I hate Micheal Vick. I hate who he is and I hate the NFL for letting him back in. I hate the money he is paid. I felt satisfaction at knowing he was hurt during last week’s game as well as yesterday’s. And I hate that feeling. Hatred is not a good thing, it does nothing to further along neither myself nor my species.
But I still feel it.
I turned to Lorna yesterday (we didn’t see the game, just a report of it) and said “Ya know, he ought to be put down if he can’t play, right?”
No one can be involved in dog fighting business for SIX YEARS and be “cured” like he claims to be. How many dogs did he brutally put down (either with his own hands or, at the least, knew about and condoned) for not being able to fight? How many dogs were wounded? How many unagented, unpaid dogs suffered through the fights only to die through yet more suffering? The humans didn’t just inject them, they beat them, tortured them to death.
And yet, the survivors of that racket live on. I believe only four of those dogs had to be humanely euthanized. The others live on either in real forever homes or at that dog sanctuary.
Which species came out ahead of this? Did we, the humans? I don’t think so. Just thinking of him makes me mad. Just thinking of the alleged Humane Society of U.S. and their support of him makes me madder. The NFL for desiring money over conscious. No, it is the dogs that came out ahead. They survived something most of us could not. They came out of it still loving life and, yes, even humans. Would I be able to do that? No, I would not. My reaction toward Vick even after all this time shows the truth.
So, Vick, next time you limp to the sidelines, I hope you think of those dogs you killed. I hope you see the irony of this and I hope you wince. I hope, really hope, that you feel that first inkling of true shame for what you did.