Marthina is the founder and president of Our Pack, Inc., a Los Gatos, California-based group that rescues and advocates for pit bulls. “I would really love to get one of those dogs and train it to do therapy work,” she thought to herself. “That would be the best testament to the breed that America will ever see.” But she knew that dogs seized in “fight bust” cases are almost always euthanized once they are no longer needed as “evidence” in court. It is assumed that they are menacing, dangerous and out of control. “It’s such a shame,” Marthina concluded. “People will never know what these dogs are capable of.” Fortunately, she was wrong.

Michael Vick lived a rags-to-riches story. Born and raised in a poor, crime-ridden neighborhood in Newport News, Virginia, he attended college on a football scholarship, then went on to a professional NFL career. At the age of 24, he signed one of the biggest contracts in NFL history, and landed in the number 19 spot on the 2005 Forbes’ list of highest paid celebrities.

But away from the media spotlight, he was part of a multi-million dollar subculture. Vick owned the Bad Newz Kennels, located in Smithville, Virginia. He ran an illegal dog fighting operation from there.

When raided Vick’s property, they found dogs housed in little more than hovels or tied to car axles with heavy, logging-type chains. They also found blood-stained carpets and evidence of animal remains. Investigators later learned that the dogfights went on for hours, and dogs that did not perform well were brutally executed by electrocution, hanging, drowning, or by being repeatedly slammed to the ground.

Public outrage was swift and deep. Vick was suspended from the NFL following the flood of angry protest letters to the league, and sponsorship endorsements quickly evaporated or were withdrawn. And, for the first time in history, federal agents, the district attorney’s office, several animal shelters and animal law experts worked together to help save the dogs.

The importance of judging each dog as an individual, rather than on the basis of stereotypical “breed profiling” soon became clear. After extensive evaluation, only one pit bull was so aggressive towards humans and other animals that she was considered dangerous and had to be euthanized.

The “Vick dogs” were placed with various rescue groups across the country. Leo, a handsome, tan-colored, two-year-old with deep brown eyes, was placed with Marthina. “To this day, I swear it was the same dog I saw on TV!”

Today “Dr. Leo,” as he is affectionately called, visits with patients undergoing chemotherapy. He often wears a clown collar when he visits, and has a calm and gentle manner. He carefully approaches patients, expertly maneuvering around breathing tubes and IVs. Leo never jumps up on patients or puts up his paw. Instead, he waits patiently to be petted, or for a lap on which to plunk down his big, friendly head.

Leo often wears a clown collar when he visits because, as Marthina puts it, “Pit bulls are clowns, they really are. They provide therapy for people who are ill or depressed. They want to be with somebody, even if they’re scary looking.” Although some people are initially afraid of pit bulls, even if they have never met one, Leo quickly wins them over. “He is magnetic, a real Casanova. Leo is a darling, darling dog.”