The WereWar - Weredogs and Werewolves

The WereWar was actually part of a larger war, between man and neanderthals.  It was werewolves and neanderthals against weredogs and men.  It had to happen.  Nature demanded it.  Neanderthals had to be wiped out, replaced by man. Wolves and werewolves should have been also. Weredogs have long sought to finish that task.  

But, the werewar never ended. It continues to this day.  

War is a reality and a constant. War is the only thing that unifies mankind.  Dreams of global utopian paradise and just that, dreams. Only war brings man together, unifies man toward a common goal.  I have been in many wars and can attest to the truth of this. 

“Ultimate unity requires ultimate war.”  I don’t know who said that. I read it once, a while ago. Maybe it was Orwell. But, the fact is that nothing unifies man and weredog like orchestrated violence. It is supreme in common purpose.

Or so I for so long thought.

I have been going out a lot nights, while here, running through the snow shrouded woods, tracking more scents and sounds than I could list here.  The other day Ganieda told me we were going out that night.  She didn’t ask me.  She just said, “Be ready to go.”

It was an hour after midnight when we walked into an open clearing high up in a mountain near her cabin.  It took us 2 hours to get there, as dogs.  Would have taken us twice as long on 2 legs. 

My hackles went up immediately.  I sensed them, many of them, and started changing. “Relax,” said Ganieda.  “And trust me.”  Then about 2 dozen small canine shapes appeared on the periphery of the clearing, from out of the trees.  Coyotes.  They all sat, casually, with no care in the night, and started to howl.  

“What’s going on?” I said.

“I want you to meet someone,” said Ganieda.

The clearing was sprinkled with rocks and boulders of various sizes. Most seemed illuminated in the moonlight.  I was canning to my left when 2 of the smaller boulders stood up.  Werewolves.

I started formulated an exit plan. Would coyotes try to contain a weredog?  I’ve never heard of such.  At the same time I watched the 2 werewolves as they approached me and Ganieda.  They showed no signs of aggression or bad intention.

When they were about 6 paces away, Ganieda said, “Chester, this is Wulfstan and Beatrice.  Wulfstan and I have known each other a very long time.”

“Beatrice?” I blurted.

She gave me a hard stare. “Yeah. Beatrice.”  Her hackles and lips twitched, fought for control.  I tried to smile as sincerely as I could muster up.

“We’ve read your blog,” said Wulfstan, the larger, older one, and obviously in charge.

Wulfstan explained why he asked Ganieda to arrange a meeting.  “You are somewhat well known amongst wolves,” he said, “because of your blog.”

I was surprised, but did not let it show. “How come you never post to it?”

“Not our way.”

They explained that they wanted to end the eons-old hostilities between werewoves and weredogs. They said this new species of neo-canine was a great threat and we needed to come together it survive it.”  

“All werewolves want this?” I said.

Wulfstan said there are old school werewolves and new school werewolves.  The old school are those who want revenge, to spread death and destruction, to treat civilization as their private candy shop and hunting ground.  The new order wolves want to get along, to live in harmony with dogs and even mankind.  Those wolves understand, he said, that it is essential to their survival.

The problem, I said, is whether this is even possible.  Is it possible for weredogs and werewolves to co-exist in harmony?  No one answered.  Is it possible for Christianity and Islam to co-exist?  Republicans and Democrats?  India and Pakistan?  Women and men? KU and MU? 

There are big differences in how wolves live and how dogs live.  Some might be overcome.  Others are problematic.  Werewolves, like wolves, live in small packs, or alone, as lobo solos.  But even wolf packs do not fit into a broader hierarchy, like dogs.  

Weredogs all are members of a pack, which then fits into a series of larger packs.  There is no global hierarchy, no papal weredog.  But, all weredogs are connected.  It facilitates communication, coordinates efforts, speeds reactions, ensures survival.  We are like humans in this way. 

There are always those few cases of solitary dogs who are not in a pack, who are out on the fringes of weredogdom. But it is snarled upon. They are called, by some, “pero solo.”

Werewolves, like their neanderthal partners, do not tend to coordinate or communicate well.  Oh sure, there are various werewolf blog and chat rooms. But, most of those, possibly all, are actually people with werewolf fetishes. Because werewolves don’t coordinate well.  Until recently.

Lack of communication and coordination led to the defeat and extinction of the neanderthals, and nearly, I say “nearly,” much to weredog chagrin, to werewolf extinction. How close?  Look at wolf populations.

Wolf and werewolf populations are directly related.  Man nearly wiped out wolves, worldwide.  At the same time, werewolves teetered perilously on the edge of extinction.  The same is true of dogs.  If you look at the populations of dogs worldwide you get a sense of weredog population and distribution. To my knowledge, there are no a lot of weredogs in Korea, where dog meat is a delicacy and dog shelters are unnecessary. 

