His Like Will Never Pass This Way Again (Pistol Pete)
Once there was a pup of proud heritage, whom was the product of a father, to daughter,breeding. This pup didn’t need any papers to prove he was a bulldog. He was a spittingimage to his sire, R. Sorrell’s CH. PISTOL PETE, so I called him PISTOL PETE Jr. Iraised him like he was my son. His like will never pass this way again.
He was buckskin and white, and weighed 35 Ibs. of muscle, heart, and determination. Hewas 15/16 PISTOL PETE-MISS SPIKE, with 1/16 BULLYSON. Many felt that hisbreeding made him too pure for the pit, but he was a freak of nature. PETE Jr. hadnatural ability, scratched like a train, screamed like a diesel, but what he did best was bite hard!
My mentor, who was Ronnie Duhon, said save him for a stud. I longed for the glory ofwinning in the pit, so at 16 months, I opened his weight to the world, at 35 Ibs. I felt that if I hadn’t managed to stop him, by now, then no dog could. I placed PETE Jr. in the hands of a man, with enough experience to help me with his keep, even though it wasagainst the advice of my mentor. Only the young are so foolish.
After 8 weeks of chasing a coon, on the jenny, the day finally arrived. There were 4 sons of PISTOL PETE being showed that night, and I still miss the era of the big shows! Dog men gathered from far, and near, to witness the havoc that was to take place in Cajun Country. PETE Jr., and I, was to open the show, and I could feel how ready he was to get it started.
We washed the dogs with care, to insure everything was fair, and then we entered the ringfirst. I was nervous, but PETE Jr. was steady, and a sure as a rock. I felt that the Lord had blessed me to be able to hold a dog, such as this, between my legs. Time seemedfrozen, as the brought in Turner’s SAMBO, our mortal enemy.
PETE Jr. took a deep hold, and I whispered in his ear, “Shake him, son!” I heard bonecrackling, like fried eggs. He was earning the nickname, Master of Disaster. I heardSAMBO whine, and I felt that it was the beginning of the end. To my amazement,SAMBO was far from through. He reached down, and took PETE Jr. by the head (for hehad no ears), and shook for all he was worth. I had to give the devil his due, becauseSAMBO was a real bulldog! Once he got on PETE Jr.’s head, he was there to stay. Itwas as if he knew that if PETE Jr. got to him again, he would be in deep trouble.There was our opponent, over in the corner. There was nothing left to do, because thetime had come, and out of the blue I heard, “Release your dogs!” I released PETE Jr., my son, to wage war on SAMBO. He charged for the chest, as if saying, “May the best dog win!”
It was not to be. I had worked PETE Jr. so hard, that all he had left was heart anddetermination. After 1 hour and 58 minutes, and four game scratches, I knew it was toolate. My PETE had met his fate. Even though he also knew this, he made one more game scratch for me. He was barely able to stand, blind, and already passing into theafterlife. He fell (But my friends he didn’t stand the line!), and when he realized that hecould no longer stand…He crawled, screaming at his mortal enemy, and collapsed 3, or 4, steps away from SAMBO. He passed away, right in front of my eyes.
My son, my dear PETE Jr., had succumbed to my stupidity, and SAMBO had sealed hisfate. Everyone there, that night, will say he was dead game, but all I can say is I lost apiece of me in that pit. What I wouldn’t give to be able to pet him one more time, so I could say good-bye. He was one hell of a bulldog, and he added joy to my life! I will never forget him, for his like shall never pass this way again!
~ T. Kennels