In Sunday School back in the Dark Ages, my co-teacher and I asked our students what turns them on. “What do you really like to do?” we asked each one.

The responses ranged from celebrating a birthday to winning a football game to kicking around with friends to being with family. Then my colleague turned the camera on me: And what do you like to do, Art?

I fidgeted, stumbled and stammered, not having expected the question. Well, aside from being with people, especially family and friends, I mentioned that I enjoyed long walks with my whippets, Moosa and Watsita, which coincidentally had been given me by my co-teacher’s daughter that year.

I admit it. I love most dogs. I loved throwing a ball as far as I could in order for Moosa to retrieve it and “hand” it back, somewhat gooey. Or riding my bike as fast as I could and watching the dogs overtake me, even though my speedometer showed 35 mph, which equals 245 mph in dog miles. I loved those animals, both now dead. Watsita died of a bronchial infection; Moosa died shortly after being mauled by a neighbor’s dog that slipped out of his chain and collar.

The dog’s owner, of course, argued, “Not my problem; the dog escaped.” In fairness, for more than a year, after getting rid of the vicious dog, the neighbor kept no dog in his yard. But just recently there appeared another chained animal — it looks like a pit bull terrier: stocky, square face, clipped ears — and that’s the crux of the matter.

The area where I live has become more and more populated by the pit bull variety. House after house shows the incredibly strong, stocky, short-eared variety tethered to a short chain, guarding things. Neighborhood walks and bike rides aren’t as much fun anymore. It’s certainly not fun anymore for another neighbor who showed her swollen calf, compliments of yet another dog that escaped from the front porch, and whose “owner” said, “Not my fault; the dog just got out. And besides, how do you know it’s my dog?”

Pit bulls seem to be the macho dog of choice nowadays. Sure, some will argue, the breed is discriminated against. It’s really a loveable dog, great if you have small kids. It’s unfairly labeled.

But I’ve already written about the traits of this breed in the past. The expectations some owners have of their dogs make the animals mean. The crux, paradoxically, is about cruelty toward the pit bull and other canines.

A while back, a family with small children moved into the neighborhood and the father promptly sank four posts into his yard and attached four short chains to them. In a short time, the neighbor moved in four pit bulls and erected four short dog houses, made of — I dunno — wood, metal, plastic, aluminum. The powerful movements of the dogs — tugging, twisting, turning — made it easy for the sheds to come apart. We also noticed that on weekends the dogs usually were gone. Was the neighbor such a canine enthusiast that he took them for weekend rides and a change in scenery?

Recently, the family moved out, but they didn’t clear out completely. No, for a few days two dogs remained, one bold enough to want to detach my leg when I got close, the other, a shyer mixed breed that ran away from the dog biscuits I tossed its way.

Even though my son Diego and I are much more afraid of the dogs than they are of us, we tried to get close enough to make sure they had food and water. A couple of days later, the bigger pure breed was gone, its chain and collar left on the ground. Could this mean the owner came back for the dog? Could the dog simply have escaped, possibly to roam the neighborhood in search of food?

With a telephoto lens, we had taken closeups of the pit bull a day or so before it left. They show a swarm of flies circling its ears. Now some owners of pits say they clip the ears of pit bulls in order not to give the other dog an advantage when engaged in a fight, as it’s harder to bite off a lopped ear. How thoughtful of the owner to perform the job himself! It seemed as if the job had been performed in just a few seconds, with a sharp knife.

The ears clearly were black with infection, and flies made a permanent residence there.

As the dog approached us, issuing a deep, husky growl, he overturned the flimsy shelter, leaving himself no protection from the elements, especially the monsoons.

Aside from a multitude of health issues, the dogs are in desperate need of socialization. That’s the process of keeping them in contact with humans, of being exercised, fed and played with. Why do so many dogs need to forego that socialization process?

For our part, every dog we’ve owned has been a blessing, a living, breathing creature that needs and craves nourishment, love, attention, exercise and owners who care. Why can’t everybody regard God’s creatures as special?

And why must a dog suffer by spending its life anchored to a post?