Biting back

After a three-minute, 86-mph tear across town, Sandy Joslyn, 48, roars up to the home of the Pettys, off Goodwood Boulevard. She has no idea what’s happened to her son. Twenty horrified neighbors are gathered on the street. The fronts of their clothes are stained red. Bloody handprints are smeared on the sidewalk.

There’s a large, discarded sheet on the ground they used to move 13-year-old Aaron Joslyn, and there’s blood all over that too. But Aaron is gone, on his way to The Lake in an ambulance. Everyone tries to keep Sandy Joslyn calm, and no one is telling her exactly what went wrong. “There was so much blood,” the mother recalls. “All I could think of was that he had gotten run over and then eaten by dogs.”

‘No other dog in the world would do that’

The dog that maimed Aaron Joslyn was a pit bull named Simba.

Three weeks after it happened, two East Baton Rouge Parish Sheriff’s deputies were responding to a domestic disturbance call at a trailer park when a pit bull tore into officer Donald Shelton’s leg. His partner shot the animal just as a second pit bull lunged for his neck. He pulled the trigger on that dog, too. Shelton would later tell Sandy Joslyn he genuinely feared for his life.

These are just two of the more high-profile pit bull incidents in 2007, a year that has already seen dog attacks on the rise in Baton Rouge.

South African native Hilton Cole, 53, director of the Parish Animal Control Center for 25 years, has seen a sharp spike in attacks in recent months. Twenty percent of dogs impounded in the parish are pit bulls. That’s an unusually high percentage for a single breed, but it supports what Cole says is a worrisome trend for Baton Rouge: Pit bull ownership has gone through the roof.

“We have a disproportionate number of pit bulls in the parish, dogs that are bred to fight and kill,” Cole says. “When you have those in the hands of irresponsible owners, that’s a dangerous combination.”

The breed is banned in several places: Denver, Ontario, England, France. And in Kansas City, Mo., a city closer in size to Baton Rouge, several suburbs have outlawed pit bulls. “We have a huge overpopulation problem,” says Kansas City Animal Control Manager Leslie Forsberg. “A lot of owners of that breed are irresponsible, and we’re trying to stop the criminal activity that seems to go along with it.”

Animal Control collected 247 pit bulls between January and March 2007 alone. Still, Cole does not favor an outright ban for Baton Rouge. He used to be philosophically opposed to separate restrictions for certain breeds, but not anymore. After the recent attacks, he is all for tougher laws when it comes to pit bulls. Cole feels obligated to make people aware of the parish’s pit bull problem. In particular, he says, the Metro Council, which must approve any changes to the ordinance, has to get the message.

“It’s like the difference between a revolver and a machine gun,” Cole says. “You can buy a revolver, but you can’t buy a machine gun. Pit bulls are the machine guns of the dog world.”

People aren’t the only ones vulnerable to pit bulls—other animals are, too, although pit bull attacks on pets attract less attention. In January, three pit bulls got loose in Shenandoah, methodically searching for prey from house to house. They slipped under the backyard fence of the Kojis home and assaulted two of Cathy Kojis’ mutts. According to an eyewitness, they nearly tore the smaller dog to pieces in a tug of war with its tiny body as a neighbor shot at them with a rubber pellet gun. The mutt died, and the offending pit bulls were detained, labeled as dangerous then released back to the owner.

In June, a pit bull broke through its pen at Animal Control and killed two other dogs in what Cole called a bloodbath. “Only a pit bull,” he says. “No other dog in the world would do that. But my officers get attacked [by pit bulls] in the hallway all the time.”

Sheriff’s office representative Fred Raiford calls the recent incidents “alarming,” but when asked if breed-specific regulations are necessary, he hedges. “We can’t single out pit bulls,” he says. “We need to hold all animal owners more accountable.”

But Metro Councilman Mike Walker asked Gary Patureau, executive director of the Louisiana Association of Self-Insured Employers, to work with Animal Control on a new proposal specifically targeting the breed. Based partially on regulations in place in Franklin County, Ohio, the pitch includes increased fines for violations and rules requiring that ID microchips be implanted in pit bulls, that owners carry more than $100,000 of liability insurance for the dogs and that signs be posted at a residence stating the presence of a pit bull. Patureau and Cole would also ban pit bull breeding in any residentially zoned area, among other safety precautions.

“I hate breeders,” says Enviroscore CEO Diane Baum, an owner of three rescued pit bull terriers. “There are so many pit bulls who need homes, there is no need for breeding. They are sweet dogs, but like any breed, if placed in the wrong hands, they can be bad.”

At a July 18 meeting of the Metro Council’s Finance and Executive committee, Councilman Walker said the situation was “close to an emergency.” Citing statistics from Animal Control, he estimated 1,080 pit bulls would populate the parish by the end of the year. At the same meeting, several pit bull owners voiced their opposition to breed-specific regulations, saying they would feel unfairly punished because of the actions of a few irresponsible owners.

