I've ask myself many times. Why do people fight dogs? Why did I fight dogs? Was
it something in a person's back ground genetically? Was it something in their upbringing or family life that caused
this cruel hobby? I read a article about serial killers. There was a man that was in Germany who became a serial killer.
He was in an area that was in a war. A bomb was dropped and in a heavily populated area. The explosion blew many people to
bits. Body parts were flying all over the place. A human head rolled across the ground and hit this man in the foot. They
credit this ordeal in changing him into a serial killer. Yet there was another man that was an artist. He made paintings
about all kinds of scenery and other things. He was walking along one day and a bad car collision happened right in front
of him. It was a terrible wreck. Human body parts were flying all over the place and some landed at his feet. He didn't
become a serial killer but became a famous artist that makes paintings of distorted bloody body parts and bloody
hurt humans. His paintings are sought after by many admirers. He is worth millions. Yet a similar ordeal didn't make him a
serial killer. It made him famous and rich. Some people think he is weird for painting this stuff. I question the peoples
mental state that buy his paintings.
Dog-fighters have different levels of cruelty that they do. For an example.
I have had some champion fighting dogs. A champion fighting dogs is called a champion once he has won three fights.
Some two time winners and some one time winners. I didn't make any dog fight over three fights. Although some people make
them fight 6 to 10 fights. Sometimes they get hurt bad in one fight. When this happened I didn't make them fight again. Some
don't get hurt much in one fight and I fought them two fights. In the second fight if they were hurt bad. I didn't make
them fight a third fight. My Alvin dog fought two fights. In his second fight he lost and eye and carried one rear leg most
of the time. That rear leg would hit the ground about every third step. I told him you don't have to fight again two is enough.
I made a deal with the three time winning dogs that if you win three you do not have to fight again.
It bothered me to fight a dog I raised. I bought almost every dog I fought. It wasn't quiet as hard
on me to buy one and fight it. It was to heart-wrenching to fight one I had raised from a baby. I did many cruel thing
with the dogs. If they didn't fight good or they quit fighting. I killed them. When I was a young man. I killed several dogs
an threw them in the pond beside my home. I let the fish eat them. My wife did not favor any of my dogfighting or
cruelties. She had dreams about dogs with her floating in a glass bottom boat in that pond. The dead dogs were
scratching, crying at the bottom of the boat wanting in as she watch them. I'm glad she didn't like the sport because
that made it easier to quit. It is like a married couple smoking. It is harder for them to quit the habit.
There is a group of intercity people that have started fighting dogs by putting
them in a trunk of a car and then come back and see which dog is dead or alive and then collect their bet. This sounds
extra cruel to me. Those guys raised in that intercity area have been raised around constant cruelties. They have seen family
and friends gun down and many more cruelties they have had to face. So A dogfight in a trunk is minor league to them.
In the dogfight world I was in. The easy way to explain it. The dogs are separated
ever so often and held in opposite corners for one minute to rest n a square pit. Then they let go of one dog and
he has 20 seconds to go across and grab the other dog. Then they fight a while longer and are separated and taken to
opposite corners in the square pit. Then the dogs have go to opposite corners again and after resting
one minute the dog that didn't have to go across and grab the other dog goes this time and has 20 seconds to get there. The
first one that is hurt bad enough or is to tired, or has had enough and wants to quit and doesn't want to go across
in the 20 seconds is the loser. These rules believe it or not keep dogs from seldom getting hurt bad enough to die or
be maimed permanently.
I couldn't be a boxing fan that lets their son fight in the ring professionally.
I do love boxing. I couldn't stand to see a child of mine hurt. I feel a parent is suppose to take steps to prevent their
children from getting hurt. I couldn't put them in a place to get them hurt.
I was raised on a farm with cattle and horses and I even had some pigs. We castrated the pigs and cattle
by tying them down and cutting out their testicles with no sedative. I didn't consider that cruel. We rounded up everything
yearly and castrated everything that needed to be castrated. Five states have passed laws to keep animal rights groups from
sneaking in and phtographing things they believe to be cruel. That tickles me to death.
A lot of the dog-fighters
had no fathers some had no mothers. There were cruelties in many of their lives. Yet some of them had good normal family situations. They
did adopt a cruel hobby.
Unlike the animal rights groups people. I do believe the cruelties we do to each other are much more important
than any animal cruelties. If we could stop all the cruelties that people do to each other. It would cut way back on dog-fighting.
Make divorce a prison sentence. Make bad fathering and bad mothering a prison sentence. Make slapping a woman
a prison sentence. Make anything we do cruel to another human a prison sentence. Or maybe a death sentence for all the human
cruelties to each other.
There was a fellow named Wayne from Australia that came to my home in 2012. On one of our drives. I took him down to
the assisted living center to meet my parents. My mother and step-dad live there and seem fairly happy. Mother is 90 and my
step-dad is 96. They have their health issues but still seem to be in pretty good shape for their age. Wayne ask my mother
what kind of son I was when I was young. She did not answer him. I thought I would share some of my childhood to explain why
she did not answer him.
