My Age

I am 153 years old, or years young, as Aunt Bessie used to say.

I was born a dog in the year 1755 on a farm near Crown Point, New York, during the unpleasantries now known as The French and Indian Wars. My teeth were needed.

Indians wiped out my family. Killed them all. Even little Evelyn. I was devastated. I loved them all, each in a special way. When I smelled them each lying there, dead, I wanted to die myself. I would have, had Roshman not found me.

James Roshman was a weredog. He told me about weredogs, invited me to join, to become a weredog. He said that as a weredog I would be able to do amazing things. I said, "All I want to do is kill those who killed my family." He said, "That's not a problem." I'll tell the story of that revenge sometime. 

I have had many names, as both man and dog. I have, since that first war, fought in many wars, as man and as dog. There is not much difference. Men carry guns. Dogs taste the blood of their enemy. Matter of fact, if men had to taste the blood of their enemy, it might change the entire human perspective on war. Who knows? That might make you want it more.

So, now here I am, playing family pet, yet once again, a one hundred and fifty-three years old pure-bred weredog, yet playing four year old shepherd mix. I love a good dose of irony.

Becoming a Weredog

How does one become a weredog? Good question.

I was born a dog. Some are born men, or women. The transition can go either way. It cannot be a child. Must be an adult.

The change is complicated. For some it take weeks. For some, months. It depends on how much the wereling gives him or herself over to the process. 

Those going through the process we call "werelings". A wereling cannot full control their form, change back and forth at will. Even an old dog, weredog, cannot change in instantaneously. The fastest take at least ten seconds or so.

The change is not like how werewolves change in the movies. It is not painful. It does not look like bones and teeth erupting from a person, like some violent alien parasite taking over a human host. No.

When we change form it is more like looking at a mirage in the desert. To watch on transform, you are simply watching, watching, watching . . . and then, Bam! They are changed. I have watched it a hundred times, and that is the best I can describe it.

More on this later, I'm sure.

Fresh meat.

She's Back

The little girl is back, home as of Saturday morning.

But, we did not find her. No. After weeks of constant, all-night sniffing around and tracking, she just showed up at her house. Her mother walked out the front door and there she was, the girl, standing in the front yard, staring at her house.

There is conjecture in the pack that all is not right in that home. We are glad she is home and safe, for the most part. But, children do not just show back up at home. They are found, rescued, after long and exhaustive efforts.

Holly says we are just pissed because we spent so many nights, all night, out on patrol, looking for her. Rex and I told her that is not the case. Yes, we have been out all night for weeks now, over a month. But, we also did other things, collected other scents, looked for other tracks. So, it was not a waste.

Last week Rex, Taffy, and I were over in Lenexa, checking out some construction storage buildings near Blackbob and 151st. I was feeling very frustrated that we had not turned up anything on the little girl or the strange attacks, that seemed to stop, or were not being reported, or maybe the bodies just not being found. I was sniffing around the edges of a double steel door, when Taffy said, "I feel naked."

Rex and I both knew what she was talking about. Taffy had lost her collar the day before, and her family had not yet replaced it. Dogs do not wear clothes. But, we wear collars, all the time. And when they come off we feel naked without them. 

When weredogs change forms, from dog to human, we are naked. Each weredog has different tricks and strategies for where to hide night clothes. And when we change back into dog form, the clothes first have to be stowed, back in their place. 

Dogs get attaches to their collars, weredogs more so than other dogs. I have discussed this with dogs. Collars are a part of our identity and perception, how the world views us. This is more acute with weredogs, since we spend time also in human form. I have seen weredogs, at pack and grand pack meetings, in human form, wearing their collars. Looks very punk. Or maybe "Emo", by today's standards.

Collars usually go in a pocket. Mine always does. I like to keep it with me. I have this strange fear of going to change back to dog in the morning and not being able to find my collar. It's not just the collar. Replacing tags is a bitch, especially if you're a dog.

So, Rex and I both understood, but laughed anyways. I laughed until I cried, actually. I just couldn't stop. Rex and Taffy were both hissing at me to "Stop it!" and "Shut the hell up!"

Anyway, it didn't matter. We found no were-scent around those buildings. Nada. And the girl showed up a few days later.

This will free up some time for me. I will be able to get a handle on my portfolio, which has gone to hell in a hand-basket in this current damn market. Also, I can now focus more on the family, on how Sherry and Jack are doing. I have not followed either of them out lately. But, far as I know, they have not gone out lately, unless they left after I did any given night. Now that would be interesting, if either, or both, ever slipped out after I slipped out. Makes me nervous just to think about it.

