Grand Pack Meeting

They've called a Grand Pack meeting for tomorrow night. I wish I'd have known. Lawrence of Arabia is on tomorrow night. It's one of my favorite movies.

But there is no way I can miss it. The purpose is to talk about the werewar, and Rex, and me. I can smell it. I hate to the be the topic at pack meetings. 

Message From Jason

I checked my messages tonight. Had not checked them in about a week. There were several from Jason, and several from Jessica. They say they still want to work with Rex and I. 

Work. They want to work with us. That's a good idea. Oh, I know what you are thinking. It is against the rules to involve humans in the affairs of weredogs, especially anything involving werewolves. Someone might get hurt. But, that is the idea. 

Jason and Jessica are both well-trained. Both are combat vets. And they love to hurt people who hurt dogs. When I explain how werewolves hurt dogs, they ought to ignite faster than two teenagers in a backseat. They have weapons, and lots of friends, and they all know how to use their toys. 

People sometimes look to violence for the thrills. Or for the escape. Wolves do it because they exist to impart pain and destruction on others. Dogs exist to protect. Others. Men. Women. Children. Pups. Jason and Jessica, I sense, look for violence to cleanse them, and for the thrill. It helps them to feel, to feel alive, to feel . . . something. Anything. What I have in mind will make them feel things they have never even suspected. 

This war will require weapons, and training, of how to use those weapons. And intent. I have lots of that. I intend to line the streets with wolf carcasses. If Jason and Jessica can help me d that, on one way or another, so bet it. 

Rex Is Dead

Rex was killed last night in a werewolf ambush.

He and I were coming home from a pack meeting. We were talking about the hot new female in the pack. She just moved here from Phoenix, is transitioning to a human phase. She has been a family pet for the past eight years. Was time to move. Anyway, we were distracted, not paying enough attention. We got complacent, cocky. We thought we were safe in our own neighborhood. 

Wrong.

I can't give details now. Too much to do. But, I swear this: The gloves are off. All bets are off. The streets are going to run with wolf blood. I will do whatever it takes to extract the necessary revenge. Jack has a guy coming next month to redo the siding on our house. He won't have to. I am going to reside this house with wolf pelts. 

600 Hounds

This came from a friend tonight.

> Hi Everyone, The Woodlands Racetrack in Kansas City is closing
> August 24th. I have spoken with REGAP (Retired Greyhounds as Pets)
> here in Kansas City. There are 600 Greyhounds at the track.
> Greyhound rescue estimates they will be able to get 200 into the
> rescue network. The Woodlands is one of the last stop race tracks in
> the Greyhound racing industry, the remaining 400 will be 'returned'
> to the breeders and likely put-to-sleep. They are needing as much
> help as they can get for fosters, adoptions, transports,
> etc. PLEASE contact them if you can help and forward to friends you
> know who may be able to help, as well.
>
> REGAP can be reached at 816-763-3333.
> Thanks! Sarah

Dickhead at the Dog Run

Sherry and Jack took the 3 of us to the dog run this morning.

There is nothing better than an early Sunday morning at the dog run. Was still not to hot, but the sun was out, and the place was run amok with dogs, all sizes and breeds. Man, there were more scents, aromas and odors than you could shake a tail at. 

I was sniffing butts with this really good looking golden retriever - she had the most incredible coat - when this little hairball shoots in out of nowhere, between my legs, and starts biting at my shins. Well, hell. I did what any dog would do. I told him to back off. Of course, that involved some barking. He jumped back, but them came right back in. He actually told me to stuff it.

Well, I had to make a statement. I snarled at him, viciously enough to throw him off, then flip him over on his back and was over him, still snarling. All I said was, "Watch yourself, you little maggot, before you bite off more than you can chew."

I was just about to stop and get off him, and let him run off, when someone kicked me. I reacted by leaping about three feet away from the force of the kick. It was a big fat guy. He was reaching down and picking up the hairball, and cursing at me.

Jack came up and was saying, "Sorry about that," when the fat guy launched into him. He said that Jack had better watch his damn dog, that I am a menace. 

You think people don't have hackles? Oh yeah. They got them. I saw Jack's go up. Soon he and the fat guy were exchanging none too friendly words. I smelled violence in the air. Jack is six-four. The fat guy was about the same. And I got to admit, the fat guy was big, although shaped like a pear. But Jack is built like a brick shithouse. And he can throw a punch. He has a heavy bag hanging in our basement. I have seen him make that thing dance like it is a laundry bag. 

When the fat guy said that Jack looked as dumb as his dog and that we both better clear out before we got hurt, I thought, Oh, Dog, here we go. We'll be in the can tonight for sure. Too bad they don't lock up dogs and people together. Jack leaned in real close and spoke real softly to the fat guy. I won't tell you what he said. That is not as important as how he said it. It scared the doggy doodoo out of me and I was about eight feet away. Also, the fat guy was looking right into Jack's eyes.

