It is true. In the beginning it was hard to tell us apart, dogs and wolves. We looked like wolves. We were wolves, evolved from wolves. Man knew us by our eyes and lips, how we entered his camps.
Over time our scent began to change. The old ones say that our scent changed as soon as we began to eat with man, to sleep in his camps, to lick his wounds, care for his young, he for our pups.
Wolves never lived with the Neanders as we did with man. They hunted together, fought together when the war began. But they ate apart. That is what made us and man different. That is how we prevailed, our connection.
Over time man sought to enhance us. He bred us, and cross-bred us. Our form began to change. We took more forms, more colors, sizes, temperaments, coats, abilities.
Wolves considered us strays in the beginning. We had left the packs, our own kind, to go dig in the trash of another species, a species that was loud and noxious, and very dangerous.
Wolves say that we dogs get our bones from man, that man is our bone source. Wolves get their own bones, they claim. In this they stake much of their pride.
Last spring in the Black Hills a wolf told me that neos are to dogs what we were to wolves. She said they would stay out of it, allow the neos to wipe us and man out, if not for the fact that neos seem intent on wiping out wolves too.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Jack's Politics
Jack was arguing politics at Grandma's. He started out with a woman wearing enough jewelry to sink a small fishing boat. She, a cousin, got pissed because Jack is not a straight-ticket conservative on everything. I sat and listened. It was an education. Human politics as nearly as much of a mystery to me, and all weredogs, as is human religion.
Jack believes in the sanctity of separation of church and state and of public education. She hated that. After going back and forth for about half an hour she asked just where he stands on the important issues.
Jack took a long draw off his beer and said, "I am true conservative on the big issues. I think we should solve unemployment by passing laws liberating women from the workplace."
"Oh boy. Here we go," I thought.
"I think we should solve the over-crowded prisons problem by ramping up the death penalty and liberating a lot of scumbags from the burden of life. Or we can give them the choice of death brigades, send them over to the hottest spots for combat."
"I think we pass laws requiring all registered voters to own and be trained with several guns, their effective use, and small unit tactics. Then no one would fuck with us, I gair-own-tee.
"I think we should bring back the draft, for males and females. Nothing like going to war to earn your citizenship. There would, of course, have to be the option of non-military service. Don't want to carry a rifle? Fine. Grab a shovel."
"I think corporate mercenaries ought to be outlawed. Soldiering for profit has never been a good idea."
"I think all these CEOs getting bail outs ought to be sent back to their mail rooms for mandatory terms."
At this point a small crowd had assembled. I could tell that Jack was trying to provocate (them) and entertain (himself).
"I think anyone considered for Secretary of Defense ought to be a veteran. Putting a non-vet in that position is like that yahoo Dick Cheney is a disgrace."
"I think the gov't ought to flood the streets with poison-laced meth and crack, and whatever else. That would end the illegal drugs problem."
"I think corporations should not be allowed to govern. That is like allowing a teenager to run the home. corporations have one guiding logic: profit. Only one end-state with this: oligarchy."
"I think we should establish the American Foreign Legion. The rest of the world wants a piece of our pie anyway. Let them fight for it."
"I think we should build a McDonalds and Starbucks in every third world city of more than 100,000. Would work better than the gun in most spots."
By the time we left Grandma and all the country relatives, they did not know what to think of ol' Jack. Lots of mouths hanging open. Can't say I agree with Jack on all those. But, I do on many of them.
Chester
Jack believes in the sanctity of separation of church and state and of public education. She hated that. After going back and forth for about half an hour she asked just where he stands on the important issues.
Jack took a long draw off his beer and said, "I am true conservative on the big issues. I think we should solve unemployment by passing laws liberating women from the workplace."
"Oh boy. Here we go," I thought.
"I think we should solve the over-crowded prisons problem by ramping up the death penalty and liberating a lot of scumbags from the burden of life. Or we can give them the choice of death brigades, send them over to the hottest spots for combat."
"I think we pass laws requiring all registered voters to own and be trained with several guns, their effective use, and small unit tactics. Then no one would fuck with us, I gair-own-tee.
"I think we should bring back the draft, for males and females. Nothing like going to war to earn your citizenship. There would, of course, have to be the option of non-military service. Don't want to carry a rifle? Fine. Grab a shovel."
"I think corporate mercenaries ought to be outlawed. Soldiering for profit has never been a good idea."
"I think all these CEOs getting bail outs ought to be sent back to their mail rooms for mandatory terms."
At this point a small crowd had assembled. I could tell that Jack was trying to provocate (them) and entertain (himself).
"I think anyone considered for Secretary of Defense ought to be a veteran. Putting a non-vet in that position is like that yahoo Dick Cheney is a disgrace."
"I think the gov't ought to flood the streets with poison-laced meth and crack, and whatever else. That would end the illegal drugs problem."
"I think corporations should not be allowed to govern. That is like allowing a teenager to run the home. corporations have one guiding logic: profit. Only one end-state with this: oligarchy."
"I think we should establish the American Foreign Legion. The rest of the world wants a piece of our pie anyway. Let them fight for it."
"I think we should build a McDonalds and Starbucks in every third world city of more than 100,000. Would work better than the gun in most spots."
By the time we left Grandma and all the country relatives, they did not know what to think of ol' Jack. Lots of mouths hanging open. Can't say I agree with Jack on all those. But, I do on many of them.
Chester
December Summary
This entire month, starting with Thanksgiving, like every year, actually, has been non-stop and hard to breathe. Every night has been meetings or parties. A few patrols, interviews, surveys.
Jack drove us all out into the sticks. To see family in the country. He has a grandma and some cousins that live on farms near Hutchinson, Kansas. Some of them I like. Some, I don't. Jack had to argue to get me into the house. Grandma said, "Dogs don't belong in no houses." Finally, she relented, with the edict that if she even saw me looking near the kitchen she would chain me up in the barn.
Jack and Sherry struggled to chit-chat with some of the relatives. Jack got into a political discussion with a cousin who ranted against city folks. He went off for ten full minutes about government bailouts and corporate welfare. When he stopped to take a breath and down a beer, Jack asked how much in farm subsidies had he taken in from the government in the past decade. Two veins immediately stood out on the guy's forehead. He would not answer. Jack smiled, said, "I reckon around $200,000. Am I close?" The guy made a growling sound even I had never heard before. "More?" said Jack. "Really? $300,000? Wow."
This did not make Jack popular. Several of the men were giving him evil looks. I was trying to figure how best I could back up Jack. But, we managed to get off the farm without incident or violence. Which is good. Because I so hate fratricide.
These past few weeks, most of December, I have been busier than a three-legged dog in a sled race.
Jack and Sherry are hosting a New Year's party this Thursday. They do nearly every year. It gets crazy. Interesting people, and interesting scents, show up.
It gets confusing for me. I have, in years past taken to shifting back and forth, for various reasons, from dog to man. Last year I avoided doing that altogether. I hung around, getting petted and handouts, retreating upstairs only three times to seek respite from the noise, but generally keeping an eye on things.
2 days before Xmas everyone was gone for most of the day. I took the opportunity to slip out and get some things done. Yes, shopping. But, other tasks. I was at the Oak Park Mall when a boy about 8 or 9 slammed into me. I was standing there, waiting on someone to show. He went down, unhurt, but started whining. I picked him up, said, "You're OK, little guy."
"Take your hands off him!" screamed a woman. His mother scuttled up and nearly ripped an arm out of a socket when when she yanked him away from me. She launched into a tirade, accusing me of attacking her little son. She started screaming for security.
The last thing I needed was a silly tangle with the law. It was getting late in the afternoon. I had to head home. I tried to talk to her, to calm her down, but her eyes were filled with crazy. Her scent was heavy with fear. When I saw 2 mall-cops running toward us I decided the time for tact was past.
I slipped away. The mall-cops were hot on my heels. I slipped into a large Xmas display and shifted. The looks on the faces of Tweetles Dee and Dum were priceless, nearly worth the hassle. I slipped out to the parking lot and shifted again. I made it home just before Jack and the boys.
They are all gone from the house most of today, returning and exchanging gifts and clothes, going to the gym. I think triples at The Peanut are on the agenda. (Triples are a BLT which The Peanut, a bar near here, is famous for.)
Jack's political ideas are very interesting. I don't quite grasp them all. Or him. Or humans in general.
Warin, Gorton, contact me about Thursday
Jack drove us all out into the sticks. To see family in the country. He has a grandma and some cousins that live on farms near Hutchinson, Kansas. Some of them I like. Some, I don't. Jack had to argue to get me into the house. Grandma said, "Dogs don't belong in no houses." Finally, she relented, with the edict that if she even saw me looking near the kitchen she would chain me up in the barn.
Jack and Sherry struggled to chit-chat with some of the relatives. Jack got into a political discussion with a cousin who ranted against city folks. He went off for ten full minutes about government bailouts and corporate welfare. When he stopped to take a breath and down a beer, Jack asked how much in farm subsidies had he taken in from the government in the past decade. Two veins immediately stood out on the guy's forehead. He would not answer. Jack smiled, said, "I reckon around $200,000. Am I close?" The guy made a growling sound even I had never heard before. "More?" said Jack. "Really? $300,000? Wow."
This did not make Jack popular. Several of the men were giving him evil looks. I was trying to figure how best I could back up Jack. But, we managed to get off the farm without incident or violence. Which is good. Because I so hate fratricide.
These past few weeks, most of December, I have been busier than a three-legged dog in a sled race.
Jack and Sherry are hosting a New Year's party this Thursday. They do nearly every year. It gets crazy. Interesting people, and interesting scents, show up.
It gets confusing for me. I have, in years past taken to shifting back and forth, for various reasons, from dog to man. Last year I avoided doing that altogether. I hung around, getting petted and handouts, retreating upstairs only three times to seek respite from the noise, but generally keeping an eye on things.
2 days before Xmas everyone was gone for most of the day. I took the opportunity to slip out and get some things done. Yes, shopping. But, other tasks. I was at the Oak Park Mall when a boy about 8 or 9 slammed into me. I was standing there, waiting on someone to show. He went down, unhurt, but started whining. I picked him up, said, "You're OK, little guy."
"Take your hands off him!" screamed a woman. His mother scuttled up and nearly ripped an arm out of a socket when when she yanked him away from me. She launched into a tirade, accusing me of attacking her little son. She started screaming for security.
The last thing I needed was a silly tangle with the law. It was getting late in the afternoon. I had to head home. I tried to talk to her, to calm her down, but her eyes were filled with crazy. Her scent was heavy with fear. When I saw 2 mall-cops running toward us I decided the time for tact was past.