“I am seeing more restaurants, bars and casinos run by wolves,” I told Wulfstan.  “This is new.  The only wolf bars I ever knew about were for luring in prey.”

Wulfstan smiled in a way I could not read.  His teeth gleamed in the moonlight. “Yes, well, I wont deny there has been some of that in the past,” he said. “Probably still is. But, werewolves are moving into the modern era. We see the advantages of moving out of the woods and into the cities, of living with and getting along with men and dogs.”

I asked how long this has been going on, this werewolf renaissance.  Wulfstan said over about the last 100 years, but at full bore since World War 2. Since WW2?  If that is true, how come I did not know about it?

We returned to Ganieda’s cabin about an hour before sunrise. I was hungry, wanted to swim in her pool, peruse and read more of the books in her library.  Instead, I slept, and napped most of the day, as a dog.  Some days it is good to be a dog. No one knows napping like a dog.

So, can weredogs and werewolves exist without this war to animate them?  I don't know about men, but my recent experiences with Diella, Dionna and Wulfstan lead me to think it is possible. And risky?  Hell, yes. 

Reaching Out to Werewolves

Intel is coming back to our pack, and other packs, that the werewolves do not want another war. Foxes and coyotes are acting as intermediaries, passing along messages and responses between us and the werewolves.

I have heard of such things happening, but not in my lifetime. Dogs and wolves fight. That is what we do. And coyotes and foxes stay out of it, for the most part. So, why the changes? There is currently much dog discussion around that question.

These new developments also serve another purpose, my own. I am going to reach out to the werewolf community to see if I can uncover any leads on Rex's killers. And I am not going to tell anyone or ask for the blessings of the pack or higher. What they don't know won't hurt me.

I am also trying to contact Dionna. It is proving difficult. Werewolves are do damn paranoid. I neglected to learn, when at Grand Lake, if she is human or wolf during the day, and thus, if she is listed. I don't even know her last name, or if she has one.

If the werewolves are sincere about wanting to avoid this war, then I might be able to find something out. A splinter here, a chunk there, next thing you know you have the whole bone.

Fresh meat.

Our Vacation

Week before last we got back from our vacation. I went along. Don't ask how I wrangled that. Long story, many details. Suffice it to say, I am a wily dog. 

We drove the first day all the way across Kansas to Denver. We were in Jack's Explorer, not a small vehicle. Still, vehicles are not designed for dogs. I made it clear when we needed to stop. We stayed the night in Denver with Sherry's cousin, Jan, who is a research sexologist. Interesting woman. She kept asking Sherry if he could measure her breasts and did Sherry know the exact distance between her clitoris and urethra. I didn't even want to know where that was going.

It was good to see Gemma, Jan's dog. I have been trying to recruit Gemma for years. She still says no, she doesn't want to be even part human. She says she carries enough pain already. 

I slipped out of the house, late, to recon the neighborhood, check for were-sign. Three blocks from Jan's house I heard eating. On the side of a brown stucco ranch one-story I found two coyotes, both males, with their heads in a tipped over rubber trash can. One was saying, "I swear, I cannot believe how they throw all this stuff out." I cleared my throat.

 They started to bolt. I said, "Wait." They stopped, to my surrise. 

"What?" the smaller one said. 

I told them I meant no harm, that I was from out of town, and I simply wanted information. "On what?" said the larger one. I said on the general area, if it was safe for Jan and Gemma, and if there were any werewolves in the area.

The smaller coyote scratched his jaw with a hind paw, then said, "Werewolves. Hmm. Nope. Not since I was a pup and Crusher drove them all out of Denver and to the south." 

"Who was Crusher?" I said. They proceeded to tell me the story. Old story. It has happened too many times to count over the centuries. Denver was overrun with werewolves. People and pets were disappearing like hamburgers at a dog picnic. The people police were stumped, as they always are in were-matters, even with the truth staring them in the face. So, a weredog, Crusher (originally, his name was Sprinkles) rose up, rallied all the weredogs, and a fair number of dogs, and drove off all the werewolves. It was a brutal battle, and took months. Everyone fought, and many fell with opened throat. 

"Except for the coyotes," said the smaller coyote. "We just sat back and watched, and laughed." "And cleaned up the scraps," said the other.

They asked where I was laying. I told them.

"Oh yeah," said the larger one. "That's the house where that big black cat came from last month. Damn, that cat was gooood eatin'."

"You ate Jan's cat?" I said, familiar with the news. Jan had been devastated. I tried to chastise them, but knowing that they had not done wrong, had simply killed to survive.

