My Buddy Mason, Master Scat Scout

The boys, Sven and Rick, should be getting home soon, Jack soon after. I have been up for 2 hours, checking coms, preparing for tonight. I expect the worst. But, then I always do. 

My inbox was packed with messages. I usually use the desktop upstairs, but can use any of the laptops in the house. We weredogs have our own were-encryption systems and protocols that people do not know about, never see, so, of course, have no means of breaking. We don't do it to deceive you. It is just in everyone's best interest if we continue to stay under your radar.

One very interesting message was from an old friend.  His name is Mason. He works, currently, in dog form, as a scat detection dog. Some refer to themselves as poop chasers, feces scouts, or turd trackers. Mason works for the CCD, the Center for Conservation Biology at the University of Washington in Seattle. 

His job, and the other dogs and handlers that work at the CCD, is to track the movements, behaviors and well being of various wild species by finding and analyzing their feces. Laugh if you must. But much can be told from a pile of poop. Hormone analysis can tell a lot about an animal's nutritional and emotional state. Anyway, interested?  Check their site:  CCD.

There is another weredog in the CCD.  She is currently in human phase, and works as a biologist. She spends much of her time in the lab analyzing all the scat that passes through. (Sorry. Couldn't help myself.) She and Mason try not to associate too much, so as not to give themselves away. Mason says there are various reasons she is not a dog handler. But, occasionally, she manages to get out in the field. 

Mason and his handler spent the last 2 winters in northeastern Alberta tracking moose, caribou and wolf scat. There are large oil exploration efforts up there that many fear are having a negative impact on the local animals. They recently went up there early to scout around.

Cutlines criss-cross the terrain up there. These roads and paths allow for vehicles and crews to go about their work. But these cutlines are also causing a lot of stress of the animals, in particular the caribou. This has been proven by the scat Mason and the other dog teams have found, and the analysis of that scat by the other weredog in this program. 

I cannot say the other weredog's name, for obvious reasons.  And if anyone confronts Mason, he will just stare at them, pant, probably bark. He has his schtick down. 

Last winter Mason says they started seeing some very strange behaviors from the wolves, in terms of movement patterns and sightings by people. Three times small groups of workers were surrounded by wolves and held. Eventually there were let go, the wolves evaporated into the trees. But, the crews, big, hard men, were getting edgy. Mason and the other weredog slipped out one night to look into it. They left in weredog form.  

Choosing form is a tricky business. In weredog form one cannot carry weapons or, of course, wear clothes. But, neither is necessary, for the most part. Close in, teeth and claws are preferable to bullets or knives. Trust me on this. Also, weredogs are faster than dogs, given their greater size and stride, and even faster than a man on a snowmobile. But, against overwhelming odds, a small group of well-trained men with automatic weapons can eat up a pack of werewolves.  Last year in Iraq, 3 weredogs, serving in the 101st Abn Div, wiped out an entire pack of werewolves using a fiddy cal and 2 SAWs. They ran out of ammo at the end and had to dispatch the last half dozen with claw alone. But, I digress.

Mason and the other dog were out for 3 hours before they finally found some wolf scent. They tracked for another hour before they found themselves in a clearing surrounded by wolves and werewolves. The clearing was about 100 meters by 75 meters, flat and white, covered in snow, and ringed with dark, dense trees. Mason says he could sense at least thirty wolves. They prepared themselves to fight. And die. 

A werewolf came forward, a female. "We did not come to fight," she said, holding up both pawhands. "We only want to talk." She made a yipping noise and about a dozen werewolves, and over thirty wolves, came out of the tree line and encircled Mason and the other dog.

They had no choice but to sit and listen. The wolves took turns, wolf and werewolf alike, telling how the humans were destroying their home, how the machines and their fowl smoke, was driving off all the wolves' food, the caribou in particular. The talking and listening went on for half an hour until the lead werewolf sat back and softly said, "We want you to help us."

Mason said it was hard, but he managed not to say anything that got him throat-torn. The wolves explained that the threat to their home was a threat to dogs, and all other animals, everywhere. Mason was torn. But, his companion was won over. She was nodding like a bobblehead doll. She turned to him, when the wolves stopped talking and howling, put her nose to his and said, "We need to start saving man."

Mason howled with laughter. "Are you insane?" he snarled, when finally he was able to stop laughing and howling. "We serve man, not save him." Man is the most intelligent species on the planet, he reminded her. That is why they are the dominant species. She said that yes, they are, but that it is that highest intelligence that is the problem. They argued for nearly half an hour, out there in the moon illuminated snow, surrounded by wolves, watching them. Mason did not care. He ignored the wolves. The things he was hearing were a far greater threat than the wolves. 

"We think there is a new species," said the lead werewolf during a lull in the arguing, "a species that is not man, not dog, not wolf, something new, that is leading man away from his true nature"

That made sense to Mason. A new species would explain a lot, and fit in with evolutionary biology and physics that all dogs knew to be true.  Mason and the other dog said they would do what they could do to speak with their pack, and other packs, get a consensus, and return the next year to speak again with the wolves. At that time, they said, they would have answers, maybe more questions, but certainly more information. 

That was last March, of 2008. Now they were back. It was October, '08. The other dog had managed to come along, to set up a field lab. They went out the first night both of them could arrange it, to find the werewolves. They found no scent. None. Not even of wolves. There was none. Nothing. The terrain was devoid of wolf.

"They're all gone," a voice said.  There were in a cutline, trying to find any kind of scent. Mason and the other dog turned, scanned the trees.

"Who are you?" said Mason. "Where are you?"

The voice came out of the trees and sat. It was a fox. "They are al gone," it said again. "Headed south."

"How do you know where they went?" said the other dog.

The fox laughed. "I heard them. You big dogs think you know so much. You could learn a few things from us foxes. I could teach you an awful lot about stealth. Trust me."

"Why did they go?"said Mason.

"To deal with man," said the fox.  "He is bent on destroying their home, and all homes. So, they must destroy man before that happens. They believe they have no choice."

They asked more questions, then thanked the fox, tossed hi several bags of jerky, and returned to their facility.  Mason sent me his message the next night, asking me to spread the word to all packs. His message went to other dogs as well.

I do not know what it means. Yet. But, his message is very troubling.