I slipped away. The mall-cops were hot on my heels. I slipped into a large Xmas display and shifted. The looks on the faces of Tweetles Dee and Dum were priceless, nearly worth the hassle. I slipped out to the parking lot and shifted again. I made it home just before Jack and the boys.
They are all gone from the house most of today, returning and exchanging gifts and clothes, going to the gym. I think triples at The Peanut are on the agenda. (Triples are a BLT which The Peanut, a bar near here, is famous for.)
Jack's political ideas are very interesting. I don't quite grasp them all. Or him. Or humans in general.
Warin, Gorton, contact me about Thursday
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Top 10 Aphrodisiacs
I stumbled across this recently.
Top 10 Aphrodisiacs
http://www.livescience.com/health/top10_aphrodisiacs-1.html
Bottomline = all of it, the rhino horns and Spanish flies, are crap, doesn't work, except for Viagra, which is not really an Aphrodisiac. It's a vascular drug.
The key to great sex is scent. And taste.
Top 10 Aphrodisiacs
http://www.livescience.com/health/top10_aphrodisiacs-1.html
Bottomline = all of it, the rhino horns and Spanish flies, are crap, doesn't work, except for Viagra, which is not really an Aphrodisiac. It's a vascular drug.
The key to great sex is scent. And taste.
Fat Dog, Skinny Dog
This was sent to me recently by a friend. Canine.
If you do not read French, I have attempted a summary at the end. Not a translation.
Chien Maigre et Chien Gras
by Jean Juraver
Un jour, le boucher du village fit du tapage en ameutant
tout le quartier, car on lui avait dévoré un gros quartier de
bœuf, et il ne lui restait que les os. Tous les chiens des
environs assistaient à la scène; au fond d'eux-mêmes, ils
savaient que le coupable était un des leurs.
Mais dans la foule, on distinguait deux sortes de chiens: les
chiens à collier et les chiens sans collier. Il y avait une véritable
division sociale entre les premiers et les derniers: un chien à collier
ne fréquentait pas un chien sans collier. Les chiens à collier étaient
propres et gras; les chiens sans collier étaient sales et maigres. Bien
sûr, le coupable ne pouvait pas être un chien à collier!
Tout le monde s'observait pour chercher un petit signe trahissant
le coupable. Mais aucun indice.
Soudain, voilà qu'apparaît au détour du chemin, un petit chien
sale, boueux, maigre comme une lame de couteau, le poil rare
et noir. Tous les regards convergent vers lui, des regards chargés de
haine et de colère. Un cri jaillit dans la foule: "À mort!", cri repris en
choeur: "À mort, qu'on le pende, à bas le scélérat!"
Alors la foule en colère se jette sur le malheureux à coups de
dents, à coups de pattes, à coups de griffes; les éléments déchaînés
l'ont déjà pratiquement écorché vif. Ils l'auraient fait passer de vie à
trépas, si le boucher, se sentant vengé, n'avait crié:
"Ça suffit pour aujourd'hui. Avec une telle leçon, j'espère qu'il
ne recommencera pas."
Un chien à collier, énorme et propre, s'est écrié d'un
air philosophe:
"Il y aura toujours une justice des riches et une justice
des pauvres."
Summary, in English -
A quarter of beef comes up missing. The butcher realizes this and throws a fit, makes much noise. All the dogs in town come running, to see what the stink is about.
There are 2 types of dogs in this town, as in most, dogs with collars and dogs without collars. It is decided that it could not have been a collar dog who took the meat. They would not do that. They have homes and are well fed. No need to steal meat. Must be a collarless dog.
A small, stray (collarless) dog shows up. The dog mob led by collared dogs, sets upon the small stray, accusing him of taking the meat, and intends to kill him. The butcher stops the mob before they complete the killing.
A collared dog, one of more philosophic attitudes, closes with a lesson that there are always 2 systems of justice, 1 for the rich (dogs) and one for the poor (dogs).
I get asked allot in emails why dogs don't stick together more. Why don't more weredogs get involved in puppy mill rescues. Because most do not.
The truth is that dogs, and weredogs, are not so different than people, and all other species, at least in this way. Most individuals, in every species, will not go too far out of their way to help others. Most individuals are absorbed with their own survival, and can allow little effort or energy for others.
I have to add here that dogs do not really tend to form classes and castes. Nor do we weres. Not much at least. We do a little. Wolves too. Each pack has an alpha, after all.
This story is really about humans, not dogs. But the collared and un-collared issue really can lead to some classic dog and wolf debates. I know. Some of you weredogs mouths are dropping as you read this, that I would even bring that up, in light of this story.
Oh well. C'est la vie. C'est la guerre. C'est la chien.
If you do not read French, I have attempted a summary at the end. Not a translation.
Chien Maigre et Chien Gras
by Jean Juraver
Un jour, le boucher du village fit du tapage en ameutant
tout le quartier, car on lui avait dévoré un gros quartier de
bœuf, et il ne lui restait que les os. Tous les chiens des
environs assistaient à la scène; au fond d'eux-mêmes, ils
savaient que le coupable était un des leurs.
Mais dans la foule, on distinguait deux sortes de chiens: les
chiens à collier et les chiens sans collier. Il y avait une véritable
division sociale entre les premiers et les derniers: un chien à collier
ne fréquentait pas un chien sans collier. Les chiens à collier étaient
propres et gras; les chiens sans collier étaient sales et maigres. Bien
sûr, le coupable ne pouvait pas être un chien à collier!
Tout le monde s'observait pour chercher un petit signe trahissant
le coupable. Mais aucun indice.
Soudain, voilà qu'apparaît au détour du chemin, un petit chien
sale, boueux, maigre comme une lame de couteau, le poil rare
et noir. Tous les regards convergent vers lui, des regards chargés de
haine et de colère. Un cri jaillit dans la foule: "À mort!", cri repris en
choeur: "À mort, qu'on le pende, à bas le scélérat!"
Alors la foule en colère se jette sur le malheureux à coups de
dents, à coups de pattes, à coups de griffes; les éléments déchaînés
l'ont déjà pratiquement écorché vif. Ils l'auraient fait passer de vie à
trépas, si le boucher, se sentant vengé, n'avait crié:
"Ça suffit pour aujourd'hui. Avec une telle leçon, j'espère qu'il
ne recommencera pas."
Un chien à collier, énorme et propre, s'est écrié d'un
air philosophe:
"Il y aura toujours une justice des riches et une justice
des pauvres."
Summary, in English -
A quarter of beef comes up missing. The butcher realizes this and throws a fit, makes much noise. All the dogs in town come running, to see what the stink is about.
There are 2 types of dogs in this town, as in most, dogs with collars and dogs without collars. It is decided that it could not have been a collar dog who took the meat. They would not do that. They have homes and are well fed. No need to steal meat. Must be a collarless dog.
A small, stray (collarless) dog shows up. The dog mob led by collared dogs, sets upon the small stray, accusing him of taking the meat, and intends to kill him. The butcher stops the mob before they complete the killing.
A collared dog, one of more philosophic attitudes, closes with a lesson that there are always 2 systems of justice, 1 for the rich (dogs) and one for the poor (dogs).
I get asked allot in emails why dogs don't stick together more. Why don't more weredogs get involved in puppy mill rescues. Because most do not.
The truth is that dogs, and weredogs, are not so different than people, and all other species, at least in this way. Most individuals, in every species, will not go too far out of their way to help others. Most individuals are absorbed with their own survival, and can allow little effort or energy for others.
I have to add here that dogs do not really tend to form classes and castes. Nor do we weres. Not much at least. We do a little. Wolves too. Each pack has an alpha, after all.
This story is really about humans, not dogs. But the collared and un-collared issue really can lead to some classic dog and wolf debates. I know. Some of you weredogs mouths are dropping as you read this, that I would even bring that up, in light of this story.
Oh well. C'est la vie. C'est la guerre. C'est la chien.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Airborne Vid
Received this recently from an old SF bud.
Watching this gets my blood going. Gets me in the mood to put my knees in the breeze (make a jump).
I think this was shot in the 80's. They appear to be wearing BDUs, and the aircraft and equipment seem to be from that time. That aircraft might even be a 141. But I cannot be certain. Been so long. Might also be a 130. The 141s are gone from the Air Force inventory. But the 130s are still around. Hell, the cockroaches will still be flying the 130s in use today when the human race is gone. I gair-own-tee.
Everyone is gone from the house, busted out of here like their hair was on fire this morning. They even forgot to let us out. I had to let Flecka and I out so we could answer nature's call. So, I am catching up on emails.
Watching this gets my blood going. Gets me in the mood to put my knees in the breeze (make a jump).
I think this was shot in the 80's. They appear to be wearing BDUs, and the aircraft and equipment seem to be from that time. That aircraft might even be a 141. But I cannot be certain. Been so long. Might also be a 130. The 141s are gone from the Air Force inventory. But the 130s are still around. Hell, the cockroaches will still be flying the 130s in use today when the human race is gone. I gair-own-tee.
Everyone is gone from the house, busted out of here like their hair was on fire this morning. They even forgot to let us out. I had to let Flecka and I out so we could answer nature's call. So, I am catching up on emails.
Opposing Man
Taylor asked a while back, maybe 2 weeks, why weredogs do not rise up against people and claim our freedom. I think I addressed this before. There are several elements to this answer.
First, there are many billions more people than weredogs. But, even if we were of an equal number, we are no match for man. I probably could take Jack in one-on-one combat. Maybe. He is, after all, a former Ranger and a tough hombre. I am also a tough hombre, am former Special Forces, and outweigh him, in wereform, by about 40 lbs, and am several inches over his 6'4". But, that really does not matter. Humans are the ultimate predators. There is no one and nothing that can oppose them. They are formidable individually. But they a force of nature when they come together, especially to fight.
When homosapiens first arrived in Europe, form Africa, around 50,000 years ago, they were vastly outnumbered by neanderthals. When the war eventually started the outcome was inevitable. The neanderthals never had a chance. It took several thousand years. But, even though they were larger and stronger, the neanderthals were doomed. A group of humans is a killing machine, more lethal even than an experienced wolf pack.
We remember that. We know that. And there is also our millennia-long pact with man. Dog and Man have a pact. We are a pact, and a pack, a global pack. We cannot, would not, betray that.
I know I am going to get emails from wolves over this.
Chester
First, there are many billions more people than weredogs. But, even if we were of an equal number, we are no match for man. I probably could take Jack in one-on-one combat. Maybe. He is, after all, a former Ranger and a tough hombre. I am also a tough hombre, am former Special Forces, and outweigh him, in wereform, by about 40 lbs, and am several inches over his 6'4". But, that really does not matter. Humans are the ultimate predators. There is no one and nothing that can oppose them. They are formidable individually. But they a force of nature when they come together, especially to fight.