Just days after the July 18 meeting, Walker announced the withdrawal of all breed specific regulations from the proposal in order to have a better chance of passing in the full council. “The statistics talk for themselves,” said Animal Control’s Cole of Walker’s change of mind. “Our office will enforce what is passed, but this doesn’t mean the pit bull problem will go away.”

A good breed gone wrong

Many speculate the American pit bull terrier descends from the storied war dogs of the Greek Molossi tribe, dogs Rome later co-opted for gladiatorial combat. But an English painting dated 1585 may be the best evidence of the breed’s history. The dogs in the painting Alaunts by the Duke of York closely resemble large pit bulls and are seen hunting wild hogs for sport. It is most widely accepted that modern pit bulls come from the bull-and-terriers of England bred to herd cattle and kill crop-ruining vermin. The great English and Irish immigration in the mid-1850s brought a huge number of these dogs to the States, especially Boston. Here they were bred for strength and size.

Their popularity on the family farm and in dog-fighting rings made pit bulls frequent stars of America’s propaganda posters during World War I. The U.S. Navy, RCA, Buster Brown Shoes and even The Little Rascals gang chose a pit bull for a mascot.

The urban myth about the jaws of a pit bull having some kind of locking mechanism is just that: a myth. Though historically, the breed has shown more tenacity than most when holding onto prey.

Animal Control’s Hilton Cole says the problem with pit bulls is as much a problem with pit bull owners as it is with the breed’s capabilities. People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals says nationwide pit bulls are the most abused breed of dog, though Cole stresses that, locally, many owners are responsible and care properly for the animals.

Tammy Davis runs Baton Rouge-based American Pit Bull Terrier Rescue Inc. She believes the breed is not inherently dangerous, but does have a strong desire to please its owners. “They can best be described as class clowns,” Davis says. “They crave human interaction, but when you tie them out on a chain, starve them and abuse them, those positive characteristics turn negative.”

So are pit bulls taking the rap for bad owners? It comes as no surprise that many of the canines involved in vicious assaults are those trained for dogfights and strength competitions. Many pit bulls, Cole says, are raised to reflect the aggressive, macho image the owner wants to project for himself. Neighbors near the Joslyn attack say they would spot the offending dog, Simba, dragging a manhole cover behind it to increase endurance while the owner’s son walked it through the neighborhood.

Dog fighting is illegal in Louisiana like it is in the rest of the country (just ask Michael Vick). But parish Animal Control has an annual operating budget of less than $1.2 million, a fourth of the national average. By comparison, the far less populated Durham County, N.C., operates with roughly $300,000 more a year. With only five parish Animal Control officers working at a time, cracking down on small, underground dogfights is difficult [see sidebar on page 52]. And no additional funds for Animal Control were included in this year’s approved budget.

“We don’t have enough people to enforce our reactive ordinance, so we are in trouble,” Patureau says. “We need a proactive ordinance.”

The attack on Aaron Joslyn sparked almost weekly pit bull-themed meetings of the Sherwood Forest Citizens Association and a public forum Patureau’s advocacy group organized last spring. Two pit bulls walking in the St. Patrick’s Day Parade soon after the Joslyn attack caused protective parents on the route to shield their children from more than flying beads. Backed by a group of 80 local homeowners’ associations, Patureau and Cole submitted a resolution to the Metro Council at the end of June calling for stricter regulations in the parish. These groups want their subdivisions safe from dangerous dogs. And no one wants any child to be the next Aaron Joslyn.

Anatomy of an attack

Though his son is grown, Patureau is thoroughly invested in the movement to regulate pit bulls, which is understandable because Aaron Joslyn was attacked just a few doors down from his home. Patureau was the first adult on the scene. His hands were the first to wrap around the pit bull’s neck.

Aaron had been shooting hoops at the home of his best friend Cameron Petty when two pit bulls approached up the driveway. Cameron had seen these dogs loose before, and he knew they belonged to the nearby Wilson family. “Let’s take ’em back so we can finish playing,” he said. As they led the dogs down the street, Cameron tossed an errant pass, and Aaron ran to retrieve the basketball. As Aaron jogged to catch up, the male pit bull Simba turned snarling and latched onto his left leg at the knee.

Hearing Aaron yell, the Wilson teen ran up and pulled the pit bull off his leg. Overpowering the teen, Simba then clamped back onto the leg and attempted to flee with his prey. He dragged Aaron three houses down through the street, breaking his ankle in the process.

Patureau had just finished mowing his lawn, and he heard the kids yelling. When the shouts turned to blood-boiling screams, Patureau took off toward the sound. He found Simba clamped down on the leg, the adult female sniping at Aaron’s other side, and two pups crouched nearby in a ready position. Cameron Petty and the Wilson teen kicked Simba, but the assaults only agitated the dog. He shook his head and tore deeper into Aaron’s flesh.

Patureau stooped astride Simba and gripped his neck to choke the dog into releasing the boy. As Aaron’s screams rang out, a small crowd gathered to witness the standoff.

