Judge the Deed, Not the Breed

Old Beginnings

I hear dogs barking, snarling, growling. I look up to see my mother being pinned to the ground with a big silvery stick, and the rest of my litter-mates being taken away, by these creatures, these monsters, while they are completely unaware of what's happening. Once I take the scene in, I am violently grabbed by one of these monsters, I wiggle and try to bite, but once I get a hold. They shake me off and say "This one will be good" I'm put in a big metal box with my litter-mates, but where's mother? I squeak and whine, wanting her comfort, her warmth. What are these monsters doing to us? The big metal box takes a sudden lurch forward, and warms up, I close my eyes. My dreams carry me through the night...
When I wake up, the big metal box lurches forward and one of the monsters quickly opens our big box, takes us out and into a big concrete building, and that leads me to now... I am a 21 month old Husky pit bull mix, born and raised in the wild. I was three weeks old when I was brought here, to U9-47.
U9-47 is an elite dog fighting society, run in the shadows of New York City in an abandoned five-story warehouse. Each level has its own purpose, and each contributes to this facility's success. The first level being the kennel room, where all the dogs sleep, eat, drink, and get medical attention. It is a well-kept level and is regularly sweeped and mopped with bleach. The second level is the training area, where most dogs spend their time. It includes a yard for rest, treadmills, and pulling machines. The next level is the holding kennel, it's not very well-kept for our opponents.... The fourth level is the fighting arena, a fighting dogs favorite place. It includes a blood-splattered arena, and rows among rows of bleachers. The last area is the breeding, buying, and selling "can" if you're brought there, it's probably the last place you see of this kennel.
According to master, I am the "second ranked dog" in the world, all I know is that I have to kill, or I get beaten.

I don't like to kill.

My cage is wired and rusty, but clean. I look around the aisle housing only a few of my owners "Champions" the rest are losers or worse, they are SBK. Meaning sold, bred, or killed. Here you are bred a killer, born a killer, trained like a killer, but if you don't fight like one. You're dead to master. I pace anxiously at the side of my cage, erning to go out to the yard, but I am brought out to fight or train most of the time. But this feels different, he takes me out to the yard and sprays me down with water and brings Remus out. Of course, just my luck, my enemy.
I snarl, showing my yellow teeth to this newcomer. She backs up, frightened at my muscly appearance. I strut over to her slim, weak body, full of brown fluffy fur. I nip at her, warning her, and walk away. Master slaps me nose and takes me to the treadmill and I sprint at full speed, knowing if I don't I'll be beaten, I Soave out, as always attempting to only thinking about my running... Bunch and leap, bunch and leap. It's very hard though, the thought of my next fight haunts me. The dog is a big brindle pitbull named Bulldozer, known for his brutal attacks. I shake off all the thoughts of this fight, still the slightest fears tugs at me. Bunch and leap, bunch and leap.
Foot steps echo on the concrete floor, it's master. I pray it's not in preparation for the fight, and of course, to my luck, it is. Master slips his "leash" around my neck and I am lead out of the room to the yard, where I am sprayed down with water, fed food and water and prepared for the big fight. I am lead down the grimy hallways into the ring or "pit" as master calls it. I wait in the pit, for my opponent and for the crowd to get worked up and place their bids I growl and snarl, working them up, begging hopelessly for bids.

I am calm but nervous, confident, but not.

The large, well-built brindle pitbull walks in, he stares into my blue and green eyes and I stare back. Noticing the unforgivingness of them but only for a second until I distract myself by working up the crowd again. Be ready, be a killer. I tell myself, you are ready. My leash clicks off... When my leash clicks off, I don't move. Scanning the pitbull's body for any kinds of weakness. I see a slight limp in his right leg, most likely from a previous match, unfortunately for him it's a weakness that I can use to my advantage. I lunge at the leg, grabbing it in my powerful jaws and clamping down till I hear a satisfying crack, while I'm breaking the pitbulls delicate paw, he is clawing and nipping at my stomach. Luckily for me, his face and paws can barely reach it. Once I'm done with his now fragile paw, I leap up and take a few lunges backwards. When he charges at me, he grabs a nice hold on my stomach area, but it was a mistake, I have access to his neck. I bite it and shake violently, I feel his teeth sink through my skin and shake harder, until my teeth also penetrate his skin. My stomach is killing me, I glance over at Master and he gives me all the energy I need to finish the fight. Be a killer, I tell myself. I jump to his unbroken back leg and clamp down on it pulling and shaking violently, hoping to dislocated or break his leg before he can get back to ripping my stomach area open. I break the delicate paw in my jaws and lunges backwards, seeing a chance to get away from my stomach being ripped open, Bulldozer does not get up. The announcer shrugs and speaks his hateful voice again, "Bulldozer was defeated, and Karma has won", I step back from the dying dog. Looking at the damage I've done, and not being happy or joyful but rather being sad and sorry. But as a fighting dog, you should never be sorry if you win a fight.
I look at my owner, and I get a hateful look back and a swift kick to the stomach.