Who Says Pit Bulls are Dangerous?

This past Saturday was not a good day. I had an overnight with two cats on Friday, and both did their best to keep me awake for the entire night. They chased each other, chased shadows, climbed all over the bed, climbed all over the cabinets, knocked items off said cabinets, meowed for no reason, even licked my eyelids when I dared to shut my eyes. I realize cats are nocturnal but can they be nocturnal somewhere else?

Anyway, I had a walk at 7:30a on Saturday, so with a good two hours of sleep, I headed over to my destination. The apartments are pretty funky in the sense that it's not like each building has it's own singular address and the units within are labeled by numbers or letters. No, that would be smart. Instead, each unit has it's own address entirely, so to find said units you'd have to walk into the courtyard and wander around like an idiot. And some units aren't even accessible from the street, you have to enter from the back. Oh, and did I mention that just because the address you're looking for is 2200, and you spot 2202, does not mean they are in the same complex at all? And why would that be, you ask? Because whomever built these buildings is the most retarded person on earth (or one of many).

So anyway, the instructions to get to the apartment were for me to go down the alley and down the walkway. Except there were four walkways. And did I mention it was 7:30 in the morning and I had only gotten two hours of sleep? Stupidly (or smartly, you decide) wandered around one building I was sure harbored the apartment I needed to be at. After all, I was looking for 2200 and there was 1998, 2202, 2204, 2206. But of course, no fucking 2200. After 20 minutes of searching for this hidden apartment, I call the office to let them know I couldn't find it, was annoyed and to send another sitter, only to be told they are not sending someone else and I should just take a breath and keep on looking. Oh, and that the girl who was there last night had no problem finding the apartment. Good for her. Actually, fuck her. Yeah.

I take a breath, and proceed down every single stupid walkway and just because it's my life, I finally find the apartment down the last walkway. I call the office to let them know I've found the place, and perhaps the instructions should be changed to, "go down alley and down FIRST walkway. It is a PINK building," only to be told that isn't it self explanatory when the instructions state to "go into alley and go down walkway"? I resist the urge to scream bloody murder.

I enter the apartment and am immediately greeted by a gorgeous Pit Bull named Savvy. He's smashing his butt into my legs and licking the air in hopes he'll magically reach my face. I try to laugh but all of my built up frustration boils over and I start to cry. Like a little bitch. Savvy takes one look at me and immediately calms down. He gets as close as he can to me and rests his head against my legs. How is it I've only just met this dog and he can sense how I feel (aside from the tears streaming down my face)? I do the only thing that I know will make me feel better: I bend down and give him a huge hug. I hug him for several moments, and Savvy simply sits there letting me. I release my grip, look him straight in the eye and tell him thanks, and he gives me a giant lick straight on the mouth. I took that as a "you're welcome."

And then he returns to his psychotic wiggle-butt self and we take a very therapeutic walk.

The next time someone mentions how vicious Pit Bulls are, I'm going to tell them this story, and then them to kindly fuck off.