Last night we had an early, quick pack meeting. I was home before 2am. Holly and Rex told us that directions came down from the grand pack. We need to keep an eye on the little girl. Something is not right there. No one argued. Her return made no sense, and smelled bad.

"We need to get someone in there," Rex said

So, that is where we're at. We have to get a weredog into that household to keep a nose on things. Not me, I said. I got a family.

Vacuum Horror

I just put away the vacuum cleaner. It has been left out for days, since house cleaning this past weekend. Sven was the last to use it. Flecka has been staying ten feet from it. I put it away. Enough.

Flecka, like most dogs, is terrified of the vacuum. Anytime Sherry or Jack, or the boys, tries to do any vacuuming, she runs and hides, shaking like a cornered rabbit. Bella goes beserk, barking like crazy. Sometimes I join in the barking. Not sure why. Something in me just needs the bark when I feel that vacuum. 

Most people explain it that the noise made by vacuums strikes a decibel level that drives us dogs crazy. That is true. But, more it is the story that dogs tell about vacuums that is most of the trouble. 

Dogs created a vacuum alien story years ago to explain vacuums. According to the story, to dog doctrine, Vacuums first came to earth many centuries ago, in space ships, from an alien planet a far distance away. They subjugated the earth, man and dog, and all the other animals. For centuries the Vacuums ruled earth, keeping dog and man as slaves. Life was misery. It was a dark time.

Then dog and man rose up, together, against the vacuum aliens. We drove them off the earth. For good. Freedom and peace were restored. Thanks to man. And dog.

Sound like a crazy story? Hey, I'm not saying if it is true or not. But, to tell you the truth, I don't think it is any more or less crazy than that story of your about Satan. 

Everyone is asleep. I am heading out again tonight. Every night, lately. Rex and I are going to go back to where we lost the girl's scent and try to regain it. The more time that passes the worse things could be for that little girl. And I don't mean death. There are worse things than that. Things I won't talk about.

 Fresh meat to you.

Girl, Not Found

The little girl still is not found. But, tonight we were close. 

Rex and I, and others, have been spending most of every night over the past few weeks looking for her, tracking the girl. Some nights we knew we were close, by her scent, when it was strong. Other nights, nothing. Just the smell of cars and fast food. 

We had her scent tonight. Found it in a subdivision over by Highway 69 and 125th Street. Her scent was so strong that I could hear my blood pumping. I could feel the same in Rex. Then it started to rain. And it came down hard. So hard we had to almost yell to hear each other. The streets became rivers. It was the kind of rain that inspired man to religion. 

The scent was gone. Washed away in the torrent. So close.

Girls' Night Out

Sherry came home late last night, from a "night out with the girls". She was drunk, and horny as hell. Jack obliged her. They tore it up for over two hours. They are not quiet people when they have sex. But, given that she was drunk, and the boys were gone for the night, they made enough noise and volume to be heard over the fans at Arrowhead Stadium after a Gonzalez reception. I had to find shelter in the basement, bury my head in some old Army blankets. Those blankets smelled good.

They both fell silent, passed out, around 4am.  I checked on them, under the pretext of needing to be let out. Good thing I didn't need to pee. I couldn't have wakened them with a forty pounding cratering charge.

But, so there I was, wide awake. Nothing on TV worth a shite. Even though I was in dog form the entire time they went at it, I still got a little aroused. I am a male, after-all. It is hard for any male, of any species, to be in the room with any female having sex, and being loud about it, and not get aroused. I thought about slipping over to Missy's, for a late nighter. But, it was too late by then. 

I went with Jack to take the boys to a Boy Scout camp-out Saturday afternoon. That's why they were gone Saturday night, camping out. We went to get them Sunday morning. Anyway, I ran into three other weredogs. Two of them I knew. The other is new to the area. He doesn't even have a pack yet. I told him to call me.

I also sensed werewolf, faint, but there. I fought the impulse to snarl. I scare people when I snarl. Except Jack. He just snarls back to "Shut the hell up."

If werewolves are infiltrating boys scout troops, where else are they infiltrating? We weredogs are forbidden to enter churches, to become clergy. Werewolves too. But, they don't care much for rules or laws of any kind. There's no telling what they will, and won't, do. I need to bring this up at the next pack meeting, possibly at the next grand pack meeting. 

