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.

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?

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.

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

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.

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

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.

A Long, Melancholy Roar

Humans have learned to fear attacks from certain quarters -- lions, crocodiles, and so forth -- but not from others that are both less obvious and more deadly.

Entire article:
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?

Chester

chester.weredog@gmail.com

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.

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.

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.