I even was chastised and cautioned in letters to the editor by a nice elderly lady, a city government official, and one of PETA's big boys from out East. And I received several attack e-mails from pit bull and other dog lovers.
Most of them assumed that I know nothing about dogs and pit bulls and questioned who I thought I was to be writing about them. Others called me bad names and vented great anger that I had such gall to write such a blasphemous column defending Vick and his alleged despicable actions.
And others questioned my mentality while pointing out that they didn't even know who I was, nor did they ever want to.
So, in the spirit of fair play, I thought I'd tell them a little bit about myself to maybe help ease their troubled minds.
I'm married with four children, a home on a golf course, and I drive an old man's sedan, as my eldest son describes it.
I enjoy all sports and used to play them all before age, failing joints and muscles, family and job commitments, and time interceded. I follow the collegiate and professional sports faithfully on TV, and am a noted Yankees, Hawkeyes, Cyclones, and Cherokee Braves fan.
Before meat prices blew the roof, my favorite meal used to be a 24-ounce Porterhouse served with brussels sprouts (asparagus in season), and homemade bread. Now, I substitute less expensive sirloin steak or pork chops so I don't have to get a short-term loan to buy groceries.
My favorite movie of all time is Paul Newman's "Cool Hand Luke," with Charlton Heston's "Ten Commandments" a close second.
Presently, I'm spinning a Gladys Knight & The Pips CD in my car, and Gladys, Bruce Springsteen, Jackson Browne, Toby Keith, Carly Simon, Sawyer Brown, and K.T. Oslin are my favorite singers.
Because of my job, I'm extremely proud to be closely aligned with the coaching fraternity. It is beyond belief how many decent, caring human beings migrate to the coaching field to tutor our children not only in the games they play, but in life and the pursuit of happiness and achievement.
I'm a God-fearing Christian, still open doors for women, and hardly ever belch in a public setting.
I have many good friends, many so-so friends, and many enemies that I've cultivated during naturally occuring flashes of oblivion.
I bat left and throw right, was my high school's free throw champ, and in the old days, had a 130-mph tennis serve and was quicker than a small-town rumor. I bought my own baseball glove and first-base mitt in the 1960s and still have them ready to go if a ballgame ever breaks out.
I've worked at some sort of job - either full or part time - since I was seven years old.
One more thing, as a young newspaper carrier and as an adult selling farm buildings for several years, I have been attacked by every breed of dog God ever made.
As a newspaper carrier, most of them I could fend off with my squirt gun full of perfume that would sting their eyes and send them reeling off with their tales between their legs. As a farm salesman, my sturdy brief case and size 14 cowboy boots usually did the trick.
But not always.
So, to this day, I still wake on occasion in the middle of the night shaking from a nasty dream about being attacked by a pit bull or Doberman.
Hell, maybe its something I ate, like those brussels sprouts.