When homosapiens first arrived in Europe, form Africa, around 50,000 years ago, they were vastly outnumbered by neanderthals. When the war eventually started the outcome was inevitable. The neanderthals never had a chance. It took several thousand years. But, even though they were larger and stronger, the neanderthals were doomed. A group of humans is a killing machine, more lethal even than an experienced wolf pack.
We remember that. We know that. And there is also our millennia-long pact with man. Dog and Man have a pact. We are a pact, and a pack, a global pack. We cannot, would not, betray that.
I know I am going to get emails from wolves over this.
Chester
Ricky and Man
I have a new problem at night that is making it hard for me to get out, to even make commo (emails, blog, texts, calls). Ricky has taken to dragging me in to sleep with him. So, each night I now get drug into his room and onto his bed. It is a comfortable bed. So, that is fine. But he awakes if i get down off the bed, nearly immediately. Then he goes looking for me and drags me back up there. Warin thinks it is hysterical. He did, that is, until the other night when an emergency pack meeting was called.
Flecka was in a Bad way recently. Jack was so worried he was sleeping downstairs on the floor with her. Never a good sign. I was very worried too. Her scent was very bad. But the vet finally prescribed a bunch of pills, and some of them did the trick. She is up and around again. Her scent is good again.
As happens every year, I have been trying to explain Christmas to other dogs and pets. They know something us up. But they do not understand it. The only thing that seems to get their attention is when my explanation reaches the point about more scraps. Most really like that. Rooster, seeming even older lately, ancient, thinks it is just another example of man's weirdness, but loves to take naps under the Christmas tree.
I need to figure out how to get out nights. Jack also has been proving difficult. He often wakes up in the middle of nights, with gut pains or anxiety attacks, or both. If I was gone he would notice. When he gets up, he often reads by the fire, and likes to have Flecka and I by him.
Flecka was in a Bad way recently. Jack was so worried he was sleeping downstairs on the floor with her. Never a good sign. I was very worried too. Her scent was very bad. But the vet finally prescribed a bunch of pills, and some of them did the trick. She is up and around again. Her scent is good again.
As happens every year, I have been trying to explain Christmas to other dogs and pets. They know something us up. But they do not understand it. The only thing that seems to get their attention is when my explanation reaches the point about more scraps. Most really like that. Rooster, seeming even older lately, ancient, thinks it is just another example of man's weirdness, but loves to take naps under the Christmas tree.
I need to figure out how to get out nights. Jack also has been proving difficult. He often wakes up in the middle of nights, with gut pains or anxiety attacks, or both. If I was gone he would notice. When he gets up, he often reads by the fire, and likes to have Flecka and I by him.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Being a Dog
I have been doing the dog thang allot lately, due to my injuries and convalescence. I am mostly fully recovered, now for nearly two weeks. But, I have been staying close to home for two reasons. One, Fleck is doing bad, going downhill. I have been sticking close to her. So has Jack, and Sven. Jack is downstairs sleeping on the floor next to her right now, as I type. The fire burned out. He has a couch pillow and a small couch pillow. I took a large blanket down stairs and put it over him, and her, Flecka. He won't even think about where it came from, or he will think that it was Sherry. I worried about Flecka.
I have been to one pack meeting in the past month. Things are quiet. But, we four new pack members.
One is a lawyer, just coming off a dog phase and getting back into the law. She was just hire by the Blue Valley school district. They had to fire 5 teachers to pay her salary. She is unapologetic. "It's necessary," she said. She just bought a brand new BMW. Also necessary. I meet more dogs who seem like wolves, and more wolves who seems like dogs. Strange days.
The other new member is a former Marine who now works as a hair stylist. We talked, get along well. He and Warin and I got a little drunk swapping military stories. He says working as a stylist is interesting. Many people assume he is gay. He does not talk or move as a gay. We, weredogs, do not have the same fears about homosexuality as you humans do. We could care less. Hell, we lick our balls, in dog form. You would too, if you could reach. Well, probably not. It is not appealing in human form, only in dog form. Don't ask me why. Anyway, the stylist could get a lot of action from clients and other stylists. He is a big, manly, fit guy, afterall, he is a weredog, but does not partake of any of that at all. Instead, he stays true to the woman with whom he lives. And her kids. He loves those kids.
The third pack newby just got back into the pet game. He says it is always challenging, that, to go back to pet mode. He is right.
The forth is a police dog who is approaching retirement. She said she cannot wait for retirement. The police dog gig is unique in weredom. Being a police dog is almost like being a human, in terms of working the 9 to 5. It is definitely not the same life as that of the pet.
Those four bring our pack up to a nice healthy size, full-strength. Warin comes over twice a week to watch TV, drink some beer, and bring me up to speed on everything. He said there are rumors in the pack that we will be ramping up operations. "Against whom?" I said. He did not know. Nor did he hazard a guess. But, I think I know.
I have been to one pack meeting in the past month. Things are quiet. But, we four new pack members.
One is a lawyer, just coming off a dog phase and getting back into the law. She was just hire by the Blue Valley school district. They had to fire 5 teachers to pay her salary. She is unapologetic. "It's necessary," she said. She just bought a brand new BMW. Also necessary. I meet more dogs who seem like wolves, and more wolves who seems like dogs. Strange days.
The other new member is a former Marine who now works as a hair stylist. We talked, get along well. He and Warin and I got a little drunk swapping military stories. He says working as a stylist is interesting. Many people assume he is gay. He does not talk or move as a gay. We, weredogs, do not have the same fears about homosexuality as you humans do. We could care less. Hell, we lick our balls, in dog form. You would too, if you could reach. Well, probably not. It is not appealing in human form, only in dog form. Don't ask me why. Anyway, the stylist could get a lot of action from clients and other stylists. He is a big, manly, fit guy, afterall, he is a weredog, but does not partake of any of that at all. Instead, he stays true to the woman with whom he lives. And her kids. He loves those kids.
The third pack newby just got back into the pet game. He says it is always challenging, that, to go back to pet mode. He is right.
The forth is a police dog who is approaching retirement. She said she cannot wait for retirement. The police dog gig is unique in weredom. Being a police dog is almost like being a human, in terms of working the 9 to 5. It is definitely not the same life as that of the pet.
Those four bring our pack up to a nice healthy size, full-strength. Warin comes over twice a week to watch TV, drink some beer, and bring me up to speed on everything. He said there are rumors in the pack that we will be ramping up operations. "Against whom?" I said. He did not know. Nor did he hazard a guess. But, I think I know.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
An Aesop's Fable: The Dog and the Wolf
This was sent to me by a . . . friend, a werewolf, in fact.
A gaunt Wolf was almost dead with hunger when he happened to meet a House-dog who was passing by.
"Ah, Cousin," said the Dog.
"I knew how it would be; your irregular life will soon be the ruin of you. Why do you not work steadily as I do, and get your food regularly given to you?"
"I would have no objection," said the Wolf, "if I could only get a place."
"I will easily arrange that for you," said the Dog; "come with me to my master and you shall share my work."
So the Wolf and the Dog went towards the town together. On the way there the Wolf noticed that the hair on a certain part of the Dog's neck was very much worn away, so he asked him how that had come about.
"Oh, it is nothing," said the Dog. "That is only the place where the collar is put on at night to keep me chained up; it chafes a bit, but one soon gets used to it."
"Is that all?" said the Wolf. "Then good-bye to you, Master Dog."
The Moral: Better to starve free than be a fat slave.
I disagree, of course. I understand the point, where all you werewolves are coming from. I also find it interesting that I find so many of you moving into man's world, more and more wolf packs moving into cities and towns, even into suburbs, living in houses. How does that trend play with the moral above? Hmmmm? Can you spell "hypocrisy"? Howl once for Yes. Whine twice for No.
As I have said and write before. the lives of dogs and wolves are not as simple as they used to seem to me. The dog and wolf paradigms are shifting. Big time.
A gaunt Wolf was almost dead with hunger when he happened to meet a House-dog who was passing by.
"Ah, Cousin," said the Dog.
"I knew how it would be; your irregular life will soon be the ruin of you. Why do you not work steadily as I do, and get your food regularly given to you?"
"I would have no objection," said the Wolf, "if I could only get a place."
"I will easily arrange that for you," said the Dog; "come with me to my master and you shall share my work."
So the Wolf and the Dog went towards the town together. On the way there the Wolf noticed that the hair on a certain part of the Dog's neck was very much worn away, so he asked him how that had come about.
"Oh, it is nothing," said the Dog. "That is only the place where the collar is put on at night to keep me chained up; it chafes a bit, but one soon gets used to it."
"Is that all?" said the Wolf. "Then good-bye to you, Master Dog."
The Moral: Better to starve free than be a fat slave.
I disagree, of course. I understand the point, where all you werewolves are coming from. I also find it interesting that I find so many of you moving into man's world, more and more wolf packs moving into cities and towns, even into suburbs, living in houses. How does that trend play with the moral above? Hmmmm? Can you spell "hypocrisy"? Howl once for Yes. Whine twice for No.
As I have said and write before. the lives of dogs and wolves are not as simple as they used to seem to me. The dog and wolf paradigms are shifting. Big time.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Hunting
I cannot vouch for the authenticity of this, or say where or when it was printed. Could be 20 years old. Or could be last week. But, I can say that I have seen and heard this and other confusions, in regards to hunting and farming.
Ask yourself this: Would you rather be the deer in the field or the steer in the pasture? Which has a better chance of survival?
An ironic twist to this is that werewolves, and wolves, have always claimed that they are like the deer in the field, hunted, but free, and that we, dogs, are like the steer. I, of course, do not agree. I am as much predator as any wolf. I just happen to sleep most nights in a house, on a rug.
But there is definitely something about being on the hunt, pursuing prey, that plucks a primal string in every canine, or human, or felines too, I suppose. That is unless you are one of that species that prefers its meat made at the store.
Good and Evil
I have had a lot of time to think lately, as I laid up, trying to heal. One thing I have been thinking a lot about is good and evil.
As long as we have been with man, we weredogs have never really understood, completely, mankind, and their ways. You claim to value good, the virtues in people. But, it is really the opposite. Admit it.
Good is boring. Evil in interesting. Who usually attracts the girls/women, the good boy, or the bad boy? Most women want a bad boy. What makes an interesting story, good characters, or flawed characters, good characters with bad traits, problems flaws? You get one guess.
Why is this? Can someone explain it to me? I have been awaiting comprehension for a very long time.
