Meet an American Bulldog

Roscoe Coltrane

In the first week of April 2007, I let my 110 pound American Pit Bull Terrier, Ms. Renee Jewel Coco, into the backyard of my Austin, Texas home to do her morning business.  I put a load of laundry in, then went to the door to let Ms. Coco back in.  …  but she wasn’t there.

I went out into the backyard, looked on the side of the house, and saw something that made my heart stop:  An open gate.

I quickly ran back inside and grabbed my car keys to go drive the neighborhood looking for her; and when I opened the front door, I saw her lounging in the front lawn in the morning sun.

I called 311 and asked if there was any municipal activity in my neighborhood.  You know, like meter readers or something.  “Yes.  A contractor is in your area cutting trees back from overhead power lines,” the operator replied.  I explained that this is the third time my gate has been left open in six months, and I wanted to speak with a crew supervisor(and yes, after this experience, I began locking the gate).

Ten minutes later, a supervisor was at my door.  I explained that I wasn’t happy about his workers leaving my gate open.  Ms. Coco is not territorial, nor had I ever witnessed aggression towards other people or animals.  However, I explained, if I ended up in a court room explaining why my dog might have injured somebody or their pet, I was going to be followed by someone explaining why they left the gate open.  He was extremely empathetic, explaining that he has a large dog, too; that it would scare him if his dog was roaming the neighborhood.  His was a large American Bulldog.

His boy had just sired a litter of seven pups, now about six weeks old.

I told him I’d been thinking about getting 9-year-old Ms. Coco a dog friend, as my schedule as a paramedic meant some long stretches away from home, with roommates coming and going.  He said he had one pup left from the litter, a boy, and would bring him by if I wanted to see how they might get along.

Somehow, I knew they would get along.  I also knew that if the supervisor brought a puppy to the house, I would end up with two dogs.

I’ll end by saying that the pup ended up having been born on my birthday and went without a name for about a week after that gate was left open.  He was just about potty-trained when we took him in, but proved to pee when excited.  A friend suggested I name him Pico.  The pup was also the goofiest thing I’d ever encountered.  Reminded me of the Sheriff from Dukes of Hazard, “Rosco P. Coltrane”.

He had earned himself a name.  I would spell out the “P,” in his middle name.  Those who have met him in person all know why his middle name is spelled out.  He has left his mark on quite a few socks, sneakers, and dress shoes of those who bend to greet him.

This little Roscoe Pee Coltrane started to wiggle his way into my life, and ‘saturate’ the lives many of those I know.