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.
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