Being mauled by a pit bull was painful. It felt like a whip slapping my legs. The mammoth dog whipped my thighs with anvil-like strength.
It was his tail.
I could have suffocated under the deluge of soggy kisses he forced on me, smack on my mouth.
I found it difficult taking notes with an 85-pound dog lounging on my lap.
I bonded immediately with Houdini, a big lug. The pit bull lives in Gold Bar with Nora ÂMCCaffrey and his best buddy, Lily, a 4-month-old kitten.
The kitten has no idea Houdini and his kin are perceived by many as killing machines. With her little paws, she bats him around like a mouse. The pets sleep together, on MCCaffrey’s queen-size bed. Their owner inches her legs near the edge to find a bit of space for herself, she said.
Houdini and Lily also curl up together on an easy chair. While I visited, the animals smooched, playfully banged faces together and appeared to adore one another.
Go figure.
No sense telling MCCaffrey, 66, that pit bulls are dangerous. She’s heard all about that, but points out that Houdini was raised to be a love bug.
“I know what they say,” ÂMCCaffrey said. “It’s not the pit bull, it’s the people who raise them to be mean.”
Her son, Francis, 27, who lives in Mukilteo, brought home the family’s first pit bull when he was a teenager. MCCaffrey said she was initially afraid, based on the breed’s reputation. She and husband Chris found pit bulls to be great house pets.
The widow met her husband at an Irish dance in New York. She came to the United States at age 15. Other relatives sampled America, but most returned to the Emerald Isle.
From the first glance, MCCaffrey said, she couldn’t resist her vagabond spouse. They traveled most of the country like gypsies, she said.
“He was never happy in one place,” MCCaffrey said. “We saw most of the country.”
Finally settling in Washington, where the green countryside resembled Ireland, she worked at hotels as a maid. He died three years ago. She lives in a mobile home park.
Houdini’s mother, Corrupt, who is part of a MCCaffrey menagerie of dogs and cats, had a litter of seven pups. Houdini was given his name because, of all the pups, he had the ability to escape the playpen that held the rowdy bunch.
A neighbor found Lily in the mouth of a big male cat and gave chase. The kitten was dropped, and MCCaffrey took her in and bottle-fed Lily. The baby only weighed a pound when she was rescued, but the veterinarian said she was good and healthy.
When Lily arrived at the mobile home, Houdini gave her a tentative sniffing, MCCaffrey said. Lily passed muster. He allowed her to curl in his belly in a chair.
The cat and the dog have slept together ever since.
As I visited with MCCaffrey, Houdini curled up on the couch, pushing her master out of the way to sprawl across pillows like a sheik.
“The only way this guy hurts you is with his tail,” MCCaffrey said.
I couldn’t resist giving him one more come-hither nod and was attacked again.
As a kisser, Houdini needed less tongue.
Columnist Kristi O’Harran: 425-339-3451 or oharran@heraldnet.com.
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