After a recent family tragedy, Brentwood Gazette editor Neville Wilson says the problem with Staffordshire Bull Terriers is simply down to bad owners.
I don't blame dogs when they bite, I blame the owners.The unfortunate problem with Staffies is they can be a magnet for the worst kinds of owner.
Do a quick internet search and you'll come across dozens of stories about children and animals being attacked.Today's Brentwood Gazette has a double page article about how staff at Wallace Kennels in Stondon Massey are overrun with Staffies needing a new home.
Last week a picture of my parents' dog was on the front page of their local paper.
Two weeks ago he was savaged on a beach in Margate, where my parents live.
Some readers of the Gazette had met Wilfy. He visited Brentwood with my parents and came to a tweet-up, where he was unsurprisingly made a fuss of by all.
I love dogs, and grew up with them. Long had we, my two sisters and I, begged for a dog, we promised to look after it and walk it every day.
What we got was two Chihuahuas; Biggles, and, a couple of years later, Beulah.
As you can imagine, at the age of 13, a confusing time for any young man when looking one's best to the opposite sex is of utmost importance, I was less than keen on being seen pounding the streets with them on the end of a lead.
But in the end, the love I'd developed for the little guys was worth more than the occasional jeer.
Biggles' heart gave out at the age of 12 and Beulah made it to the grand old age of 15. It was her dodgy bladder in the end. Their passing was sad, of course, but it was at the conclusion of their natural lives.
So my parents have a thing for small dogs. Wilfy is, or was a Chihuahua – and they loved him.Like the other two, they had had him since he was a puppy.
Ever since they both retired, their lives had revolved around this wonderful, cheeky little character who brought them so much joy.
He was being walked on the lead by my mum and sister on the ill-fated Tuesday.Suddenly, from nowhere, three Staffies, enormous in comparison, raced over, the leader took Wilfy in his jaws and shook him violently.
They kicked and fought, listening to him screaming, but my mum and sister could not prise Wilfy free.
A typically unsavoury trio, you can picture them already, jogged over, managed to get their dog to relent and made a petty excuse and less than credible apology for its actions.
Wilfy was taken to the vets but later died.
My parents are picking up the pieces. No longer are there two paws on the sofa when the biscuits are out. No longer is there a worried little face beneath the table when it's time to go for a walk – not that there seems much point anymore.
The police were less than interested, that's why I told mum to approach the paper (full story here).
I am sure the majority of Staffie owners are caring and considerate people whose pets are the centre of their lives, like my parents.
But often when you read these terrible attacks, soon follows that sigh when your eyes move a little further down the page and you see the word Staffie.
I'm happy to give Staffies the benefit of the doubt – but for as long as they hold that status symbol appeal, stories like Wilfy's and worse will continue to make the news.I can see why the kennels are overrun.
I don't blame dogs when they bite, I blame the owners.The unfortunate problem with Staffies is they can be a magnet for the worst kinds of owner.
Do a quick internet search and you'll come across dozens of stories about children and animals being attacked.Today's Brentwood Gazette has a double page article about how staff at Wallace Kennels in Stondon Massey are overrun with Staffies needing a new home.
Last week a picture of my parents' dog was on the front page of their local paper.
Two weeks ago he was savaged on a beach in Margate, where my parents live.
Some readers of the Gazette had met Wilfy. He visited Brentwood with my parents and came to a tweet-up, where he was unsurprisingly made a fuss of by all.
I love dogs, and grew up with them. Long had we, my two sisters and I, begged for a dog, we promised to look after it and walk it every day.
What we got was two Chihuahuas; Biggles, and, a couple of years later, Beulah.
As you can imagine, at the age of 13, a confusing time for any young man when looking one's best to the opposite sex is of utmost importance, I was less than keen on being seen pounding the streets with them on the end of a lead.
But in the end, the love I'd developed for the little guys was worth more than the occasional jeer.
Biggles' heart gave out at the age of 12 and Beulah made it to the grand old age of 15. It was her dodgy bladder in the end. Their passing was sad, of course, but it was at the conclusion of their natural lives.
So my parents have a thing for small dogs. Wilfy is, or was a Chihuahua – and they loved him.Like the other two, they had had him since he was a puppy.
Ever since they both retired, their lives had revolved around this wonderful, cheeky little character who brought them so much joy.
He was being walked on the lead by my mum and sister on the ill-fated Tuesday.Suddenly, from nowhere, three Staffies, enormous in comparison, raced over, the leader took Wilfy in his jaws and shook him violently.
They kicked and fought, listening to him screaming, but my mum and sister could not prise Wilfy free.
A typically unsavoury trio, you can picture them already, jogged over, managed to get their dog to relent and made a petty excuse and less than credible apology for its actions.
Wilfy was taken to the vets but later died.
My parents are picking up the pieces. No longer are there two paws on the sofa when the biscuits are out. No longer is there a worried little face beneath the table when it's time to go for a walk – not that there seems much point anymore.
The police were less than interested, that's why I told mum to approach the paper (full story here).
I am sure the majority of Staffie owners are caring and considerate people whose pets are the centre of their lives, like my parents.
But often when you read these terrible attacks, soon follows that sigh when your eyes move a little further down the page and you see the word Staffie.
I'm happy to give Staffies the benefit of the doubt – but for as long as they hold that status symbol appeal, stories like Wilfy's and worse will continue to make the news.I can see why the kennels are overrun.
- What do you think? Comment below.
