My Buddy Mason, Master Scat Scout

The boys, Sven and Rick, should be getting home soon, Jack soon after. I have been up for 2 hours, checking coms, preparing for tonight. I expect the worst. But, then I always do. 

My inbox was packed with messages. I usually use the desktop upstairs, but can use any of the laptops in the house. We weredogs have our own were-encryption systems and protocols that people do not know about, never see, so, of course, have no means of breaking. We don't do it to deceive you. It is just in everyone's best interest if we continue to stay under your radar.

One very interesting message was from an old friend.  His name is Mason. He works, currently, in dog form, as a scat detection dog. Some refer to themselves as poop chasers, feces scouts, or turd trackers. Mason works for the CCD, the Center for Conservation Biology at the University of Washington in Seattle. 

His job, and the other dogs and handlers that work at the CCD, is to track the movements, behaviors and well being of various wild species by finding and analyzing their feces. Laugh if you must. But much can be told from a pile of poop. Hormone analysis can tell a lot about an animal's nutritional and emotional state. Anyway, interested?  Check their site:  CCD.

There is another weredog in the CCD.  She is currently in human phase, and works as a biologist. She spends much of her time in the lab analyzing all the scat that passes through. (Sorry. Couldn't help myself.) She and Mason try not to associate too much, so as not to give themselves away. Mason says there are various reasons she is not a dog handler. But, occasionally, she manages to get out in the field. 

Mason and his handler spent the last 2 winters in northeastern Alberta tracking moose, caribou and wolf scat. There are large oil exploration efforts up there that many fear are having a negative impact on the local animals. They recently went up there early to scout around.

Cutlines criss-cross the terrain up there. These roads and paths allow for vehicles and crews to go about their work. But these cutlines are also causing a lot of stress of the animals, in particular the caribou. This has been proven by the scat Mason and the other dog teams have found, and the analysis of that scat by the other weredog in this program. 

I cannot say the other weredog's name, for obvious reasons.  And if anyone confronts Mason, he will just stare at them, pant, probably bark. He has his schtick down. 

Last winter Mason says they started seeing some very strange behaviors from the wolves, in terms of movement patterns and sightings by people. Three times small groups of workers were surrounded by wolves and held. Eventually there were let go, the wolves evaporated into the trees. But, the crews, big, hard men, were getting edgy. Mason and the other weredog slipped out one night to look into it. They left in weredog form.  

Choosing form is a tricky business. In weredog form one cannot carry weapons or, of course, wear clothes. But, neither is necessary, for the most part. Close in, teeth and claws are preferable to bullets or knives. Trust me on this. Also, weredogs are faster than dogs, given their greater size and stride, and even faster than a man on a snowmobile. But, against overwhelming odds, a small group of well-trained men with automatic weapons can eat up a pack of werewolves.  Last year in Iraq, 3 weredogs, serving in the 101st Abn Div, wiped out an entire pack of werewolves using a fiddy cal and 2 SAWs. They ran out of ammo at the end and had to dispatch the last half dozen with claw alone. But, I digress.

Mason and the other dog were out for 3 hours before they finally found some wolf scent. They tracked for another hour before they found themselves in a clearing surrounded by wolves and werewolves. The clearing was about 100 meters by 75 meters, flat and white, covered in snow, and ringed with dark, dense trees. Mason says he could sense at least thirty wolves. They prepared themselves to fight. And die. 

A werewolf came forward, a female. "We did not come to fight," she said, holding up both pawhands. "We only want to talk." She made a yipping noise and about a dozen werewolves, and over thirty wolves, came out of the tree line and encircled Mason and the other dog.

They had no choice but to sit and listen. The wolves took turns, wolf and werewolf alike, telling how the humans were destroying their home, how the machines and their fowl smoke, was driving off all the wolves' food, the caribou in particular. The talking and listening went on for half an hour until the lead werewolf sat back and softly said, "We want you to help us."

Mason said it was hard, but he managed not to say anything that got him throat-torn. The wolves explained that the threat to their home was a threat to dogs, and all other animals, everywhere. Mason was torn. But, his companion was won over. She was nodding like a bobblehead doll. She turned to him, when the wolves stopped talking and howling, put her nose to his and said, "We need to start saving man."

Mason howled with laughter. "Are you insane?" he snarled, when finally he was able to stop laughing and howling. "We serve man, not save him." Man is the most intelligent species on the planet, he reminded her. That is why they are the dominant species. She said that yes, they are, but that it is that highest intelligence that is the problem. They argued for nearly half an hour, out there in the moon illuminated snow, surrounded by wolves, watching them. Mason did not care. He ignored the wolves. The things he was hearing were a far greater threat than the wolves. 

"We think there is a new species," said the lead werewolf during a lull in the arguing, "a species that is not man, not dog, not wolf, something new, that is leading man away from his true nature"

That made sense to Mason. A new species would explain a lot, and fit in with evolutionary biology and physics that all dogs knew to be true.  Mason and the other dog said they would do what they could do to speak with their pack, and other packs, get a consensus, and return the next year to speak again with the wolves. At that time, they said, they would have answers, maybe more questions, but certainly more information. 

That was last March, of 2008. Now they were back. It was October, '08. The other dog had managed to come along, to set up a field lab. They went out the first night both of them could arrange it, to find the werewolves. They found no scent. None. Not even of wolves. There was none. Nothing. The terrain was devoid of wolf.

"They're all gone," a voice said.  There were in a cutline, trying to find any kind of scent. Mason and the other dog turned, scanned the trees.

"Who are you?" said Mason. "Where are you?"

The voice came out of the trees and sat. It was a fox. "They are al gone," it said again. "Headed south."

"How do you know where they went?" said the other dog.