Most weredogs have spent an enormous amount of time over the centuries reading and studying on this. Take wolves and dogs. Dogs are man's best friend. But, who does man most want to emulate?
Wolves are the evil ones. But if you look back as far as the 7th century A.D. in Anglo-Saxon Britain, everyone and his brother is naming their sons "Wulf" or "Wulfen."
Does anyone know of any historical Celts named "Dog" or "Hund" or "Chien" or "Canis"? I know of none. OK, there was Doggen. But he was Japanese, fer chrissakes!
And let's not forget that man nearly hunted wolves into extinction. Just another piece of the puzzle.
As long as we have been with man, we weredogs have never really understood, completely, mankind, and their ways. You claim to value good, the virtues in people. But, it is really the opposite. Admit it.
Good is boring. Evil in interesting. Who usually attracts the girls/women, the good boy, or the bad boy? Most women want a bad boy. What makes an interesting story, good characters, or flawed characters, good characters with bad traits, problems flaws? You get one guess.
Why is this? Can someone explain it to me? I have been awaiting comprehension for a very long time.
Most weredogs have spent an enormous amount of time over the centuries reading and studying on this. Take wolves and dogs. Dogs are man's best friend. But, who does man most want to emulate?
Wolves are the evil ones. But if you look back as far as the 7th century A.D. in Anglo-Saxon Britain, everyone and his brother is naming their sons "Wulf" or "Wulfen."
Does anyone know of any historical Celts named "Dog" or "Hund" or "Chien" or "Canis"? I know of none. OK, there was Doggen. But he was Japanese, fer chrissakes!
And let's not forget that man nearly hunted wolves into extinction. Just another piece of the puzzle.
Been Convalescing
Been down. Convalescing. 2 sets of hurt.
Set 1 happened when I thought I saw Sarah and got hit by a car.
Set 2 amounted to me being ambushed. In my weakened state I was easy peakins'. I should probably be dead. I suspect I might be too tough and mean to die.
I know it was Sarah.
Got a lot to catch up on. Way behind on emails and RSS feeds.
Alice, Jason and Bill, sorry it took me so long to reply.
Chester
Set 1 happened when I thought I saw Sarah and got hit by a car.
Set 2 amounted to me being ambushed. In my weakened state I was easy peakins'. I should probably be dead. I suspect I might be too tough and mean to die.
I know it was Sarah.
Got a lot to catch up on. Way behind on emails and RSS feeds.
Alice, Jason and Bill, sorry it took me so long to reply.
Chester
Thursday, November 5, 2009
2 dogs, One Handler
This was sent to me by a friend, a dog I spent time with up in the Dakotas last spring.
What's going on here is that this handler is taking a break with his dog, the shepherd on the left, and a stray, the long-coated white dog on the right, who they happened to meet.
Look at their eyes, all 3 of them. The white stray is desperate for the touch, the connection. Look at the shepherd's eyes. He knows what she is feeling. He empathizes.
My friend is the shepherd. He is currently in human phase and working as a lawyer somewhere in Indiana. Can't say where exactly.
The handler didn't make it. My friend still mourns him. Hard.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Up All Night
Jack has been making things very difficult for me lately. He has been staying up all night many nights lately, ranting and storming about the house. He acts manic. I hope he is not crazy. I hate dealing with crazy people. They are so unreliable in feeding dogs.
The other night Jack was up all night, and I mean all night. I followed him around all night just in case I had to keep him from hurting himself. Round about 4am he was starting to freak me out. I was prepared to shift if I had to. Didn't matter. He was out of his head.
Reaching out to and coordinating efforts with the werewolves requires my presence at pack meetings and on patrols. But I cannot get out of the damn house. Because of Jack. I'm about to knock the sumbitch out. I could then get out of the house and he would get some sleep.
Jason asked, via email, if werefolk really shred our clothes when we shift, like in the movies. No. We don't. That habit would be very bloody expensive.
Jack just passed out. Time to go.
The other night Jack was up all night, and I mean all night. I followed him around all night just in case I had to keep him from hurting himself. Round about 4am he was starting to freak me out. I was prepared to shift if I had to. Didn't matter. He was out of his head.
Reaching out to and coordinating efforts with the werewolves requires my presence at pack meetings and on patrols. But I cannot get out of the damn house. Because of Jack. I'm about to knock the sumbitch out. I could then get out of the house and he would get some sleep.
Jason asked, via email, if werefolk really shred our clothes when we shift, like in the movies. No. We don't. That habit would be very bloody expensive.
Jack just passed out. Time to go.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
K-9 Training Course, Nov 30 2009, 3.5 Days
All you dogs and handlers, weredogs and humans, all who are, have been, or are considering the K-9 gig, be advised. Just got this from a friend, said it is good to go. She also said that one of the instructors is a weredog.
K-9 Tactical - 3.5 Days Nov 30/Dec 3
Introduction: This course is designed to educate the working K9 team in the knowledge and skills of tactical dog handling to safely approach high-risk situations. This is a challenging course that will test the handler's decisionmaking
ability.
Aim: Upon completion of this course, the working K9 handler will possess a fundamental knowledge and skill of tactical dog handling to safely approach high-risk situations. Students will have an understanding and be able to demonstrate proficiency in defensive shooting skills, unique to a K9 handler.
Topics:
Fundamentals of K9 Tactical Obedience
Methods of Maintenance Training for Tactical Obedience and Control
Work with the K9
Tactical Approach and Movement with a Dog to Potentially High-Risk Situation
Building and Room Entry Techniques
Tactical Tracking
"Shoot/Don't Shoot" and "Deploy the Dog/Don't Deploy the Dog" scenarios
Tactical K9 Situation vs. SWAT Call Situation
Shooting Techniques while Handling a Dog
Ammunition Requirements: 1000 rounds handgun ammunition.
Required Gear Firearms: Issued handgun, holster, and duty belt; 2 magazines minimum (3 recommended), ballistic vest, wrap-around eye protection, ear protection, clothing appropriate for climate and conditions and a water bottle or other hydration system.
Required Gear K-9: Leather leash, leather collar, correction collar, muzzle, 15' or 30' tracking lead, traffic lead (recommended), toy rewards (Kong/Towels), and any additional operational equipment utilized in the performance of your duties.
Method: Classroom and practical application. Training is based around the "handson" method. It is a challenging course that will test the handler's decision making ability.
Skill Prerequisites: Open only to sworn law enforcement and Military Work Dog Handlers.
Number of attendees: 6-14
Duration: 3.5 days
Course Cost: $785 tuition includes lunch and a certificate of completion. On site lodging and meals are through the Sales Department. Kennels are available at no charge but the student is responsible for all feeding and maintenance of the dog and cleaning of the kennel during the course and prior to departure. Contact U.S. Training Sales at 252-435-1748 for registration. Dogs are not permitted in the Lodge.
Note: Canine handling and shooting are perishable skills which can result in liability claims against the Handler. It is incumbent upon the graduate to maintain and document a scheduled and structured canine handling and shooting proficiency maintenance training program.
U.S. Training Center Application Forms MOYOCK, NC
http://www.ustraining.com/new/courses/NC/k9-tactical.asp
Friday, October 30, 2009
Painted Fighting Dog
Just received this from a friend. She got it off a news site, but has been over there.
This dog was painted by his owner. I assume the intention was psyops, to psych out opponents. Humans opponents, maybe. Dogs don't give a shit about such crap. Dog fighting is very popular in Stan, and getting more popular. Go figure.
Some dogs like it. Most don't. Most weredogs get much more riled about puppy mills than dog fighting. And there are allot of things that bother me about Stan.
Movie Feedback
Werewolves: The Dark Survivors ran tonight on Animal Planet. Several of you mentioned it to me. I asked Dionna to watch it. Following is her reaction.
Lycanthropy is bullshit. We are not stricken with a disease. A rabies virus passed through saliva? Puh-lease. Toxins in the blood my ass. Condition? Whatever. We are a distinct species, just like weredogs, mankind, cats, woodchucks, and
We can shift in day as easy as night. Night is safer, for obvious reasons.
They are right about our fear of man’s brutality. We fear them more than they could ever fear us. Man nearly wiped us out those thousands of years ago, and did wipe out our neanderthal brothers.
We are not spent after a hunt or fight. That is ridiculous. It takes allot out of us. But we are not totally spent, needing to be carried. Hell, no. We are tired and worn smooth after we shift, like after a real hard workout or long run. And there is no diff from shifting one way or the other, from wolf to were to human, or the other way. It affects us the same. Either way, shifting takes calories.
It is true that we had a special relationship with the Vikings. But that is not where it started. It started way before that. Vikings loved wolves. Many Vikings names used wulf or wulfen, and others.
Yes, a wolf is best in a pack. Same with dogs. But wolves and dogs can survive easily alone. Humans are the same. Many lobo solos lives happy lives. And many wolves, werewolves, are happier in a pack. People seem to be the same.
And that very strange house, with all the werewolves living as a family? Give me a break. A house like that would be like a beacon. We would only do something like that, be that ambitious in a remote, or rural or very small town, setting.
It is true that packs will get into conflict. Happens.
Carter’s analysis about the attack signs were good.
Chester:
I dont get crazy or succumb to madness once a month. I am not a female. I can go weeks, even months, without shifting. However, after a few weeks I do start to get antsy, feel the need to get out and shift. But, so does Jack, and Sherry, and most humans that I have known.
I am more tired after a night in were form than if I stay on dog or human form. As Dionna said, it takes allot of energy, calories, to shift.
Weredogs also get into rivalries and competitions, but never warfare, never fighting and killing.
What I find most interesting is that Animal Planet is crossing over into fiction, movies. This is a new tact for them.
The Ulfethnar were an elite order of Vikings. Some sources say they wore wolf skins. Some say they were werewolves. All say they ate the flesh of they enemies.
Lycanthropy is bullshit. We are not stricken with a disease. A rabies virus passed through saliva? Puh-lease. Toxins in the blood my ass. Condition? Whatever. We are a distinct species, just like weredogs, mankind, cats, woodchucks, and
We can shift in day as easy as night. Night is safer, for obvious reasons.
They are right about our fear of man’s brutality. We fear them more than they could ever fear us. Man nearly wiped us out those thousands of years ago, and did wipe out our neanderthal brothers.
We are not spent after a hunt or fight. That is ridiculous. It takes allot out of us. But we are not totally spent, needing to be carried. Hell, no. We are tired and worn smooth after we shift, like after a real hard workout or long run. And there is no diff from shifting one way or the other, from wolf to were to human, or the other way. It affects us the same. Either way, shifting takes calories.