That was the end of it. The fat guy moved off with his hairball. People like that amaze me, people who expect dogs to behave like good children. Dogs are not children. Dogs are not even people, shock as that is for some. Weredogs included. Dogs are dogs. As such, dogs are capable of wild and unpredictable behavior. Too many dog owners do not understand that, or their dogs. Same thing about parents and their kids. Don't get me started. But, I'll tell you something. I think that potential for wildness is one of the reasons you humans love us, for our wild side. It allows you to either come to terms with, or ignore, our own wild side. Your choice. 

George Carlin

George Carlin is missed. 

George was a a good man. And he was, of course, a weredog. There are rumors he did a short stint as a werewolf. Don't ask me how that works.

I remember when I first heard Carlin. It was the mid 70s. A friend told me, "You got to hear this." He played a Carlin LP for me. The & Dirty Words was in the LP. So was the dog routine, wherein he talks about the dog licking his balls and, "If I could do that I'd never leave the house." All dogs loved George, because of that joke and so many others.

Go with Dog, George.

 

The Battel of Gettysburg

Today, July 3rd, in 1863, the Confederate Forces withdrew, ending three days of brutal fighting, which ended what most consider the most important battle of The Civil War. 

Twelve dogs lost their lives over those three days. Thirty-two weredogs died. The dogs were mostly local farm dogs, drawn in to the smells and sounds of the fighting by curiosity and concern. Most dogs were smart enough to head for the hills. The thirty-two weredogs who died fought as soldiers on both sides. It was great tragedy amongst weredogs.

It was not the first time weredogs had fought on opposing sides of a battle or war. But this was different or several reasons. One, was that we thought The United States of America was different. We had never seen anything like it before.  Two, was the carnage that modern warfare was capable of visiting on the battlefield. We were not prepared. No one was. 

In the past weredogs had been able to avoid killing or wounding other weredogs. But, not at Gettysburg. The distance and confusion and ferocity made it next to impossible. 

Werewolves mostly stayed out of that war. We called them cowards for it. There were times, afterward, I wasn't sure about that.

Werewolf Rising

Werewolves are on the move.

Werewolf activity has risen dramatically. All weredogs are on Alert-Reaction Status. We have to be ready to react, or go, on a moment's notice. I have a "Go Bag" stashed in the bushes on the side of the house. In it are 3 bottles of water; a small 2-way radio, with 2-mile range; a .40 cal, with 5 clips; 100 ft. of parachute cord; a 6-inch Randal fighting; a skinning knife; 20 lbs. of beef jerky; an MP-5 with 10 mags; a Warren Zevon CD; and a 18-inch maglite. A few other items. But that's the jist of it. I have another "Go Bag" at Rex's that similar with only a few additional items, like a larger bottle of Tobasco, a GPS, and a sawed-off 12 gauge. The makings of a real party. 

We are to patrol in groups no fewer than three, preferably five, in any form of our choosing. We are to take no chances. If we smell trouble or danger, we are to assume weredog form. The change is quicker from dog form, so people have been seeing lots of packs of stray dogs running and sniffing around the area recently. 

Jason and Jessica have both been calling me. They want to recruit me. I may recruit them. Rex and I have discussed it, several times. Something about them draws me. Rex says Jessica would be good, but that Jason is to heavy with hate. Rex thinks it makes Jason unstable. Emotions can do that. Jason thinks killing evil people will make him stable. I see it. Seen it before.

Sven snuck out the other night. I cam home, from a patrol, to find he was gone. The moment I came into the house I could smell he was not here. I immediately called Rex and we went right back out. We found him and four other kids down on some swing-sets along the trail. It was secluded by trees. None of the nearby houses could see them. Few could hear anything. 

I got his scent in the back yard, went right to them. They were sitting in the swing, smoking cigs, talking about girls and vids. Watching them from the brush I smelled it, something moving on the other side of the playground open area. I could not make out if it was wolf or not, but it was definitely trying to get close to Sven and his buds. "I smell it too," Rex said.

I went in in dog form. Sven, of course, saw me and freaked. I barked a coupled times and ran off. He ran after me. Rex went in in human form and told the other boys they needed to go home. I had circled back, in case Rex needed support, and without Sven knowing I went back. Rex got them to all to their homes. 

Bella has cancer. She has several months to live. This has cast a pall over the house. It is hard for everyone to accept. She is the "alpha dog" of the family. Ony Flecka doesn't understand. And she won't, until Bella is gone. Then she will come to me. And I don't know what I will tell her. 