The next day we drove to and through Estes Park, the Rocky Mountain National Park, and then to Grand Lake, a beautiful mountain town sitting alongside a mountain lake. Jack got a large room overlooking the lake.  I loved it. There was a big, cushy sofa under the large window that faced the lake. I planned to spend all night laying on that sofa, wrapped in the smells of the lake coming in through the window. Things didn't work out that way.

They came back from dinner tense. They brought me too much leftovers, which means they had no appetites, which is a bad sign for my family. Jack and the boys are big eaters. About an hour after the lights were out, and all but Jack were breathing easy, Jack got up, got dressed in the dark, and left. I, of course, followed. Even in dog form I can more quietly open and close doors than any of them.

Outside in the shadows I changed into human form. I lost sight of Jack. But his scent was easy to find. I found him in a bar on the main street that runs through Grand Lake. He was sitting by himself at the bar. I slid into a booth. It was about eleven. I watched as several women approached him. One took a seat on the stool to his left. She kept touching his arm. I growled. 

A blond slipped into the other side of my booth. She had shoulder-length honey-blond hair, a great figure with lots of curves, a kind of face that makes a dog want to howl, and eyes that bore into me. Her beauty clouded my senses for a few moments, made it take a few sniffs longer that it should have to realize that she was wolf. Then, all at once, the realization hit me that the entire town was wolf. The scent of werewolf was everywhere, hanging over the town like a toxic cloud. My concern and focus on my family, and the mountain air, and other smells, had distracted me enough to miss it. Not sensing it was like not seeing the trees.

"What do you want?" she said. She was smiling without her eyes. Her voice was not friendly.

"Vacation," I said, still a little rattled by her beauty. "With my family."

She cocked her head to one side and studied me from some seconds. Then she said, "As daddy or dog?"

"Dog." She shook her head. "What?" I said.

"I will never understand you dogs," she said. "How you can play obedient little puppy to some of these pathetic people."

"They're not all pathetic," I said. I nodded toward Jack, at the bar. "He's mine."

Her eyes raised. "Really? Interesting. If not for the lack of scent, I would say he could be a wolf. Or dog. Whatever. Anyway, Sheila," she shot a glance at the feral-looking woman next to him, "has her sights on him."

My lips went up into a snarl. This happens even in human form. It can be very awkward. "If she . . ."

"Relax," she said. "She's just interested in some late-night gymnastics."

"He's taken," I said.

"They're all taken," she said.

"I mean it," I said. "His woman is back asleep in our room."

She almost laughed. "Then what is he doing here?" she said. Before I could construct an answer she waved a hand. "Never mind. He's just being a man. I know. They're not like us. You and I would never go out in a strange town or woods just to 'stretch our legs'."

"I might," I said.

She laughed, then said, "So, what is your role in this family of yours?"

"Sometimes, companion. Right now, guardian."

She rolled her eyes. "That's what's wrong with you dogs. You are so drunk on the whole 'guardian' kick. We protect the humans. We protect the sheep. We protect this. We protect that. Don't you ever get sick of it?"

"It's what we do. It's our duty."

"Your duty is your bondage. Don't you ever just want to say 'To hell with it' and be free?"

"It's not bondage, or even duty, for that matter. This is my family. I love them, and do not want them harmed."

"Oh, lower your hackles. They as safe here as in Denver."

"So," I said, "You don't feed outside your flock of people you have here in town? Just keep it close?"

"We don't harm our people," she said. "We don't need to. There's too many good restaurants in this little town, and large herds of elk up in the park when the need for that arises. The only people who get harmed around here are those who need harming. Like last month. There was a pack of bikers who rode into town. I was glad to see them. Wolves and bikers generally have a natural affinity. But, these guys were bad. I smelled it right away, but discounted it."

"That night one of them went with one of our she-wolves back to her cabin. She had no plans other than some fun. But, his kind of fun was not fun. Some of his friends followed. They meant to hurt her, probably kill her. She made the howl. We all heard it, and we all recognized it immediately. I have rarely heard a howl wrapped in such pain and fear. Every werewolf in this town converged on that cabin within minutes. It was also over in minutes."

"No trace of them was ever found?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. Except for their leathers. A few of the jackets and chaps are still on racks down in one of the stores on Grand Avenue, the main drag."

"One of our cardinal rules is never to harm humans," I said.

"We know," she said. "But, it still happens, sometimes," she said. "Doesn't it?"

I shifted in my seat. I had to keep in mind that this beautiful, charming, and dangerous creature across from me was a werewolf. It was hard to remember that. "Rarely," I said. "Serial killers, anyone preying on children," I said, "Anyone who . . . " I stopped. She smiled and finished the sentence for me. "Anyone who needs harming."

