For nearly an hour Apollo, all 67 pounds of him, has been running on a specially made dog treadmill in a blood-stained garage on the south side. His owner, a man I’ll call Michael, says I can’t pet him, and I assure him I have no intention of doing so. Apollo’s been observing my every movement and growling at me for some time. “Don’t take it personally,” Michael says. “If you were a girl he’d be licking you all over. And he’s great with my kids.”
“Come on,” Michael says. I sense that I’m disappointing him.
“Yeah, now he’s mad,” Michael says, smiling.
Sam is brown skinned and considerably smaller than Apollo. He’s a quiet dog. “He doesn’t bother with all that macho bullshit that Apollo and others will try to pull,” Michael says. “He’s all business when he’s fighting. He knows he can kick the shit out of a lot of dogs.”
Outside the pit Geena is like any other dog: friendly and seeking attention. I ask if she’s so different because she’s female.
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Michael is a 31-year-old, African-American, college-educated husband and father. He doesn’t look like a criminal. He’s strong, clean-cut, well dressed. He could easily be mistaken for an off-duty police officer. “I almost decided to be a cop,” he says. “Hell, I could have been a cop and still done dogfighting. I know a couple who do both.”
