Owls and Peanut Butter

Heading out soon to find Jack. I think I know where he is. First stop will be to check on an owl.

Three nights ago Rex and I were driving home, late, from a downtown meeting, and a short patrol, and we passed an owl just sitting in the middle of Metcalfe, a three-lane street. Rex was driving. I told him, "Go back." He wheeled it around. 

The owl was just sitting in the middle of the street. He seemed fine, except that he was not flying away from me, standing three feet from him. It was night. Late. His time. 

I got behind him and picked him up. He was lighter than I expected. Back in Rex's Mustang, he said, "And just what the hell do you propose to do with that?"

"Her," I said.

"Her. Whatever."

I said, "Take her to Fay." About then she tried to take a bite out of my neck. I asked her if she knew what a buddy is, because I was the best buddy she had right then.

Fay is an old gal in our neighborhood who is a certified wildlife rescue tech. And she's a retired nurse. So, I called, woke her. When I told her of my new friend, she said to come right over.

Fay said the owl suffered from head trauma. Her wings were fine. All she needs is rest, said Fay, and quiet. So, we left her with Fay, who said I could check on her anytime. 

Sven told Jack he heard something outside his window the other night, a noise that woke him and would not let him go back to sleep.  I gave the deck a good sniffing the next day. But, it was hard to smell anything but us. Three dogs and four people leave a good scent base. I would have forgotten about it if not for the timing, while I was out, and the tuft of fur I found caught in a deck screw - Wolf. 

I explained the situation to Bella and Flecka. They were not pleased. I told them what to do if werewolves came around, the bark they had to put out. Bella is small, but she has the bite. Flecka is scared, but she has the bark. I told them a big part of dealing with wolves is attitude. No problem, said Bella. They said they didn't want me going out tonight. I said I had to go find Jack. 

So, got to go. Got to go track Jack. It's not like during the day I am just napping and licking myself. I have a network that is constantly collecting and distributing information. When the family is all gone during the day I often get on a computer. We have three. Or I make calls. Buy and sell orders can be placed at night. But real time market events happen during the day. So, do other events. Being a weredog is not easy. 

And if we stop somewhere to get a beer, that would help get this peanut butter taste out of my mouth. Rick gave me half a peanut butter sandwich today. I know I shouldn't. But, I am such a sucker for peanut butter. But, first, have to go by Fay's.

Kid Out Of Control

There is a kid down the street who I want to bite, real bad. To call him annoying would not begin to do him justice.

The boys, Rick and Sven, play with him, sports, outside, around the neighborhood. Sometimes they even have him over, and inside, to play video games. On those days I have to go upstairs, get under a bed, and cover my ears with my paws. It is for him more than me. If I have to listen to him too long I get a very strong urge to tear into that kid.

He cannot control himself. Not sure if it is due to ADD or ADHD or what it is. But, I get bad scent from him, kind of a rabid smell, but with almonds. He is into pro wrestling and high-gore movies, the kind that even a werewolf would not watch. He thinks violence is the way to being a man, that lying ad cheating and stealing are ways of proving his machismo.

Jack has spent some time with him, trying to talk to him. I don't get the impression this has been productive. Wish I could have a crack at the kid. I would tell him that control is power. Power is manly. Lack of control is weakness. A good soldier understands "fire discipline". A good man understands self-discipline. This kids is in a hurry to be a man. That is the leverage with him.

Point in fact, werewolves have no self-control. They kill and murder and change form and mess with whomever they want whenever they want to do it. They kill for fun. We, weredogs, kill only our of duty. Big difference. 

We have a dog on the inside at the Ralston's home, the house with the little girl who was missing. She is a weredog. She was in human phase up in Omaha, had been for about five years, and was ready to switch, due to developments in her situation. The key was her dog form: Skye Terrier. He did some research and found that the Ralston mother has a Skye growing up and is crazy about them. We put our girl from Omaha in their cul-de-sac so that the mom could find her, and "Presto". New doggie in the house.  Her name is Godiva. She will keep an eye on the girl, watch out for the family.

There is an interesting, new development in weredog world that is unsettling to many weredogs. A story started spreading about six months ago about an "artist" who starved a dog as part of an art exhibit. His name is Guillarmo Habacuc Vargas. He is Costa Rican, and the "exhibit" was done in Nicaragua. This sent the weredog world on fire. Packs all over the world started howling about sending dogs or teams to Central America to deal with this, to deal with him, Vargas. 

As I have said, weredogs are nit supposed harm people, except for very good reasons. Many dogs said that starving a stray dog in a public art gallery was that, very god reason. Debates and arguments raged for months. I was afraid things would go. Then something interesting happened.

The werwolves contacted us. They offered to take care of the matter. Brilliant. No blood on our paws. Many disagreed. What do you want in return? we asked them. Nothing, they said. Right, I and Rex said. We have not heard anything lately. I keep hoping to read about them finding his disemboweled and dismembered boy floating somewhere off the coast, maybe near Puntarenas. I howled for this during the last full moon. 

How do I feel about colluding with werewolves? Great. How do most Americans feel about colluding with the Saudis?

