I’m not dead. From the day that I was born, I’ve proven everyone wrong. So why not just keep proving them wrong over and over and over again?
No matter how bad your life is, it can get better. There were guys in prison who couldn’t handle being there. They killed themselves. Hung themselves from the tiers. They couldn’t see that there was an ending, that things could be better. I never considered jail to be my defeat. My life wasn’t over. I was young and I knew I’d be out at a young age. On those days, in the hole, when it seemed like hours stretched into eternity, I’d think about Nelson Mandela. He didn’t know he was going home. He didn’t know he was gonna rule the country. Just ’cause someone is a gangbanger doesn’t mean he can’t come out on top. I always knew there was something better waiting for me outside those prison bars. I didn’t know it was pit bulls. I didn’t know it was Hollywood. But I’m grateful for both.
There will come a day when Pit Boss won’t be on the air, but I’m not going away. I’ll still be doing what I do. The show just gives me a platform to reach more people, and let them know what’s going on with pit bulls and Little People. But once the show is over, I will still be out in the world, doing what I do. Pit Boss has lit a fire underneath me. It’s brought me face-to-face with the enormity of the true and profound effect that pit bulls have on people. They are the most hated breed of dog in the world. I knew it was bad. I just never realized it was this bad.
That’s why my goal is to keep promoting the breed on a much bigger scale. I used the lessons that Dan Kolsrud taught me on the set of Daddy Day Care to produce Hercules Saves Christmas, a family movie for Christmastime, starring Hercules as Santa’s “Naughty and Nice List Maker.” Hercules was following in the paw prints of Petey from the Little Rascals, and I wanted to reestablish that pit bulls could star in family-friendly fare, without being the murderous, barking, foaming-at-the-mouth, dangerous dog next door. I didn’t expect one made-for-TV movie to change minds overnight, but I knew it was a good start. As soon as we wrapped principal photography, I started plotting out the sequel.
I also went back down to Nicaragua and asked A.J. if we could come out with a full line of cigars. We already had the Diesel Shorty, but I wanted to add two more cigars, the Shorty Punisher and the San Bajito (Saint Shorty) to the mix. I also teamed with Wilson Creek Winery to create the Shorty Rossi Merlot. All the proceeds from the sales would literally go to the dogs, to ensure that our rescue operation could keep running, whether or not we had a weekly show on the air.
That’s the most important thing. To give something back, no matter what it is. You have to do something else to help out human or animal kind. Whether you are adopting kids, volunteering at the Red Cross, or the Salvation Army, or your church, you have to give back something to this world. To actually be considered a success, you gotta give a shit.
It was prison that got me thinking that way. First, with the anger management classes and victim awareness classes, but also having gone through the DUI courses really drilled that thinking into my brain. I could see that my life affected other people’s lives. My choices affected other’s people’s happiness.
That bystander I accidently shot all those years ago, I wonder if he knows who I am today. I’m not five-foot-eight with brown hair, so I would assume he would recognize me at some point, though I doubt very seriously he’s paid attention to where I landed. Would I ever look him up? No. Why not? Maybe he wants to shoot me back, I don’t know. I wouldn’t blame h
im if he did. He may still hold rage against me. Some people are capable of hate for their entire lives. But I hope he would see that I’ve truly changed as a person, and that I hope I can improve the world, not just for Little People or for pit bulls, but maybe inspire people to believe in their own redemption.
We are all capable of great things, but sometimes we forget that about ourselves. We get wrapped up in our lives when outside the doors of the house, so much shit is going on. It doesn’t have to be pit bulls. It can be a bird sanctuary. It can be volunteering at the fucking zoo. It can be taking care of an elderly neighbor, or helping some kid who’s in trouble. It shouldn’t take an 8.0 earthquake or a tsunami to help the next man out. We should be doing it all the time.
We should be helping each other rise.
Epilogue
So, you can’t say I didn’t warn you.
Page One, I warned you.
I’ve got a mouth and I use it.
It makes me friends.
It creates enemies.
Whether you are friend or foe, that’s up to you.
This is just the truth of who I am.
The man I’ve been, the man I’ve become, and the man I still hope to be.
Who do I hope to be?
I hope to be like Valentino. Able to chew through obstacles, rip through the walls that hold me back, nose my way into every dark corner to root out the wrong and make it right.
I hope to be like Domenico. Running wild and free through the world, showing those old corrections officers what a real escape artist looks like, unbound by the chains of my past.
I hope to be like Mussolini. Howling until I’m hoarse, and howling some more, so I make sure everyone knows exactly what I think … and, you know, smashing a few wine bottles now and then, to cover my mug in merlot.