My mother divorced my dad when I was a child about 2 or 3 years old. I did not ask her when she divorced or when she
remarried. I could find out but that isn't important to me. I was born Randy McCasland. When I started to school they enrolled
me as Randy Fuchs. The name Fuchs is German and is pronounced Fox. As a young adult I had it legally changed to Fox. I
hated the name Fuchs because kids teased me about it and you can guess why. I'm one of the very few men that have
had three last names. I felt out of place after she remarried when I was around 3. I was like a fish out of water. I
know people tell stories about unhappy childhoods. Mine was happy most of the time. Most people do not want to hear about
childhood unhappiness,. Yet this is the only way I can explain why my mother didn't answer Wayne when he ask what he did.
My step-dad was a strange man. He didn't ever tell me happy Birthday, Merry Christmas or anything that most children hear.
He didn't ever say anything complimentary. He didn't ever have a one on one conversation except to criticize me. He was a
cruel hard man in my eyes. As I got older I began to show my dislike for him and his actions. He would get mad when I said
anything in my defence, When he talked. I was to just listen and not talk. I couldn't always do that when he was in the wrong.
I would get angry and say things back. He would hit me and knock me around and sometimes kick and stomp me but not often.
My mother would take up for me and comfort me on occasions. Yet this created a problem for her.
Once while helping him combine wheat. I was around 14 years old. My job was to keep the grain level in the grain ben on the
combine as he combined wheat. He had given me an ax handle and had me raking the wheat making it level. I kept it level while
it tried to build up on one side in the grain ben on the combine. That way he could get the ben fuller as he combined and
it wouldn't spill over the edge of the ben onto the ground. As it approached the top and was fixing to run over. I yelled
at him to stop the combine as I was told to do. Yet he couldn't hear me. I climbed over to him and made him stop. About a
hand full of wheat had run over and spilled to the ground. His plan didn't work because he could not hear me yell at him to
stop. He saw that grain spill and it shorted him out. He jerked the ax handle away from me. He took a wild swing with the
ax handle at me as I was trying to get away from him. He hit me hard in the back. It knocked me off the combine and I fell
about 6 or 8 feet to the ground. Luckily I wasn't hurt. If I had been knocked into the combine's swather. It would have killed
me. I somehow missed the swather and landed on my feet. I then fell to the ground after landing. I got right up and ran to
the house. I ran fast as I could go and didn't look back. The verbal abuse had much more impact and came more often than the
physical abuse. I blamed myself for that for years and this had convinced me something was wrong with me.
Sometime back I told my Aunt. I guess some of that was my fault. I didn't really try hard enough I guess. She said. You
were just a boy. He was a man. It was his fault. No person would ever suspect this went on. He was such a nice guy in front
of people. He went to church every Sunday and seem to be the perfect father. He still goes every Sunday at 96 years old along
with my mother.
When I was 13 or 14. I started running off to my Grandparents. I was treated wonderful at their home. I adored my grandfather
and Grandmother and their daughters. They were my twin aunts that were my age. I would climb out the upstairs window and jump
to the ground and head to the road. I would always catch a ride. I was a little over 100 miles but hitchhiking always worked
My mother woke up to find me gone and that created a problem for her and her family situation. She would get in a car
and come to Grandpa's and get me. I did this till I was 18 years old and then moved out for good. She told my Grandfather.
I do not know what is wrong with him. He keeps running off to you guys place. Grandpa said. Well, maybe he's finding something
here that he is not finding at home. My life and my childhood turned out to be a blessing. While staying at my grandfathers
I enrolled in school there. I met my future wife and we married when I was 20 and she was 17. We are still married in 2013
for 49 years. For the most part it has been a good marriage. When I was young and crazy and fought dogs. We had our ups and
downs like all people do. As I matured and the children were grown everything leveled out. We are happy and are doing great.
After I married and my wife was 8 months pregnant. We went down to Fort Cobb Lake to my folks Cabin to see them, (really
just to see mother). I had an Aunt by marriage that was there. We were all talking religion. Which is a bad thing to do in
my book. Never talk religion or politics is my policy now. My Aunt said she knew she was saved. I'm of the belief that there
will be a judgment day and God will judge you and make that decision. Just like a report card and I believe he will make that
decision. That is, if you have been good enough to be saved. So in my rebuttal to her. I said, let me see your ticket to heaven.
That made her cry. I felt bad but I had already said it without thinking. I quickly found out. She could express her
belief but it became a 'no no' for me express my beliefs. My step-dad yelled from across the room. He said shut your mouth.
I told him. Why don't you try to shut it for me. He didn't answer back. I had longed for that moment but never pursued it
because of mom. My wife started crying and my mother started crying. My wife said lets go. Take me home. She wasn't use to
my family and his loud mouth scared her. So we left. Not one time has my step-dad ever mouthed at me since. So when you ask
my mother what kind of child I was. That is why she doesn't answer and she is not going to answer you. I was my Grandfather
and Grandmother's child as far as I was concerned. My twin aunts I spoke of earlier are actually 9 months younger than me.
They consider me a brother instead of a nephew. Since I was at my grandparents with those aunts so much. They all four loved
me and treated me special and I loved them. Now that I am older. My Step-Dad treats me alright and we get along just fine.