It is true that we had a special relationship with the Vikings. But that is not where it started. It started way before that. Vikings loved wolves. Many Vikings names used wulf or wulfen, and others.
Yes, a wolf is best in a pack. Same with dogs. But wolves and dogs can survive easily alone. Humans are the same. Many lobo solos lives happy lives. And many wolves, werewolves, are happier in a pack. People seem to be the same.
And that very strange house, with all the werewolves living as a family? Give me a break. A house like that would be like a beacon. We would only do something like that, be that ambitious in a remote, or rural or very small town, setting.
It is true that packs will get into conflict. Happens.
Carter’s analysis about the attack signs were good.
Chester:
I dont get crazy or succumb to madness once a month. I am not a female. I can go weeks, even months, without shifting. However, after a few weeks I do start to get antsy, feel the need to get out and shift. But, so does Jack, and Sherry, and most humans that I have known.
I am more tired after a night in were form than if I stay on dog or human form. As Dionna said, it takes allot of energy, calories, to shift.
Weredogs also get into rivalries and competitions, but never warfare, never fighting and killing.
What I find most interesting is that Animal Planet is crossing over into fiction, movies. This is a new tact for them.
The Ulfethnar were an elite order of Vikings. Some sources say they wore wolf skins. Some say they were werewolves. All say they ate the flesh of they enemies.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Giant Wolf?
This was supposedly shot this past June, or 2009, near Sun Valley, Idaho. What do you all think? Real or not? Wolf? Werewolf? Dog? Weredog? Something else?
Scientists claim there has not been a wolf of that size since borophagus. He lived for around 20 million years, but died out around 3.5 million years ago.
Dionna, Walsten, you know this fella?
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Tatts and Pack Drama
Weredogs do not get tatts, tattoos. I should say "most." But, it is looked down upon by weredogs.
Werewolves, on the other hand (of course) love them, get them all the damn time. Some werewolves are covered in them. This is one of those things never covered in movies and novels.
When a were shifts, his or her tatt, of course, stays with him or her. Tatts are acquired in human form. So, when a were with a tatt shifts, the tatts warps and changes, often taking on strange and bizarre appearance.
Note: Sometimes weres do get tatts in dog form. But, they are always numbers, for purposes of identification, like a detention camp of some kind.
So. When a tattoo of his first wife, or of a green beret in front of airborne wings with a dagger up through the center, or a gator wearing a cowboy hat and drinking a Heineken beer, shifts with him back to dog form, the tatt can be hard to recognize. But, dogs are covered in hair, so no problem.
Don't anyone haul your dog down to the pet groomer to get your pooch shaved to see if he has a tatt. Chances are he doesn't. And there are easier ways.
This brings me to our recent pack drama. Orson was well liked in out pack. I have actually known him for most of this century. We were in France together.
Orson was a bichon-mastif mix. Big guy. Loved to eat. Lovable guy, but could tear you a new rectum if the situation required such.
Anyway, two weeks ago he got in trouble. He and his family, he is in dog phase, were in the front yard on a nice fall day. A guy walked by with an enormous pit in the leash. The pit all of a sudden bolted for one of the girls. one of Orson's girls. Her name is Lauren. She is 9 years old and a pretty as little girls come. No dog was every bonded to his kids than Orson.
So, when this pit went for Lauren Orson was there, was just able to cut him off. That pit's teeth were inches from Lauren. so, around and around they go. Where they will stop, nobody knows. Orson was trying to get the pit to back off, to tell him this was a big mistake. the pit was beyond being reasonable.
So, Orson had to put him down. He had no choice. He was getting tired. Not dead down. No. The pit was alive, but major messed up. And his owner, of course, went ballistic.
The sheriff had deputies out to pick up Orson that afternoon. This was Tuesday.
We held an emergency pack meeting that night. (Buck, I still need those minutes.) We went back and forth all night about whether to rescue Orson or not.
The traditional attitude is not to interfere, not to risk any chance of giving ourselves away to mankind. Oh, the irony. It was decided that 2 of the pack would go rescue Orson on Sunday. But he was put down, euthanized, killed, on Wednesday.
How the hell, and why the hell, could that happen? you might ask. Good question. It happens because we, weredogs, are conditioned to stay under the radar, to not risk tipping our paws.
Anyway, Orson had a few tattoos. The vet happened to find them when she was putting Orson down. Curiosity arose.
Other dogs tell how Orson went bravely. He could have shifted and busted out. But he did not.
I will miss him. He was a damn good were. Our pack howled for three straight hours last night.
Werewolves, on the other hand (of course) love them, get them all the damn time. Some werewolves are covered in them. This is one of those things never covered in movies and novels.
When a were shifts, his or her tatt, of course, stays with him or her. Tatts are acquired in human form. So, when a were with a tatt shifts, the tatts warps and changes, often taking on strange and bizarre appearance.
Note: Sometimes weres do get tatts in dog form. But, they are always numbers, for purposes of identification, like a detention camp of some kind.
So. When a tattoo of his first wife, or of a green beret in front of airborne wings with a dagger up through the center, or a gator wearing a cowboy hat and drinking a Heineken beer, shifts with him back to dog form, the tatt can be hard to recognize. But, dogs are covered in hair, so no problem.
Don't anyone haul your dog down to the pet groomer to get your pooch shaved to see if he has a tatt. Chances are he doesn't. And there are easier ways.
This brings me to our recent pack drama. Orson was well liked in out pack. I have actually known him for most of this century. We were in France together.
Orson was a bichon-mastif mix. Big guy. Loved to eat. Lovable guy, but could tear you a new rectum if the situation required such.
Anyway, two weeks ago he got in trouble. He and his family, he is in dog phase, were in the front yard on a nice fall day. A guy walked by with an enormous pit in the leash. The pit all of a sudden bolted for one of the girls. one of Orson's girls. Her name is Lauren. She is 9 years old and a pretty as little girls come. No dog was every bonded to his kids than Orson.
So, when this pit went for Lauren Orson was there, was just able to cut him off. That pit's teeth were inches from Lauren. so, around and around they go. Where they will stop, nobody knows. Orson was trying to get the pit to back off, to tell him this was a big mistake. the pit was beyond being reasonable.
So, Orson had to put him down. He had no choice. He was getting tired. Not dead down. No. The pit was alive, but major messed up. And his owner, of course, went ballistic.
The sheriff had deputies out to pick up Orson that afternoon. This was Tuesday.
We held an emergency pack meeting that night. (Buck, I still need those minutes.) We went back and forth all night about whether to rescue Orson or not.
The traditional attitude is not to interfere, not to risk any chance of giving ourselves away to mankind. Oh, the irony. It was decided that 2 of the pack would go rescue Orson on Sunday. But he was put down, euthanized, killed, on Wednesday.
How the hell, and why the hell, could that happen? you might ask. Good question. It happens because we, weredogs, are conditioned to stay under the radar, to not risk tipping our paws.
Anyway, Orson had a few tattoos. The vet happened to find them when she was putting Orson down. Curiosity arose.
Other dogs tell how Orson went bravely. He could have shifted and busted out. But he did not.
I will miss him. He was a damn good were. Our pack howled for three straight hours last night.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Afghan mutt now stateside
By FRED MANN
The Wichita Eagle
WICHITA | He saw a squirrel the other day in his new back yard in Derby, Kan., and chased it up a tree.
First time he’d ever done that. He hadn’t seen squirrels, or trees, in Afghanistan.
It was a big moment for ETTy, a black and white mutt that was adopted in Afghanistan in December by 1st Lt. Chris Corman of Derby and some of his Marine buddies.
Corman, 28, was stationed with about 20 other Marines in Mehtar Lam. For nine months, they served as an embedded training team with a unit of the Afghan National Army. So they named the mutt ETTy, for Embedded Training Team puppy. They raised him on chow-hall food and care packages from home.
When their families learned they had a dog, Corman said, “All of our care packages quickly turned from being magazines and anything we wanted to being dog food.”
They thought about leaving ETTy for the next team, but changed their minds. “He got to be such a member of the group, we didn’t want to leave him,” Corman said. When plans fell through for another Marine to take him, Corman stepped up.
Back home in Derby, Corman’s parents, Dan and Peggy Corman, raised $4,000 to have ETTy flown to stay with them. A volunteer animal rescue group in Afghanistan, Tigger House, arranged the trip.
It didn’t go smoothly. ETTy became ill with respiratory problems in Kabul, delaying his departure for a month. An American vet gave him a 50-50 chance to live.
But antibiotics worked, and ETTy was flown to Islamabad, Pakistan, where he was bumped from connecting flights to New York for animals that were flying with passengers. He eventually did reach New York, then flew to Kansas City, where Dan and Peggy Corman picked him up.
They had one of Chris Corman’s shirts with them to give ETTy a familiar scent. Corman recently flew into Wichita from Okinawa. He will report for a new assignment in Virginia on Oct. 1. He plans to take ETTy along once he finds housing.
After a subdued reunion at the airport, dog and owner returned to their home in Derby. That’s when the real reunion happened, said Peggy Corman. Chris Corman and ETTy wandered out to the back patio, and ETTy started wagging his tail. Corman hugged him.
Saturday morning, they went for a jog, ETTy running close to Corman’s side.
Posted on Sat, Sep. 26, 2009 10:15 PM
The Wichita Eagle
WICHITA | He saw a squirrel the other day in his new back yard in Derby, Kan., and chased it up a tree.
First time he’d ever done that. He hadn’t seen squirrels, or trees, in Afghanistan.
It was a big moment for ETTy, a black and white mutt that was adopted in Afghanistan in December by 1st Lt. Chris Corman of Derby and some of his Marine buddies.
Corman, 28, was stationed with about 20 other Marines in Mehtar Lam. For nine months, they served as an embedded training team with a unit of the Afghan National Army. So they named the mutt ETTy, for Embedded Training Team puppy. They raised him on chow-hall food and care packages from home.
When their families learned they had a dog, Corman said, “All of our care packages quickly turned from being magazines and anything we wanted to being dog food.”
They thought about leaving ETTy for the next team, but changed their minds. “He got to be such a member of the group, we didn’t want to leave him,” Corman said. When plans fell through for another Marine to take him, Corman stepped up.
Back home in Derby, Corman’s parents, Dan and Peggy Corman, raised $4,000 to have ETTy flown to stay with them. A volunteer animal rescue group in Afghanistan, Tigger House, arranged the trip.
It didn’t go smoothly. ETTy became ill with respiratory problems in Kabul, delaying his departure for a month. An American vet gave him a 50-50 chance to live.