“Go get a gun!” Patureau said to Cameron’s father, Boyd Petty. But when he turned to speak, he subconsciously slackened his grip. Simba sank his teeth into Aaron’s leg again. This time the muscle separated completely from the bone.

According to Patureau, the attack lasted about 15 minutes, though to Aaron it felt more like an hour. But his memory is more scattered—a blinding mixture of adrenaline, confusion and unspeakable pain. “I blacked out for a while, but I heard a couple cuss words,” Aaron recalls.

Like Arthur pulling the sword from the stone, it was Cameron’s mother, Jonica Petty, who finally lifted Simba’s jaws from Aaron’s knee after five men had tried in vain. As Aaron called out to God for help, Jonica Petty looked Simba in the eye and pulled the dog away from the boy. It is not uncommon, Cole says, for a pit bull to grow tired suddenly and release after 10 or 15 minutes of holding its jaws in a vise-like grip.

Patureau—still clutching Simba’s neck—hustled the dog safely behind the Wilson fence. He and Boyd Petty took off their T-shirts and wrapped them tightly around what was left of Aaron’s knee. When EMS arrived, they lifted the 13-year-old onto a stretcher with a large sheet. Blood spilled everywhere.

“Aaron could have died if there weren’t people to help him,” Patureau says. “Or if the dog had let go of his leg and clamped down on his face or his side near a vital organ.”

Pain that won’t go away

Boyd Petty climbed into the back of the ambulance with Aaron, gripping his arm tight as they sped to Our Lady of the Lake. Aaron’s leg throbbed from four shredded muscles, his open gash stinging and dirtied, filled with street gravel and Simba’s hot saliva.

An hour later, Animal Control arrived and impounded Simba, eventually euthanizing the dog. In June, the Joslyns filed misdemeanor charges against the Wilsons for failure to vaccinate and register their dogs and for allowing the animals to run at large. According to Animal Control, the maximum penalty for the owners is a $500 fine and six months jail time. Calls to the Wilson home and Kathleen Wilson’s office were not returned.

Aaron spent the first month after the attack in a wheelchair, then another four weeks hobbling on crutches. He has been on a number of painkillers: Demerol, Toradol, Loritab, morphine—“We try to mix and match,” Sandy Joslyn says.

Today, after three surgeries, three skin grafts and stitches the doctor described as “uncountable,” Aaron Joslyn cannot play basketball or football like before. He is missing so much muscle tissue he cannot run. His friends ask him to referee their games to make sure he remains a part of the gang. Working through physical therapy twice a week Aaron is making progress, but he is unable to crouch down, stand on his left leg alone or even get up on his tiptoes. If he sleeps with his knee bent, it burns in the morning.

“Sometimes it swells up, and I don’t know why,” he says. His balance, too, has been shaky. He took a nasty fall on a set of stadium stairs at a movie theater. His knee landed on the edge of a step, the stitches ruptured and he suffered a weeklong fever from the wound.

Fortunately, the family, which includes eight children, has seen an outpouring of support from friends and strangers. Their home school co-op raised enough money to cover the initial medical expenses. People as far away as Alaska and Massachusetts have mailed letters of sympathy with dollars attached. But the tidal wave of medical bills is just hitting the Joslyns, and it’s hitting them hard. Through their attorney they have established The Aaron Joslyn Fund at Regions Bank.

Aaron’s spirits are high, but mental scars are evident, too. Being mauled is always on his mind, even when he doesn’t want it to be. He freaked out one day when he thought he heard another attack down the street. “It’s happening again, Mom!” he yelled. It turned out to be a dad spraying his [squealing] child with a hose while the family dog yapped away.

“This was so dramatic, sometimes I can’t even think about it,” he says with a revealing glance. The wheels are turning the pain, the blood and the dog’s jaws over in his mind again and again. On the sidelines his thoughts must return to the attack as he watches his friends play all summer long. Maybe that will stop when he can rejoin them; maybe when his muscles grow back completely at the end of puberty. But even that hope is uncertain, his doctor says.

“I wish it didn’t happen to me,” Aaron says. “I know it happened for a purpose; I just don’t know what that purpose is.”

— — —

“Please,” Sandy Joslyn says, pleading with those still gathered on the street. “I’m the calmest person you’ll ever know. Just tell me what happened to my son.”

Finally she gets a digest version of the attack and speeds to the hospital. As Animal Control arrives to impound Simba, the exhausted crowd disburses, slowly returning to their homes. But one thing people don’t do after something like that is simply go on about their day.

Jonica Petty is so disturbed, eight hours pass before she can stop shaking. Gary Patureau walks home shirtless and bloodied. He could call it a day, but instead he cleans up, changes into work clothes and drives downtown to his office. He goes to work on a mission to help prevent another horrific attack like he has just seen.

“I wanted to hold them accountable,” Patureau says. “I wanted to file the complaint myself, to ensure that police were there and the dog was gone. Pit bull owners owe everyone around them the responsibility of taking care of their pets.”