I have forgiven him but not forgot all he did. My mother might have answered Wayne. If she was not setting in the room with
my Step-dad. She may not have still answered either. Who knows. So much for that story and people wonder why I fought dogs.
Most people have some flaw in their life that have fought dogs as a pastime. I have seen some dog-fighters that do not
reveal a bad past in their life. They may still have a hidden one though. The reason I say that. I entered the dogfight world
with some reluctance. I felt it was wrong and I had a funny feeling in my stomach about it. I was always looking over my shoulder.
Yet when your 20 years old to 49 years old. Your judgement is not on track as it should be. Most of the men on my true dads
side of the family do wild things and do not straighten up and become true good humans till they are around 35 to 40 years
old. With each dog I fought. I became better and better at it. People begin to call me at home. They were wanting to talk
to me about my dogs. When I was at the dogfights people would follow me around like I was a movie star or someone famous.
It is a good feeling when you have been talked down to most of your young life. The average normal upstanding humans do not
fight dogs. That is why I protest the new laws being past in many States.They are giving 20 years and 100,000 dollar fine
for fighting dogs in Michigan. If these young men's life wouldn't have been altered as they grew up. They may have never fought
dogs. They are getting punished at home while growing up in abuse. Then they may go to prison and are being punished again.
That is before they find their way in life and straighten up and fly right. These young man will not be given the chance to
grow up and straighten up like I was. That 20 years will take their children from them. It will put their children in a position
they will not be supervised by their dads. It may make criminals out of their children. It also may rub off on the dad being
locked up with men that are killers, Thieves and other type felons. It will cost our government 50,000 dollars yearly to house
them. This will come with a price tag of 1,000,000 dollar for the 20 year stay. That is a lot to deal with in a broke country
like ours. No one thanks about what problems and cost these special interest groups create. They bribe AKA Lobby our
legislatures to pass these laws. Yet they do not keep paying for these laws they get passed. The government agencies that
pass these laws never look into the long term effect of problems this creates. They should put a monitor on these young
men's leg and supervise them with that Monitor. It will cost far less and will punish them. Well that is my growing up story.
I'm just an old man looking back and looking forward. Please do not fight dogs. You may get caught and go to prison.
There is no full-proof way to get away with dog-fighting . Randy Fox
I took this off a chat. It is well written and believable. and It was written by Fredric.
But more than the entertainment aspect, my position above is that people fight other animals in order to deal with our
own mortality and propensity for aggression in a manner than doesn't harm humans (i.e. the animals endure the physical harm).
This is deeper than entertainment. And does a dog care if he dies a hero? Isn't the idea of the "hero" just a human construct
(i.e. Achilles' choice in the Iliad)? I don’t know what dying a "hero" is worth to a dog, but you are in a much better
position to know this, and I likely never will; hence, you can opinion such matters with much greater authority than I. Is
it heroic to die in a fighting ring? What is the dog really dying for and for whom? I guess his human -partner, but I just
have trouble with the idea that the human is making a good decision for the dog by putting him in that situation."
know. It seems to me that folks in the midst of making a moral argument feel certain in themselves that morality is something
that can indeed and in fact actually be pinned down. I'm not so sure it can. In fact, I'm certain it can't. The minute you
grab hold of it, away it scampers leaving its tail in your hands. Always "morality" is relative to its time and place, and
-- to make matters far more complicated than that -- relative to each individual soul as well. How reconcile the morals of
a ground squirrel, and, say, the red-tailed hawk who eats it? And if in the grand scheme of things one man's spirit is more
akin to the ground squirrel's than to the red-tailed hawk's...? I mean how legislate such a thing? How set it down in the
books? Again, don‘t know. Best ask the King. Or better yet, put it to a vote. And if none of these work, there's always
war, "civil" or otherwise.
"Isn't the idea of the 'hero' just a human construct?"
Yes, of course it is. And
still, when in the midst of a fight, one see's a dog's tail held high, sees it give its electric little wag -- one knows in
all one's soul that the dog is a thousand times more glad and alive than it would be were its tail lowered, the dog's courage
ebbing away, his life dwindling in him. Dogs don't speak to us in words, after all -- or at least I've never heard one articulate
the word "hero." But thanks to a dog's tail (among other things), one recognizes immediately just how heroic a dog is feeling
at any given time. Instinctive, perhaps, in these dogs of ours (non-articulated, of course,) that a coward dies a thousand
deaths, a hero but one?
As to why the dogs were bred and fought in the first place? One might argue along with ol'
William James that, for man, there is no better moral alternative to War than the sports we engage in. One could of course
spend the rest of one's entire life trying to pin it down, the whys and wherefores of our breed's existing in the first place
-- and end up all over again with that proverbial tail in our hands. For my part of it, my motivations for breeding the few
I did can be boiled down to one solid fact of the matter: my job was to bring about the most wonderfully courageous spark
in all the world, and this in the form of a bulldog. I simply wanted to make something wonderful, is all.
arguments, of course, and all of them after the fact. Dog-fighting is kaput, as well it should be.
This is interesting undercover action.