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.

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.

http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2009/09/090901105144.htm

Nice try. But, as we know, dog and man go back a lot farther than a mere 16,000 years.

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.

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.

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."

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.

A friend just sent me this.

Funny. But, as we know, it didn't quite go down like that.