I love dogs.
When I was young, I had two dogs. Patches, a black lab mix and Muffin, a total mutt in every sense of the word. They lived like king and queen in our house, surrounded by love and attention, fed like army troops at precisely three intervals per day. They escaped our capture only long enough to chase squirrels and be returned by some other, equally dog-loving neighbor.
They both died of old age, but they appear in many family pictures, stories and memories.
I (my wife) got a dog of my own (hers) shortly after first getting married. She was a mean but sweet looking little Shar Pei, and we neamed her Emma. She was gentle and sweet to us...but not so much to every other oxygen breather. She lived a good ten years and enjoyed all the comforts a broke pair of newlyweds could offer.
I now have two rescued dogs...Trotter and Bessie. Both crazy, both requiring more excersise and attention than an entire herd of cattle could possibly provide, but ostensibly loved and cared for day in and out.
I love dogs. And that is why it seems weird for me to author this blog.
Here it goes...
Dear Michael Vick:
You were cruel, inhuman and despicable. You killed dogs for a profit. And as Green Day puts it so artfully in their new album, "You are forgiven".
Get the hell out there and prove me right.
Please, sign a medium sized contract to play the slash positon, back up a pocket passer, run the wildcat and get paid for a while. Learn how to be a man from the dirt floor up. Endure the humiliation and learn of humility. Trade in your crew for your family.
Get a couple of interviews under your belt. Tell people your story. Write a book. Get a new contract with someone willing to pay you for your heartfelt honesty. Capitalize, man! You're going to need money for the next part...
Save all that money for your kids and for their kids. Teach them something everyday. Become a spokesperson for the ASPCA, PETA, or the Humane Society. You may have to ask them first, and you may have to ask more than once. You likely will need to be sincere. Learn sincerity from your new friend, humility. They rarely are not in the same room.
Condemn your past affection for gambling on the outcome of a dog fight. Adopt, feed and raise ten dogs with the watchful eye of the media scrutinizing everything, from how hard you pet them to whether their brand of dog food is substandard. Endure the minutae of scrutiny that accompanies any famous footprints.
Appear on The Dog Whisperer and learn from goofy genius Cesar Milan as he shows you the power of the pack and the trust a dog can have for you if you show trust in him. Mostly, learn how to trust in yourself. Ultimately, Mike, a low self esteem can drive a man to kick a dog, both figuratively and literally. Believe what you're going through is worth it.
Visit the shelters in the city that pays you to come play there. Do all this with happiness in your heart! Miss practice because you got too wrapped up in it. Mean it when you tell the local beat writers and pundits that you have changed...
Convince other dog fighting rings to shut down. Crusade against it like the battlers of Whale Wars! Start a non-profit that saves old fighting dogs, and believe it when you tell ESPN that you really have changed. Endure the lonely nights cruising message boards, staring at the hurtful and unrelenting world that judges you and calls bullshit. When they spit at you and call you a fake and a phony and a thug...Go hug your dog for comfort. Feel it in his beating heart, the love and adoration that accompanies true unrequited love and trust. Know then, that your heart is pure, and that any message board is unworthy of your fear and depression. You have to earn both the hatred and the love.
Retire from football, and continue your pursuit at making your second chance the thing that defines you...your present will be your legacy despite your past.
You have a short leash Mike...just enough with which to hang yourself or to build an unsteady bridge.
It's your turn to learn a new trick.
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