So, after we got back, I slept the rest of the day, from being up all night. So, now I can't sleep. So, here I am, middle of the night, in man form, watching TV and eating popcorn. I can't eat popcorn in dog form. Gives me gas.

New Trends: Doga, Dating, Panties

Some interesting new trends have crossed my radar recently.

Doga. It's the new yoga, for dogs and their humans. Saw it in the paper yesterday. The article said that doga studios are popping up all around the country, like 

Humans, you never cease to crack me up. Oh, don't get me wrong. We dogs appreciate being treated well. Table scraps after a steak dinner is next to heaven. But, come on. Get serious. Doga? Dogs doing yoga? What's next, dog choirs in church?

The chaturanga position is supposedly a popular position. To do that, I lie on my belly and you stroke m back. Hello? That is the favorite position of every dog who ever lived.

My 12 year olds date now. Of course what that amounts to is texting a girl for a week or so. They never actually go anywhere or do anything. Trust me. I would know. After about a week they start texting another girl, and they have moved on. Now they are dating someone else.

I am not sure how I feel about this. I am not their father, just their dog. But, what is this going to do for their social maturity? Is their first kiss going to be an asterisk? 

As I mentioned in a previous post, a new means of signaling interest amongst young women, such as in a bar, talking public places here, is to hand a guy their panties. They decide the guy is cute, then they go to the women's restroom, remove their panties, go back out to the guy, and hand them to him. No explanation required. 

Who thinks this stuff up? What girl first came up with the panty invitation idea? Should she seek a copyright or patent?

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. 

Missing Little Girl

No post in a week. I have been to busy. My pack is still busy patrolling for wolves. Things are bad at home. I have been going out night tracking Sherry and Jack, seeing what, if any, trouble they are seeking. 

A new emergency arose recently. Five days ago an emergency pack meeting was called. We assembled late at a local bar. Most of the lights stayed off. The last dog arrived at about 0240. Rex was not happy. A couple of newer members messing around at the soda guns did not make him happier.

Taffy told us that a little girl was missing. Taffy said it was a girl who lived on her street. The girl's mother put her to bed and the next morning she was gone. Pandemonium had broken out. Parents are going beserk. The cops  are pulling out all the stops. "I read about this," said Buck.

Taffy said that she got into the house, with her woman, in dog form. "I smelled wolf scent," she said. "It was faint. But it was there."

It was quickly decided that we look into the missing girl. And not just because the possibility of wolf involvement. Weredogs are not allowed much interference in human affairs, in the crimes of man. The exception is children. When children go missing, or are subjected to violence in any form, weredogs are not restricted. Muzzles are off. We are free to do whatever we must. 

Special teams were assigned to focus on the missing girl. Rex and I were chosen to head-up teams. We will support the wolf patrols as need be.

No wolf signs have been detected lately. No suspicious attacks reported in newspapers. I have not caught Jack or Sherry doing deeds to be regretted. At least not anything that makes my olfactory bells go off.

I will post more often. There is much to tell.

No One Reading

I am told that no one is reading this, except for my pack. They kid me about it all the time. Rex calls this my "flog blog". 

If humans do not want to know the truth, which, it seems, they rarely do, then so be it. Far be it for me to shove truth down the collective throat of man.

Another dog, weredog, brought up a good point. It is possible that if the wrong werewolves (which is all of them) read this, it could give them unfair advantage, in the form of insights and intelligence about our pack and operation. I will have to keep that in mind when posting to this blog.

Beers With Jack

Jack has been out nights, late. Often it is after he and Sherry fight. She stays home and stares at the TV, not seeing.

I had to know, had to smell it on Jack, know what he is doing. Only by smelling it on him would I know. And fresh scent is the best scent. I have never smelled drugs, or even pot, on Jack. Nor have I ever smelled strange perfume on him. I am a dog. I can smell sizzling bar-b-q from half a mile away. I can smell a different oil on a familiar gun. I can tell the nuances in a thousand different oils and powders and fluids and emotions. 

Yes. emotions. I smell fear and love and grief and happiness. I smell arousal and confusion and apathy and anger. All dogs do. All people too, if only you would remember it. All I had to do what see where Jack went, and also get close to him, smell him, in the act. Then I would know.

So, Rex and I tracked Jack. We followed him to a bar. It was a risky thing to do, and flirts with violating were-rules. But, he is part of my family, and the situation justified the risks.

I was a little on edge. There's only so much I can do, only so far I can go, to interfere, to help fix things. But, this is my family. For now. As such, I cannot stand by and do nothing.