But antibiotics worked, and ETTy was flown to Islamabad, Pakistan, where he was bumped from connecting flights to New York for animals that were flying with passengers. He eventually did reach New York, then flew to Kansas City, where Dan and Peggy Corman picked him up.
They had one of Chris Corman’s shirts with them to give ETTy a familiar scent. Corman recently flew into Wichita from Okinawa. He will report for a new assignment in Virginia on Oct. 1. He plans to take ETTy along once he finds housing.
After a subdued reunion at the airport, dog and owner returned to their home in Derby. That’s when the real reunion happened, said Peggy Corman. Chris Corman and ETTy wandered out to the back patio, and ETTy started wagging his tail. Corman hugged him.
Saturday morning, they went for a jog, ETTy running close to Corman’s side.
Posted on Sat, Sep. 26, 2009 10:15 PM
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Movie Watching
Jack and I stayed up late last night watching the movie, The Wrestler. It was after 0130 when it ended. Jack stopped the movie and powered down the DVD player and sat in the dark for a long time, I would say at least an hour. He did not make a sound. I would have known if he had.
To really watch a movie, to understand it and get into it, I have to be in human form. Could not do that last night. I was more focused on Jack. But, I do know that Jack feels a lot like Randy the Ram.
Tyler called late, after midnight. One of the nice things about being a dog is the hearing. I can usually hear both sides of a conversation, including the person on the other end. Last night was somewhat harder than normal because Tyler was alternately yelling and mumbling. He was begging Jack for money, says he is off the heroine.
Jack and his ex-wife have cut off Tyler until he agrees to and goes to in-patient rehab. Jack has researched online and called several dozens of rehab facilities. None of them are cheap. Some are down right ludicrous, in terms of cost. One was $30 grand a month. That one looks like more of a resort. Tyler doesn't need a vacation. He needs to get clean.
Tyler kept saying he feels abandoned. He is sleeping on a different couch each night. He lost his job. I could almost smell Jack's heart breaking. I could definitely hear his heart cracking. I can hear Jack cracking, too.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Sixteen Dogs Saved from Fire
Sixteen Dogs Saved as Fire Spreads to Kennel
By DAWN BORMANN
The Kansas City Star
Excelsior Springs firefighters and a kennel owner rescued 16 dogs from a boarding facility early Sunday as flames consumed an adjoining business and eventually destroyed the kennel.
http://www.kansascity.com/news/local/story/1515805.html?story_link=email_msg
The interesting, mostly unknown, part of this story is that one of the rescued dogs is a weredog, currently in dog phase. Several members of her pack got there just as the place went up, but found that she was OK. One might ask why did she not shift and save them all. We are not supposed to do that, even in such situations. But, as some of you know, it happens.
Chester
By DAWN BORMANN
The Kansas City Star
Excelsior Springs firefighters and a kennel owner rescued 16 dogs from a boarding facility early Sunday as flames consumed an adjoining business and eventually destroyed the kennel.
http://www.kansascity.com/news/local/story/1515805.html?story_link=email_msg
The interesting, mostly unknown, part of this story is that one of the rescued dogs is a weredog, currently in dog phase. Several members of her pack got there just as the place went up, but found that she was OK. One might ask why did she not shift and save them all. We are not supposed to do that, even in such situations. But, as some of you know, it happens.
Chester
Monday, October 19, 2009
Smartest Dogs
This is interesting to me. Sure, I have known some very smart border collies. Collies in general tend to be very quick of mind. They have to be. They're bred to be herders. And shepherds too. But, from my long-life experience, it is not about breeds. It comes down to individuals.
Humans loves to put other species in boxes. Like this. Which breed is smartest. But ask which human breed is smartest and you will be called a racist, or a eugenicist.
Sorry. I didn't mean "breed." I meant "race." But, I have a hard time with that. Afterall, it is the "human race," is it not? Then how can you have a white race or yellow or black race within the human race? How can you have a race within a race? Can someone explain that to me?
That is why we weres think in terms of human breeds. The caucasian breed, the asian breed, the african breed, etc. And let's be honest. Most humans are mixes, just as most dogs, and most other species. There must be a reason for that.
Anyway, any individual, or any breed, or species, or race, that is trained well, raised in a healthy, loving environment, will likely have higher intelligence.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
A Long, Melancholy Roar
Entire article:
http://judson.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/10/13/a-long-melancholy-roar/?th&emc=th
http://judson.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/10/13/a-long-melancholy-roar/?th&emc=th
This caught my attention. Man no longer has that much to fear from large predators, such as tigers and bears. No. They are at greatest risk from man. Now the greatest threat to man is man and very small predators, such as virii and bacteria. If we overcome them, then what?
Is that ironic or just really damn funny?
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Troop and Pup
Received this recently from a friend, a weredog. It is interesting for several reasons.
One - It is hard t say when this pic was taken. This is a young Marine. You can tell from the cammies. Those are USMC digital commies. But, he is also wearing older web/vest gear, in the old BDU pattern, the green, brown, sand and black stuff. And that is an older model of M16, not an M4.
Also, the guy behind him is wearing the old "chocolate chip" desert cammies. He is Iraqi. You can also tell from his helmet. The US has not used chocolate chips since the early 90s.
The most amazing thing about this is that this young troop, who is on patrol, decided to save this puppy. And, apparently, his platoon sergeant did not stop him.
We weres never cease to be amazed at the human capacity for good and for evil, and how they co-exist, side by side, often in the same person. This kid takes the time and risk to save this puppy, at least for a while, and may turn around and shoot some hadji just for the hell of it.
By the way, there is no doubt that the most fearsome predator on the planet today is the young US Army or USMC private. There is no predator more dangerous or unpredictable. Anywhere.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Jack on Death Panels
I followed Jack to Trolley's the other night. We were having some beers, watching ESPN, when some older guy started getting loud about death panels. Then some woman joined in. The bar was busy, not packed, but busy. No one said anything, just let them go.
"Corporations are like teenagers," he said. "Some keep their hormones in check
better than others. Some not at all. The function of government, I believe, is to act as the wise parent, overseeing the actions and behaviors of its teens, meddling as little as possible, but insuring that they do not hurt themselves . . . or others. Parents who allow their teens to run the family budget and make their own rules are asking for chaos and a corrupt household. I believe that our Founding Fathers agreed, and tried to provide for that oversight."
"I am not anti-business," said Jack. "I am anti-oligarchy. I am, in all earnestness,
pro-business. As such, I believe that any business that is bad for people is bad business."
"It has also to do with honor," said Jack. "Anyone here against honor?" No one answered. "Good," sad Jack, "Because every man is, I believe, bound by honor in his dealings with any other man. But no man is bound by honor to any corporation, as corporations
are not men, and do not recognize honor."
I could tell that Jack was going to say something. He was holding back, shutting up, until the loudest of the death panelers came over to the bar, to order a beer, ad slapped Jack on the back. "So, what do you say about government death panels?" he nearly hollered. He was drunk.
"Oh, I'm al against them," said Jack. "I'm against government and corporate panels." The guy narrowed his eyes at Jack, asked what Jack meant by that. Jack explained that corporate death panels are in full bloom now, today, pronouncing death sentences on thousands of Americans each year. Maybe millions.
Before the guy could bluster, Jack said, "Why is it OK for corporate bean counters to decide who lives and dies, but to allow government any oversight over said bean counters is sacrilege?"
The guy said that corporations need to be able to conduct business. "That's fine," said Jack, But, insurance corporations and HMOs do not care about people. They care about profit. It is their only guiding principle and logic. They are no different from credit card corporations, who look only to the next quarter's revenue, and will do whatever they can get away with to
maximize that revenue."
Other people started to saunter over to hear better what Jack was saying.
"Corporations are like teenagers," he said. "Some keep their hormones in check
better than others. Some not at all. The function of government, I believe, is to act as the wise parent, overseeing the actions and behaviors of its teens, meddling as little as possible, but insuring that they do not hurt themselves . . . or others. Parents who allow their teens to run the family budget and make their own rules are asking for chaos and a corrupt household. I believe that our Founding Fathers agreed, and tried to provide for that oversight."
A third guy suggested that Jack is anti-business.
"I am not anti-business," said Jack. "I am anti-oligarchy. I am, in all earnestness,
pro-business. As such, I believe that any business that is bad for people is bad business."
"It has also to do with honor," said Jack. "Anyone here against honor?" No one answered. "Good," sad Jack, "Because every man is, I believe, bound by honor in his dealings with any other man. But no man is bound by honor to any corporation, as corporations
are not men, and do not recognize honor."
Jack slammed his beer down in the bar. No one said anything. He turned to me, said, "I'm outa here." I sat there a while, watching the other people, breathing in their shifting scents, hearing their changing heart beats. The guy who fired up Jack had a pulse that was nearly one long beat.
Then I thought, "Shit! I gotta get home before Jack!"
More of the same this weekend, I am sure. Except, I did hear them talking about haunted houses. Maybe Jack and Shelly will stick around here this weekend. Wish I could go to the haunted house, with them. In years past I have gone down and kept eyes on them in human form, and in weredog form. Last year I was lurking around at The Beast in weredog form and was pulled aside by one of the managers and bitched out for having a bad costume. Not scary enough, he said. I growled at him and his face went pale. "But, great vocal effects," he said.
Watching Sparrows
All morning I have been watching sparrows out the front window. They are hanging around in the bushes trying to figure out what happened to their tree.
This past weekend Jack and the boys cut down a tree in the bed in front of the porch. It had to go. The tree was getting too tall and large. It was blocking the front of the house, and was leaning forward, away from the house, so was going to fall sooner or later, and take out the shrubs and bushes.
The sparrows used to hang out in that tree by the dozens. It was a great vantage point, from which they could see the entire street, in every direction. It also provided them shelter, broke the wind on winter days, gave them shade on summer days.
I used to lay by the window some mornings and watch and listen to them. It was best in the winter, on sunny days. Their brown feathers seemed were so vibrant in the bare tree, the white background. Their songs were always so sweet to my ears. Now their songs are more shrill, confused. Soon they will b gone, to find new trees. I will miss them.
No naps for me lately. I have been in constant motion, following Jack and Sherry, pack meetings and patrols, keeping an eye on the boys, the two here, etc.
And I know that Sarah is near.
Jack and Sherry argue more. They argue a lot about money. Neither sleeps through most nights. Angst about money has a distinct scent. I smell it on them, and on nearly every human I come near these days. They are all like the sparrows. They want to know what happened to their trees.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
2 Boys Down
Much drama going on here. That is why I have not posted lately. Where to begin.
Jack has 2 boys, from a previous marriage. Both are in worlds of hurt.
