‘He Was Giving Kisses’: Woman Insists Blood-Soaked Mailman Is Being Dramatic About Her Sweet Little Pit Bull Angel

HENDERSON, Nev.—Local resident Madison Kelp reassured neighbors that her 81-pound pit bull, Biscuit, is a harmless little angel who “wouldn’t hurt a fly,” moments after the dog turned a letter carrier into a postal training video with a pulse.

“This little angel wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Kelp wrote in a neighborhood Facebook post above a photo of Biscuit wearing costume wings and standing in front of several bloodstained envelopes. “Except for the time he almost killed the postman and the other time he ate the dog next door, but he’s such a little sweet angel that wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

The post has since received 214 reactions, including 31 prayer hands, 18 angry faces, and one “care” emoji from Kelp’s aunt, who has not physically entered the house since Biscuit bit her purse in 2022 and refused to give the purse’s body back.

There is denial, and then there is whatever Madison is doing with this meat cannon in a bandana.

According to witnesses, letter carrier Raymond Padilla was approaching Kelp’s mailbox with three utility bills and a coupon flyer when Biscuit broke through the screen door, crossed the porch in what Kelp described as “a very loving gallop,” and began expressing his needs directly through Padilla’s uniform.

“He didn’t attack anybody,” Kelp said while using a garden hose to move one of Padilla’s shoes closer to the curb. “He got overstimulated by government energy. Ray came onto Biscuit’s property wearing navy blue and carrying paper, which is basically asking a rescue dog to process bureaucracy without support.”

Paramedics treated Padilla at the scene. Kelp later accused him of “flopping for sympathy” after he declined to stand up for several minutes and instead made what she called “anti-Biscuit noises.”

“The screaming made Biscuit anxious,” she said. “People never talk about that part.”

Neighbors say the mailman incident is only the latest chapter in Biscuit’s long career of being misunderstood by objects, people, animals, screens, fences, strollers, decorative flags, and anyone who moves like they still possess blood.

In January, Biscuit pulled a screen door off its frame because a DoorDash driver said “have a good one” in a tone Kelp found suspicious. In March, he chewed through a vinyl fence and killed Sprout, the 14-year-old terrier next door, which Kelp referred to as “a disagreement between two kings.” In April, he spent 45 minutes trying to get into a stroller while Kelp shouted, “He’s literally a baby too,” at the actual baby.

“Madison keeps saying he’s harmless because he owns pajamas,” said neighbor Teresa Colvin, who now carries pepper spray, an air horn, and a laminated photo of Biscuit asleep in a Santa hat in case Kelp begins debating her in the driveway. “I understand the pajamas. I just don’t understand why the pajamas outrank the biting.”

Kelp has dismissed neighborhood concerns as breed shaming, noting that Biscuit sleeps with a Squishmallow, enjoys string cheese, and once allowed a toddler to look at him from inside a locked Toyota.

“If he was dangerous, would I call him my son?” Kelp asked. “Would I buy him seasonal pajamas? Would I let him kiss my face after he eats a raw chicken thigh off a shovel? People need to use common sense.”

When asked about dog-bite statistics, Kelp said she had done her own research and found that “the real problem is mailmen being jealous of unconditional love.”

The U.S. Postal Service reported more than 6,000 dog attacks on employees in 2024, up from about 5,800 the year before. DogsBite.org, a dog-bite victims’ group, says its fatality archive runs through December 2024 and its current 2005-2019 breed chart attributes 346 of 523 U.S. dog-bite fatalities, or 66.2%, to pit bulls.

Kelp said those numbers were “sad if true,” but could not be fairly applied to Biscuit because Biscuit has “never identified as a statistic” and “doesn’t even know what 66% means unless it’s printed on a ham.”

“People love throwing numbers around,” Kelp said. “But where are the numbers for how many pit bulls have been emotionally injured by mailmen walking up like they own the sidewalk? Where is that study? Where is the CDC on Biscuit’s feelings?”

She then opened a three-ring binder labeled BISCUT TRUTH with a missing second “I” that she said proved her dog was the actual victim of the attack. Evidence included a blurry photo of Padilla holding mail, a screenshot of a Facebook comment reading “train your dog,” and a paw print Kelp claimed showed “emotional complexity.”

“Look at his eyes,” she said, pointing to Biscuit, whose eyes were fixed on an animal control officer’s calf. “Those are the eyes of a healer.”

Local animal behaviorist Carla Menendez said Biscuit’s history suggests the dog should be secured, professionally assessed, muzzled in public, and kept away from delivery workers, children, pets, elderly relatives, joggers, porch decorations, and “any living thing Madison describes as giving weird energy.”

Kelp called the recommendation “basically eugenics.”

“A muzzle would destroy his confidence,” she said. “Also he chewed through the last three because he thought they were hats for cowards.”

At a neighborhood meeting, residents proposed installing a locked gate, adding a second fence, moving the mailbox to the curb, banning Biscuit from the Easter egg hunt, and asking Kelp to stop bringing him to school pickup “for socialization.” Kelp agreed to consider every suggestion as long as nobody used judgmental language like “attack,” “mauling,” “victim,” “bite record,” “liability,” “where is my Pomeranian,” or “please get your dog off my father.”

“He is not aggressive,” Kelp said, adjusting Biscuit’s angel wings while Biscuit quietly swallowed part of a postal scanner. “He is reactive. He is protective. He is mouthy. He is spicy. He is working through things. And yes, sometimes his love language is sending a grown man into shock before lunch, but that does not make him a bad dog.”

Kelp later updated her Facebook post to thank supporters and clarify that Biscuit would be taking “space” from negative people, uniforms, mailboxes, and consequences.

“My sweet angle has been through enough,” she wrote. “Please respect our privacy while he heals from what Ray did to him.”

At press time, Biscuit was resting comfortably on the couch beside a plush toy, a rawhide bone, and a human shoe Kelp insisted had been “gifted to him by the universe.”