Jack pulled his wallet. He was paying his tab. I could tell he was getting ready to move. I started to slide out of the booth. "Were you serious?" she said.  I stopped. "About what?" I said. Her mouth curled into a deliciously devilish smile. "That you might stretch you legs with me in the woods?"

We froze. Our pupils dilated. Even thought we both were in human form, our hackles and ears were up. Pheromones were coming off us like rain in a hurricane. We faced each other, taking all this in. I don't how long we were there like that. Then, without my brain being aware my mouth and tongue were moving, I said, "I've never been drawn to a werewolf before."

"Me too," she said. "A weredog, I mean."

"I have to go," I said.

Her shoulders slumped, and she gave what sounded between a whimper and a sigh, and said, "I figured you would say that." I stood there a few moments longer, taking in her scent as much as I could, going beyond, deeper than the mere wolf-scent, to the essence of her. My heart convulsed, like someone had reached into my chest and was biting my heart, forcing every bit of blood out.

A thought then hit me like a bullet.  "What's your name?" I said. 

"Dionna," she said. "You?"

"Chester."

The bar closed. Jack left alone. Sheila whispered something to him. He smiled at her, leaned over and kissed her on the forehead, told her no, he could not do that. I never wanted to lick him more than right then. I followed him back to the room. He stumbled only a little on the three block walk. H moved like a sailor on the deck of a ship during stormy seas. But, he amde it back to the room, and did not even notice when I slipped through the motel room door right after him, hopped up on the couch behind him. He turned and patted me on the head, almost fell on m, on the couch. He caught himself and said, "Good boy. Keeping an eye on things." I sure am, I wanted to say.

The next day we drove to Vail. Vail is a nice town. Although, town is not the right word. It is a resort town, a European mountain simulacra. It is a very dog friendly, people playground. It is to European mountain villages what Disney World is to European castles. And the rich people of Vail do love their dogs. Oh yes. The dogs have serious attitudes. Even the weredogs have attitudes. I got into an argument with one because she made a remark about my collar and didn't think I heard. She did not even recognize me as a weredog, was not paying attention, did not pick up my scent. She apologized.

We went rafting near Royal Gorge, down toward Canon City. Well, they did. I stayed back at the raft ranch. A young woman parked next to us was looking at me strangely when I got out, after the rafts pulled out for the river. "Where's the doggie?" she said. "What doggie?" I said. 

Staying behind was great. It gave me a chance to check voicemail and email, Jack's too. It was unseasonably cold. Everyone wore, or wished they had, coats. I went into the bar and had a beer and burger. It was very greasy. Great for my coat. When the family got back I was sleeping in the vehicle, in the back, burrowed in coats, blankets and poncho liners. Cold outside, toasty warm inside. 

In Manitou Springs Ricky and I came across a guy in a restroom with a black plastic bag pulled over his head. Another guy asked us for change. I snarled. Ricky called 911. I smelled werewolf. It was faint. But it was there. The cops showed, an ambulance right after that. They got the bag off him and strapped him onto the gurney. Sherry, Sven and Jack finally showed up, said, "Where have you been? We've been looking everywhere for you!" just as I was getting into a very nice conversation with a female police dog named Lulu. She had the most gorgeous eyes and coat. I thought of Dionna.

The drive back to KC took all the next day. Sven and Rick took turns using me as a pillow. I don't mind. I like it. Hard to explain. Besides, I wanted to sleep. I kept having dreams of mountains and lakes and cabins and trees. And Dionna. And I kept wanting to go back to those dreams. 

Werewar

I think I need to provide some clarity about the history of weredogs. It is interwoven with that of werewolves.

We trace our genesis back to about 5000 B.C., well after the domestication of dogs. Dogs had been living in a beneficial partnership with man for more than several centuries.

Why? We were needed. And Nature has a way for filling needs. A new race of beings that were half man and half wolf started fighting and pushing men to the brink. It started with isolated raids, then escalated to full-scale war. Some of the old gods had grown angry at man, feared man, decided to remove man. All men. Man was no match for werewolf, their ferocity, their intelligence, their cunning. 

Werewolves are not the pathetic figures you see in movies. Oh no. They are capable, controlled. But, so is man. As such, some of the old gods decided that man must survive. Some still say it was never about man or wolves, that both were pawns in a war between the old gods, and that the gods of man decided that man needed an ally to stand against the werewolves. Thus, werewolves were born. 

It took less time than a tall tree to grow and fall for weredogs and werewolves to fight to a standstill. With man on our side, werewolves had no choice but to go to ground, lick their wounds, bide their time, learn patience.

Weredogs and werewolves have been locked in a fight to the death ever since. Ever so often, we push them nearly to the point of total defeat...extinction. That is our absolute mission and goal. Eradication of the wolf.