Braden lost an arm and a leg to an IED in Iraq. It happened four months ago. He recently was moved to a facility here in the city. Jack has spent a lot of time there, with Braden, assuring him the lost of the limbs is not big deal, that his life will still be full, that he can still do it all, work out, have sex, have a family, a career, etc. Based on what I get from Jack, reading his emails and overhearing calls, he is not doing well, neither Braden nor Jack. It is hard for a former-soldier father to see his soldier son laying in a bed. Very hard. I have seen this many times before.
Tyler is a heroine addict. And oxycotin. That is why he sleeps all the time and never eats. Jack has been trying to Get a handle on how bad it is, how much Tyler has used, how long, if he is till using. They need to get him detoxed and into some treatment center or facility. But, I don't think Tyler is on board with that yet. Until he is everything is a No-Go. He denies that he has a problem. So, Jack is trying to budge him off that pile of shit. If he can't, the only option is to cut Tyler loose, tell him, "You're on your own and good luck," and wait either for him to hit rock bottom and come around, or to get a call from the cops or the city coroner. Jack is beating himself up about Tyler too, over how he could have been a better dad, etc.
I constantly want to shift and tell him, "None of this is your fault." But, I doubt he would listen. Besides, the shock would kill him.
And things are not good between Sherry and Jack. Very bad, matter of fact.
Ricky, the boy with asperger's syndrome, is acting out more. Sven is getting more frustrated with his brother, and the world in general.
I am certain I know who Rex's killers are. I have been surveying them - another task that has been consuming my time lately. And I was wrong about them being werewolves. And I am going to take them out. Hard.
Sarah is near. The odds against it are astronomical. I know. But I am certain she is. I need to explain about Sarah.
I have been trying to stick close to Jack. Been tracking him to his various watering holes at nights. and staying close to him during days. He is drowning in angst, doubt and PTSD. I can smell it all over him like fish guts that have baked in the sun for several days. Wish I could help him. I can't. Only Jack can save Jack. And only Sherry can find happiness for Sherry. Same goes for Ricky, Sven, Tyler and Braden.
Everyone is asleep. I think. I'm going to grab a beer. To hell with it. If Jack notices, he will just think it was Sven or Rick. Then some sleep. Dog, I need sleep.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Cradle And Birthday Of The Dog Identified: East Asia 16,000 years ago
Cradle And Birthday Of The Dog Identified: East Asia 16,000 years ago
ScienceDaily (Sep. 2, 2009) — Previous studies in the field have indicated that East Asia is where the wolf was tamed and became the dog. It was not possible to be more precise than that. But now researchers at the Royal Institute of Technology (KTH) in Stockholm have managed to zero in on man’s best friend.
Nice try. But, as we know, dog and man go back a lot farther than a mere 16,000 years.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Follow Up
Some follow ups, while the family-humans are all out of the house. Not sure where all of them are. I assume they will all be back sooner rather than later.
The reason Jack and company left us alone when they bolted out of town for that funeral was that he called and asked a buddy to check on us. The buddy said yes, and then forgot all it, and us. If I was not a weredog, we might all have starved in this house. Jack doesn't know that yahoo forgot. That yahoo doesn't even know he forgot, I bet.
The neo autopsy results from those many months ago, that I learned of only recently, were this: the corpse seems to be a synthesis of human and canine physical attributes, and of other species, of which they are not yet quite certain.
The neo genome contains both canine and human genes. No surprise. BUT, there seems to be no distinction between wolf and dog genes, and they are placed in the sequences with the human genes in ways never before seen. And there are other genes, that seem to be key, that seem reptilian.
Warin's mixed-blood controversy has cooled some. He is acting as intermediary and coordinating between weredogs and werewolves in the early stages of this new campaign against the neo's. It is also rumored that he is seeing a new female. The big curiosity is if she is dog or wolf.
I saw Sarah. I think it was her. I am certain it was her.
Friday, September 4, 2009
DoD to Use Dogs to Treat PTSD
Can a canine companion soothe the volatile emotions of a soldier haunted by post-traumatic stress disorder? It may sound far-fethed, but the Department of Defense wants to find out. It is spending millions of dollars on medical research projects like this that may yield groundbreaking results but are too speculative for other government agencies to consider.
http://www.kansascity.com/637/story/1423622.html
Chester:
A member of our pack is considering getting involved in this, as a dog. He is also a vet of 3 wars. 2 stones. He is currently in human cycle, but coming up on having to switch over soon, to dog cycle. A weredog in another local pack is a psychologist who said she can get him into the program, help him find the right vet. She asked him if he wanted a male or female vet. The questions surprised him. She reminded him that there are many more females in uniform now, and thus more female vets.
A member of our pack is considering getting involved in this, as a dog. He is also a vet of 3 wars. 2 stones. He is currently in human cycle, but coming up on having to switch over soon, to dog cycle. A weredog in another local pack is a psychologist who said she can get him into the program, help him find the right vet. She asked him if he wanted a male or female vet. The questions surprised him. She reminded him that there are many more females in uniform now, and thus more female vets.
I, myself, a few weeks ago, was out and saw a female 1SG (First Sergeant) at a gas station. She was wearing the ACUs and black beret, of course. I stared at her, lost in her stripes, and a hundred other related thoughts. She scowled back, as if to say, "What are you looking at?" I came back to myself and just smiled and said, "First Sergeant. Good morning." She busted out a beautiful smile, and replied back: "Fine, Sir. How are you?"
Maybe it's time. I am getting the itch to get back to my Army, to soldier again.
And I still hate being called "Sir."
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Stray Cat
Monday night I went down to UMKC to meet with a professor. She is an expert in Medievel history, and I needed her help, to mine her mind for information and insights.
I parked 4 blocks from campus, on a street lined with attractive bungaloes, all painted and surrounded with flowers. I locked the vehicle and started walking the middle of the street. Down the street, ahead of me, an orange cat came down the street toward me.
We weredogs have an odd relationship with cats. The dog part of us, for the most part, wants nothing to do with cats. But, the human part is drawn to them. It is not uncommon for dogs to be friends with cats. Happens all the time. Flecka and Bailey are good friends. Rooster is tolerated, even admired, by most of the dogs in this neighborhood.
But, nature has given dogs, weredogs, and most animals, for that matter, the ability to tilt our heads from other species, even other dogs who are in need. Attachment is risk. This is one of the cardinal laws of the Wild.
Curiosity kept me down the middle of that street. The cat did not veer off. He sauntered right up and stopped right in front of me. Then he sat, looked up at me and meowed. Well, he tried to meow. His voice was broken from hunger. I knelt and ran a hand down his flanks. The bones were covered by a thin sheet of skin and mangy fur. His eyes pleaded with me. He needed food. He needed sanctuary. He needed help.
My pragmatism spoke out. I had somewhere to be. I cannot be distracted by stray cats, or stray puppies for that matter. There are too many for me to save them all.
The whole time until I returned to the vehicle, and that street, I thought about that cat. I tried to toss him from my brain. But, he kept pushing his way back in. When I returned to it I was resolved to do some thing for him if I could find him. I wanted to find him.
I didn't find him. I went back there last night. Nada.
So, if you know anyone, people or weredogs, who live or operate in the vicinity of Charlotte St, between 54th and 55th streets, in Kansas City, MO, please, keep an eye out for an emaciated, orange tabby. He needs help, food, friends, as we all do.
I can recall a time when I would catch a lot of crap for worrying about a cat. A lot has changed since then.
If you see the cat, and don't want to mess with him, contact me. I will come get him.
They're Back
They all returned last night, late. They pilled in here about 9pm. I had to slip down to the basement to shift back to dog. The boys were yelling for me the whole time.
Apparently, they had to leave town quickly for a family funeral. But, that doesn't make sense. They left too quickly, and I had no idea they were going. I don't buy it. I need to figure out the deal. I fear that Jack is into something covert. I just hope it is legal.
Great. Now I have to play Dick Tracey to keep tabs on my family, to know what they are doing. Most weredogs are blessed with nice, boring families. Me? No way. I will have to spend at least a couple hours tonight going through Jack's laptop, through his emails and documents. Sherry too. Going to be a long night.
They are all gone now, school, work, and God knows where.
Sven has a new look in his eye. No change to his scent. But, I have to look into that change in his eye. It worries me.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Saturday, August 22, 2009
No Family, Not Wolves
No sign of my family. No ideas.
Word from the Georgia packs is that it was not werewolves that killed that couple.
I have gotten word that Diella is trying desperately to get in touch with me.
We're out of beer and bourbon, of jerky and wishbone treats. I need to go to the store. Maybe tomorrow.
Costas, we need to talk.
Dogs and Heaven
This crossed my radar recently, cracked me up. Sparkle howled over it. Even Flecka got it and laughed about it. Although, I had to explain it to her 3 times.
I would like to know where these 2 churches are, and when this interesting exchange took place.
I have never understood this need of some people to believe that only humans have souls, and favor with their God. I have been a weredog for a very long time and I no more understand it now than Day 1. My suspicion is that religion is just an excuse, that the instinctual drive for dominance is the root reason.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Deaths of Georgia couple linked to dog pack
Deaths of Georgia couple linked to dog pack
Preliminary autopsy results showed that Sherry Schweder, 65, of Lexington, Ga., probably died of injuries suffered in a dog attack, Oglethorpe County Sheriff Mike Smith said.
Chester: This was no pack of wild dogs.
ATLANTA | A former college professor and his wife apparently were attacked and killed by nearly a dozen dogs along a rural northeast Georgia road where their bodies were found mutilated, authorities said Monday.
Preliminary autopsy results showed that Sherry Schweder, 65, of Lexington, Ga., probably died of injuries suffered in a dog attack, Oglethorpe County Sheriff Mike Smith said.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Family Update
12 days since my last post. Been busy. Patrols nearly every night. And out most every day. Things to do. It gets exhausting slipping out and in, 4 times a day, and night. Little time for sleep.
Jack is working days. I guess. He leaves and is gone all day. But, even though I read his emails at night, and review his phone texts, I have no idea what he is doing. But, he is still on edge.
Sherry is silent at home, hates her work in the OR, says the doctors are all bastards. Except for a few. Too few. She says most docs need serious attitude and ego adjustment. Most everyone does. People especially. A few dogs too.
Ricky is now heavier than Jack, 207b lbs. And he is strong. Only 14. He has Asperger's, which means tantrums. For now, Jack can still handle him, when he loses total control, sing just joint locks and pressure points. But, he knows, eventually, he will have to use harder methods, as Ricky gets much larger and stronger. I can smell Jack's frustration.