Jack is a good man. But, he has strong hungers. He likes premium bourbons, large-caliber pistols, long-range rifles, antique hand tools, obedient dogs, and strong-willed women. He loves Sherry. But, there is tension between them. They are both very sexual and passionate people. But, I have not smelled their sex in many weeks, and not all that often in many months. 

My fear, one of them, is that Jack is seeking elsewhere what he is not getting at home. He is capable of that. So, is Sherry. I smell it on them both. I suppose everyone is. I am. But, I'm a dog.

We took Rex's Mustang. Never know when you will need speed and power. Actually, it is hard to think of a situation when you won't. Anyway, we followed him to a bar called Trolley's. I was relieved it wasn't a house. I still was anxious to see if he was meeting anyone. 

Rex and I took stools on either side of him, at the bar. He was watching a game on a TV hanging over the bar, and did not protest. Not waiting on anyone, I thought. Good. He did not look at either of us until I spoke. "What's the score?" I said.

"Don't know," said Jack.

"You're not watching?" I said. He shook his head. I glanced at Rex. He shrugged. 

The stool next to me was open. I woman slid into it. She was mid thirties, brunette, attractive. Right away I knew she was into me. I knew by the way he looked at me, in that subtle way women manage to seem like they are trying not to look while letting you know that they are. I could also smell that she was aroused. I smiled at her. I knew it was wrong. But, what the hell. I'm only a dog.

"You seem like a troubled man." said Rex. I was about to say that. But, the brunette was making it hard t think. I was complimenting her on my necklace, turning my attention to, back to Jack and Rex, back to her. She caught onto the game, and was determined to corner my eyes.

I thought Jack might tell Rex to beat it. But, he said, "You're pretty intuitive."

"I sense these things," said Rex. "Anything you need to talk about?" The brunette, said her name was Clarise, had a hand on my forearm, a mischievous smile on her lips, saying something about her ex, what a jerk he is. I let her do the talking. Women like that. It also allowed me to listen in on Jack and Rex.

Jack opened up. I was amazed. He told much more than I wanted to know. I'd had no idea how bad things were at his company. They were laying off. People were dropping like fleas off a dusted dog.  Jack summed it up by saying, "Things kinda suck now."

"No shit," said Rex. "All that having any effect at home?"

"Things ain't so hot there either," said Jack. He said he was having trouble sleeping most nights, that he had to have a few shots some nights, to help him sleep. He even said, with a little guilty smile, that things have not been too active in the bedroom. But he wasn't sure if it was the fighting or the bills that was more responsible for that. 

"How bad is the money situation?" said Rex.

"Gets much worse and we may have to eat the dog," said Jack.

I yelped. Several people around the bar turned to look at me. One guy on the other side laughed. "Sorry," I said. "Tequila has that effect on me." Several people laughed. I turned to Jack. "Eat the dog?" 

He was already smiling. "Kidding," he said. "I'd never eat my dog. Rather eat my kids."

"How about you eat you wife and leave the rest of us off the menu," I said.

Jack turned to me, a scrunched up and confused look on his face. "'Scuse me?"

"Just kidding," I said. "Never mind."

"Do I know you?" said Jack. He was looking at me with an intense gaze, searching, scanning my face. "You seem very familiar. Very damn familiar."

I faked a laugh. "People tell me that all the time," I said.

Clarise eased in between us just then and shoved something into my hand. "I want those returned," she said, then eased back out. I opened my hand. They were small, frilly black panties.

"Score!" said Jack. "Damn. I know someone who's gettin' some tonight."

I looked over at Clarise. She was standing next to her stool, staring at me with expectant eyes. I sighed, long and deep, and handed the panties back to her.

"Are you nuts," said Jack.

"I got a family I got to get home too," I said.

"You too? That's too bad," said Jack.

"Is it?" I said.

He let out a long, tortured breath. "No. I guess not. Matter of fact I better get home too."

I leaned toward Jack and sniffed. Desperation and confusion. Not deception or arousal or expectation. I smelled just desperation and confusion. 

Rex stood. "We gotta go too," he said. "Good talking to you, Jack."

"You guys come here often? You got cards?" said Jack. 

Rex handed over his business card. Jack looked at me. "I'm easy to find," I said.

We would have stayed longer. I wanted to hear more from Jack. But, Rex and I needed to follow up on some leads and scents for the little girl. I was getting a bad feeling about her. And the whole I was sitting next to Jack, in that bar, I was thinking about Sherry, at home, laying in their bed, alone, wondering where Jack is.