Voting

I am glad that I am a dog for this election, so I don't have to vote.

Rex and I were out last night, on patrol, kinda. We stopped off at a late night bar we know about, one that stays open past legal closing time. The owner is neither weredog nor werewolf. Something in between. More on that later. 

We talked about the girl, the little girl who was missing, reappeared, out of nowhere, with no recollection of where she was. Sound suspicious? Us too. We decided to get a dog inside that household to keep an eye on the girl. The issue then becomes whether to infiltrate a dog into the household, or recruit a dog already in the household. They already have one dog.

So, we were in this bar, talking about things important, when the late news on the TV shows Barak Obama, the apparent front-runner for the Democratic Party. Everyone in there, people and dogs, started talking politics. 

Weredogs are not allowed to divide loyalties between people. We cannot side with one group or the other. So, we do not get involved in people politics. Loyalty is our mantra. Politics is too much the threat to that. And to tell you the truth, I am glad I do not have to mess with it. Because, from what I can tell, none of the candidates in this election are particularly exciting.

We do, however, vote and elect councils within our own packs, and grand councils. But, that is different. And what I simply cannot understand, and every dog agrees with me on this, is how you people divide so violently over politics. To hear some people, this country is ready for a second civil war. Do you people not remember, and understand, that "United we stand, divided we fall"? Thus, anyone within a pack who seeks to divide the pack betrays the pack, and their own survival, and that of their pups. 

We dogs have a vested interest in the stability of this country. We're somewhat dependent on you, us on each other. But, we do worry, sometimes, about the social stability of this country. Dogs in every country share these concerns, I assure you. This divisiveness is simply something we do not understand, cannot grasp. It is so obvious to us that the cohesion of the pack affects the individual survival of every member. 

It's not like we don't have our inter-breed rivalries and tensions. It happens. Corgis and Collies have a feud going back centuries. No one is sure how it began. Boxers and Borzois too. I have seen Setters and Spaniels argue to hours. And, for the love of dog, never bring a Foxhound, Deerhound, and Wolfhound into the same room together. But, if you do, DO NOT ask who is the best tracker. And in all these cases, it is more rare than snow snakes for these disagreements to go to blood. It just doesn't happen. We always remember that we all are dogs.

Of course, there was the time I saw a Great Dane driven off in terror by a pack of Shih Ztus, his legs from shins down in shredded, bloody tatters. 

Also, there was another attack the other night. The body was mutilated, defiled, violated. Werewolf, for sure. There have also been some very disturbing new developments. There have been two attacks on weredog patrols in the past three weeks. Werewolves targeting and attacking weredogs is not good. They are getting bold. 

I told Rex, "Enough of this shit. It's time to bag a wolf pelt." Rex said, "Hell, I'm redoing the den. Let's get us a whole damn pack of them."

That's what I like about Rex. He thinks big.

Rex and I

Rex and I have known each other for a very long time.

We met during World War II, in Italy. I was a dog. He was infantry. We knew each other right away. A weredog can always tell another weredog. Werewolves are pretty obvious too. My handler and I were attached to his company. The first time we went out on patrol together we avoided an ambush and two snipers. We were great together. My handler sensed there was something between us, even made remarks about it. But, of course, he never suspected the truth. A couple times were went out, at night, as weredogs, to scout and sniff. We felt we had to. Our entire battalion was stuck and could not more forward against the German positions. We had to find a hole in their line. One night we ran into three werewolves. There were werewolves amongst the Krauts. I know, I know. Big surprise. Only 2 dogs walked away that night.

In Korea we both fought as men. There was a scout dog and his handler attached to our company. Cody, dog, not weredog. I still think of that dog everyday. Rex and I invited him to be a weredog. He almost did, but declined, said he had to stay with his handler, and wanted to go home someday, as he had been, the way it had been.

In Vietnam I was the handler and Rex was the dog. We became famous amongst the VC. Even the Special Forces guys started requesting us quite often. That was a crazy war, different from others I have known. Rex and I went out a lot more nights as weredogs. We found werewolves. There were plenty over there. But most didn't wear VC pajamas or NVA uniforms during the day. They were our own people. That's a whole other story.

It's not that Rex and I follow each other around. Not entirely. We just keep showing up at the same time in the same places, especially for wars. It is partly by design and partly by fate. Also, has a lot to do with the fact we are a good damn team. 

I've only ever had one other friend as close as Rex. When things get to much, Rex can talk me down, keep me sane. He is the father or brother, I'm not sure which, that I can't much remember anymore. He is older. But not by much.

Before KC, we lived in Seattle. We were there for a while after we got out of 1st Group at Fort Lewis.  (Both humans or that stint. SF doesn't take dogs. Fools.) We like the Northwest so much that we decided to hang it there for a while. He was the dog, with a family in Everett, and I worked as an architect, my second time at that. We finally had to leave when too many people got to know us. Also, the little girl in the family Rex was with saw him in human form one night and knew immediately who he was. She was thrilled. He was not.  As she grew older the risk grew with her. We had to go. Rex worries that she is still in therapy.