Sven, the golden boy - intelligent, sensitive, athletic, gorgeous - bears the brunt of Jack's angst, that which is really meant for Ricky. Jack has taken to slapping Sven up side the head, for no reason. Last week he did it 5 times in one night, laughing or snarling each time. I love Jack. But, I wanted to bite the sumbitch each time he did that, each time more than the previous. Jack is really starting to piss me off.
Braden is back from Iraq. Early. Wounded. Convalescence. I had no idea he was coming home. I don't think he did either. He is on something. I can smell it. He has PTSD. I can smell it. He has lost who he is, and what he is. I can't smell it. He is still fighting, his own war now.
I came home 3 nights ago, about 4am, curled up on the floor downstairs, and went to sleep. I was tired. Very tired. I awoke the next morning, late, around 9am, to an empty house. All the people - Jack, Sherry, Sven and Rick - were gone. No sign of where they went. That was 3 nights ago.
I have been keeping things running, feeding all the other dogs, cats, and assorted pests. I don't how to this will play out when they return home. When they return home.
I have been out every night and day looking for them. Nada. My pack has been helping, looking. Still. Nada.
And I cannot find Warin. His scent is cold in his house.
I am in tonight. Sleeping light. Every night is light. Until I find out where Jack and Sherry are, or see them here.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
10 Worst Evolutionary Designs
This is fairly entertaining,
Sample:
2 Hyena clitoris. When engorged, this "pseudopenis," which doubles as the birth canal, becomes so hard it can crush babies to death during exit.
6 Shark-fetus teeth. A few shark species have live births (instead of laying eggs). The Jaws juniors grow teeth in the womb. The first sibling or two to mature sometimes eat their siblings in utero. Mmm ... siblings.
Chester
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Dogfighting Crack-downs
Another story about recent raids in dogfighter.
http://www.kansascity.com/105/story/1360417.html
Weredogs are reserved about this trend. We aren't sure yet if this is a fashion or if it really spells a new attitude for dogs amongst most people. Dogs have no comment.
Dogs have long put up with the price of being "mans best friend." Often has been the case that men did not know how to treat their best friend, and seemed to think that "toy" was synonymous with "friend.
This was not always the case. According to werelore, men and dogs used to share a common bond that was built on trust and respect. Man realized the debt they owed dogs in the great war on neanders and wolves. But, over time, man forgot. His memory dulled. Monotheism showed up. Woman and dog were told to go to the back of the hut and lay down.
But, dog has not forgotten. We stay obedient, because we d remember. And we continue to hope. These raids, these widely changing attitudes, give us hope. Humans' reverence for life seems to be returning. But, of course, at the same time, it is diminishing. Such is always the case during times of great and global wars. And some religions are always driving the devaluation of life.
And then there are the neos. They seem to be bent on the destruction of everything, even themselves. It doesn't make sense. Maybe I will someday be able to ask one of them about that, how that works. But, to do that I would have to arrest my impulse to kill them, in order to talk to them. And that is a tall order. But, I used to think the same about werewolves.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Robot Eating Dead?!
- Chester
Military Robot Could Eat Dead Bodies
A steam-powered robot is being designed to fuel itself by consuming organic material, from grass to furniture or even dead bodies.
But c'mon, could the U.S. military really deploy something to do that without a global outcry? The 'bot, from Robotic Technology Inc., is called the Energetically Autonomous Tactical Robot (EATR). It can "find, ingest, and extract energy from biomass." http://www.livescience.com/technology/etc/090715-military-robot-could-eat-dead-bodies.html
Chester: The human pursuit of technology is frightening. It is something that even us weredogs do not often understand.
- Chester
A steam-powered robot is being designed to fuel itself by consuming organic material, from grass to furniture or even dead bodies.
But c'mon, could the U.S. military really deploy something to do that without a global outcry? The 'bot, from Robotic Technology Inc., is called the Energetically Autonomous Tactical Robot (EATR). It can "find, ingest, and extract energy from biomass." http://www.livescience.com/technology/etc/090715-military-robot-could-eat-dead-bodies.html
Chester: The human pursuit of technology is frightening. It is something that even us weredogs do not often understand.
- Chester
Looking Down Jack's Barrel
When I got home last night I planned to slip in quiet, take it easy, no email, snacks or beer. Just head upstairs and find a comfy spot on the floor near Jack and Sheri's bed and get some shut-eye.
About 3am I heard something outside, on the east side of the house. I got up quietly, oozed downstairs, which is a real challenge because 3 of the stairs squeak, and went over to the east end of the house and listened. Sure enough, someone, or something, was out there. I had to find out who or what.
I shifted to weredog form, then called up Warin. No answer. He was out. I slipped out the patio door in back and made my way around to the east side. Someone was there, or had been. Their scent was still warm in the air, on the bushes and grass. It was in my mouth and nostrils like ripe cologne.
I moved down to the fence. Nothing. I then turned 4 degrees left and moved into the neighbors yard. After several minutes I was back moving into our yard having not seen or heard anything. Then I heard the shuck-shuck of a 12 gauge.
I knew immediately it was Jack. I know the sound of his Ithaca 37. I am a shotgun man myself, when in man form. I have always favored shotguns when I soldiered, in human form. Only for close in work, of course - trenches, buildings, cabins, dense jungle, that sort of thing. I alos know that Jack keeps 12 gauge rifle slugs loaded in that bad boy. I know where all Jack's weapons are located. I keep them in mind in case I might need them. Especially the .45 and 10mm. And Jack was aiming that bad boy right at me.
Thank Dog I was still in the trees and bushes some. Jack said, "Come on out of there, reeeeeal slow." I said, "Hey, Jack, take it easy. Relax, man." He lowered the gun just a bit, squinted, and in a voice a few octaves higher, said, "Who is that?" "Me." "Me who?"
As we talked I was shifting to human form. Finally, I came out into the night. He shined a flashlight on me. "What the hell are you doing here, man?"
I implied that I was visiting one of his neighbors, a wife, trying to sound hesitant to say more. He held up a hand, lowered the shotgun, said, "Never mind. I don't want to know who." He invited me inside for a beer. I accepted.
"Haven't seen you at the bar recently," I said.
He nodded sagely. "Haven't been to any bars much lately." He told me all about his recent travails and terrors. Most I knew. Some I did not. It is amazing, but there are things a man will tell a drinking buddy that he will not tell his dog. I don't understand that. Suffice it to say, I did not know the full extent of how bad things are.
Jack got to where he could not keep his head up. He told me to let myself out, then went upstairs. I said "OK," then waited ten minutes before I checked all the doors and followed him up.
I drank only one beer with Jack, and none of the new Eskimo vodka he got this week. I wanted to sleep alert the rest of the night, in case whatever was out there before came back around.
Now, here we are, the next night, Sunday, and now signs or sounds to report. I told all the other animals to sleep alert. Rooster does anyways. And Sparkle barks when a firefly farts across the street. I am going to get some sleep. We should be covered.
Willie the Wonder Dog
Things were quiet this week, until last night. I went over to Warin's. As you might recall, he lives only a few blocks from me. Convenient. When I walked in the house I immediately picked up a strange, and somewhat disturbing scent. Not dangerous. Just odd.
I moved into the house slowly, quietly. I found Warin in the kitchen with Holly and a guy I had never seen. But, it was his odd scent I picked up at the door. Warin and Holly said hello and introduced me to Willy.
Willy was chattering away when I entered the room. He looked to me and never stopped. He was smoking. Weredogs, like dogs, hate cigarettes. But, sometimes we will use them to mask scent in a small room. Outside, in the open, fires can do the same, depending on winds and temp. But, I digress.
Holly got a call on her mobile and walked out to talk. Warin said he had to go upstairs. "You 2 get to know each other," he said, then left the room. I offered Willy my hand. He took it, shook it like a puppy on a chew toy, and launched off again on a verbal ramble-assault that would have sent a hyper-active shitzu in retreat.
"You're hyper," I said when after about five minutes he stopped to breath and take an extra long pull on the current cigarette in his chain.
"Actually, I'm not hyper," he said. "Really?" "No, really," he said. "It's learned behavior. I'm actually very laid back. Near corpse like. Matter of fact most of my family members and co-workers are always asking me if I'm stoned. I'm not. Not anymore. The reason I often seem so is because I watched too many soap operas as a child. It killed half my brain. Cartoons killed the other half. You see my mother was a welfare mom and to make extra money she did ironing out of our house. Why was I not in school, you ask? Well, I was home when I was not travelling as Willy The Wonder Dog Boy. See, another of Mom's money making gimmicks w⁄as to tour me with a carnival as a side show. Willy The Wonder Dog Boy. That was me. Of course, I wasnt a dog, or even half so. What we did was whenever my Mom gave me and my brothers and sisters our six-month haircuts she would save the clippings and super-glue them to my cheeks and neck. She got very good at it. It was quite convincing. So, then I would go off with the carnival. The superglue usually lasted as long as the carnival season did, until my skin was so raw that she had to stop. We really ran into trouble when I reached adolescence. Acne played havoc on my facial fur. And also my bite began to get worse than my bark. Haha. Little joke there. The outcome of all this also is that I can immitate perfectly the barks of thirty-two different breeds of dogs. I am told I could have a very lucrative career as a dog caller except for the fact that no one hunts dogs. For years I have been lobbying Alabama to step forward and be the first to declare Dog Season. I'd be set. I already have a robust business plan to release a whole series of books and tapes on how to call different breeds of dogs. Would you like me to demonstrate?"
"No, that's OK. You dont need to do that."
"It's no problem."
"No, please, don't."
"OK. Another time maybe."
When finally Warin came back down he had a half-smile on his face. I gave a little growl that only heard to let him know my displeasure and need to flee. Holly came back in and said, "Come one, Willy. Let's go."
After they left I said, "What was he doing here?"
"We need him," said Warin.
"Why is that? For what?"
"He knows about us."
"How so?" Warin shrugged. "Says he can smell us. He came right up to Holly at the mall and asked what breed she is in dog form."
"Oh shit."
"Oh yeah." Warin went to his fridge and pulled 2 Boulevards while I mulled over this information. He came back over to me, handed me one, and said, "And he claims that he lives with a family of 'gars'."
"A family of what?"
"We call them 'neos'."
"Oh hell."
Monday, July 20, 2009
Mother Squirrel
This just crossed my radar.
Lesson for the day: Don't mess with mother squirrels.
This black lab mix thinks to have some fun with this juvenile squirrel.
But, mommy has other ideas.
"Whoa! Hey, lady! Get the hell off me!"
"Wait. What the hell just happened here? Did I just get my ass whooped by a squirrel?!"
Maybe the larger lesson is: Don't mess with mothers.
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