Dogs Get Some Helmsley Bucks

Today's paper shows that Leona Helmsley left billions to dogs.

Leona died last August. She let an estate and a charitable trust worth billions. The trust is worth $5 to $8 billion. 

She left $12 million to her dog, Trouble. All $5 to $8 billion is to go to dogs. That money could help a lot of dogs. But the terms of the will and trust are being contested. You can bet it is werewolves who are trying to get their claws on some of that. Filthy beasts.

Here's the whole article"

Helmsley . . . Left Them Billions

Does that seem odd, that a woman known as "The Queen of Mean" would leave billions to dog charities and nothing to people charities? Not to me. I have seen it many times, people, often women, who lose faith in people, and find it in dogs. 

I once went on a dog run with Jack in Lee's Summit. Afterward, we hung around with some of the runners and dogs, drinking energy drinks and doggy mineral water. I hate that stuff. Anyway, Jack was trying to make time with this morose women dressed in black running shorts and tank top. I had never seen goth running gear before. Listening to her talk made me want to call the morgue and ask if they were missing any corpses. But, when, somehow, the conversation shifted, and she, somehow, was able to start talking about when mankind would wipe itself out, and dogs would inherit the earth, she was absolutely luminous. Her dead, eyes took on a twinkle. Her fish mouth blossomed into a smile. Her back straightened and her head went back. Jack and I both were mesmerized. 

I was also mesmerized by her Irish Setter. Her name was Corine. I wanted to recruit her, to weredom. I wanted to mount her, right then and there, with all those other dogs around, and howl at the sun. I wanted to have puppies with her, to see how our coats and eyes and howls mixed in them. 

Then Goth Girl shattered it al by asking Jack if he wanted to go someplace and have sex. He just stared, his mouth gaping. She said, "But, I only do it doggy style. And me on top. Always." 

I have to hand it to Jack. He hardly missed a beat when she said that. He told her he had to get home. Corine snarled at me. I told her, "I think you got a mange spot on your on your rump." That was close.

Anyway, Helmsley and Goth Girl are not unique. There are many people haters in the animal movements. And there are more than enough animal, and dog, haters to go around also. But, that is another post.

Dog Rescued from Sewer

This was in today's paper:

"A frightened dog was found in a 60-foot-deep sewer hole in a field just south of Berkley Park on Tuesday afternoon. 

He sat alone - whimpering - until the Kansas City Fire Department came to his aid."

Click here to read the entire article.

This is why I keep my faith in humans, this kind of story. Sure, we dogs get concerned from time to time. People often exhibit a determined insistence to destroy themselves, everyone they love, and the entire planet. Humans love war. There is no doubt about that. Lust, greed and avarice often seem like the primary human values. Then I read something like this. By the way, dogs like firemen. Once you get past the strong odor of smoke, you can smell that firemen are just good guys. 

And it is not that simple. Jack and Sherry both have their challenges. Neither are perfect. Neither will Ricky and Sven be. But, they are good people. Like firemen. It's just that sometimes they put out the wrong fire, or fan the wrong flames.

Dog rescues can take this off on a hundred different roads. Like the puppy mill rescues, Jason and Jessica. Much more on that later.

Dog Days, Hot Days

Dog Days begin on July 3rd.

The Dog Days are a period of 40 days that begins on July 3rd and ends on August 11th. They are names in honor of the Dog Star, Sirius, which rises with the sun this time of year. Ancient cultures associated the rising of The Dog Star with the hottest days of the years. Thus, The Dog Days. 

This little, 4-line poem is in honor of The Dog Days.

Dog Days bright and clear

Indicate a happy year.

But when accompanied by rain

For better times we hope in vain. 

       - Anonymous

Actually, to be honest, every day is dog day. To a dog any day that includes food is a great day. And a walk. Walks are good. Walks are great. Even in human and weredog forms I love to walk. I don't understand why more people don't walk. So many people seem to lump walking right in there with taxes. Matter of fact, if McCain or Obama got up behind a podium and declared, "Read my lips! No new walking!" he would win by a landslide. 

Actually, if either if them tried that, he would get whacked. There is too much corporate wealth riding on the explosion of obesity and diabetes in this country. Therefore, walking is bad. And if any serious effort managed to turn the tide of flab sweeping over this country, Madison Avenue would come out with a robust campaign that reframed obesity and sold the idea that skinny people are neo-communists, whatever that is. Liberals, I guess.

Anyway, have to go. Sheila is here. We have to go to a pack meeting. By the way, she just assured me that Dog Days are not for all dogs. Sheila is a malamute, and the most gorgeous weremalamute you ever saw. Maybe that will get me lucky. Wish me luck. 

Fresh meat.