The fox laughed. "I heard them. You big dogs think you know so much. You could learn a few things from us foxes. I could teach you an awful lot about stealth. Trust me."

"Why did they go?"said Mason.

"To deal with man," said the fox.  "He is bent on destroying their home, and all homes. So, they must destroy man before that happens. They believe they have no choice."

They asked more questions, then thanked the fox, tossed hi several bags of jerky, and returned to their facility.  Mason sent me his message the next night, asking me to spread the word to all packs. His message went to other dogs as well.

I do not know what it means. Yet. But, his message is very troubling. 

WereSelection

Everyone is gone. I have to post this, then get some sleep.  I got in this morning just as everyone was waking up.  Sherry leaves for work at the hospital at 5:45 am. Jack gets the boys up at 6:00 am. I slipped in just after Sherry pulled out. The clock on the stove said 5:53.  Sherry didn't even notice I wasn't in the house. Jack would because he feeds us. 

The sweat is not even dry under my coat as I type this. I was out all night, as I was the night before. And the night before that. Halloween is Christmas for werewolves. So, weredogs have to do double duty. I have done more patrolling this week than I usually do in a month.

One thing to address, that I have been thinking about. It has been asked how one becomes a weredog.  I have thought hard about how to answer that.  All weredogs who read this may want to bite me for even considering to answer this one. But, here goes. What the hell.

You have to be selected, or chosen. There is no application process or protocol. It is all really just fate and chance.  One has to cross paths with a weredog and be in a situation, and possess the traits, to be a good weredog candidate. 

I will tell my own story as an example.  In the year 1861, when I was 6 years old, a middle-aged farm dog, my family was wiped out by Ojibwa Indians.  It was during what is now called The French and Indian War, or sometimes The Seven Years War.  The British and French were vying for control of North America.  The British had the Iroquois on their side.  The French had all the rest of the indian tribes. 

I was the only survivor.  Everyone else, the family, even the horse, cow and a litter of kittens, were killed.  They didn't even take the horse and cow, but killed then and left them to rot, as they did with all of us.  I never did find the cat's body. I suppose, in true cat form, she got away, and probably went feral. Too bad. I liked that cat. She had a great sense of humor. When she told a joke even the mice laughed.

James Roshman found me. I was more dead than alive. He was a neighboring farmer, had come to check on us, found just me bareley alive. He nursed me for a week before he made the offer to me, to become a weredog. He said that yes, I could get revenge. So, of course I said yes.

What I did not know at the time was that the Ojibwa, Ottawas and Lenapes had made deals with werewolves and were fighting alongside them.  Werewolves fit their theology nicely. So, the local colonists and weredogs needed help. They were outnumbered, and needed to boost their ranks. So, in my first days as a weredog, not only did I feed my need for revenge, in killing many Ojibwas, but also did I stoke my new hatred - for werewolves.  

The selection and transformation process takes anywhere from a month to three months.  Longer than that and a sponsor is going to start rethinking his or her decision of an offer to you. Even if you do get an invitation and accept, the odds of you being accepted by the entire pack, and making it through training and indoctrination, are slim. Mine took three weeks and the pack's vote amounted to: "How soon can you have him ready to fight?" But, it was a different and dire time.

Just night before last I was at a pack meeting.  At that meeting we voted on a candidate.  She did not make it, did not get enough votes.  Her sponsor, a member of our pack, knew the odds.  No hard feelings. But, we also now find ourselves teetering on the brink of renewed hostilities with the werewolves. As such, we need to recruit and build our ranks.

You never know who a weredog night be.  It might be your family dog, or one of them. Or all of them. (Although, that is not likely.  There are rigid rules about weredogs being pets in the same household at the same time.  One as dog and one as human is more allowable, actually.) So, the only word of advice I can offer is to try to make a good impression on every dog you meet. 

Or it might be the old man down the street, or a math teacher at the school, or that insurance salesman who keeps calling you about annuities. It might be the high school cheerleader next door, or the vet who has the remarkable rapport with dogs, but has to have a vet tech handle all the cats. Either way, man or dog, your best bet is simply to always present yourself as the best candidate you can make yourself out to be.  And watch the way others eat meat. Weredogs, in human form, tend to eat meat like the pope in rapture.

Your odds are better for becoming a green beret of a SEAL.  At least you can apply to those groups, have some control over your selection. And let me tell you, being a weredog is not all it's cracked up to be.  More on that at a later date.

OK. I got to get some coffee. Jack, dog bless him, left some in the pot. Then, sleep. Tonight is going to be a long night. 

Hallowen

It was suggested that maybe I won't be leaving home for a while, given that the werwolf threat has hit home.  Good assumption. But, not the case.

I cannot afford to stay in nights. Not now. I must meet again with Diella, for various reasons. I need to know what she knows, about this division within werewolfdom, and if she knows anything that can lead me to Rex's killers. Also, I need to understand how I can be intoxicated by her scent, that of a shewolf, and how that can make me feel guilty in regards to another shewolf. Things are getting weird.

During Halloween weredogs are out in force, covering haunted houses and other venues that are good hunting grounds for werewolves, who like to feast on fear as well as flesh.

Werewolves like to volunteer at haunted houses. They act like people acting like werewolves. Nice irony, huh? They then prey on the people going through the haunted houses. They don't usually kill or eat their prey. Werewolves, remember, feed on fear. So, often they just scare the living bejeesus out of people. And no one is the wiser. Only occasionally do they kill. Too much attention and questions.

Most people who encounter werewolves in haunted houses are freaked, but just figure t was part of the show. Some people who encounter real werwolves in haunted house are effected afterward. They cannot just shrug it off. They know something just happened. They smell the breath, see the teeth, and know intuitively it was more than just some guy in a mask.  

2 years ago I was working The Beast here in KC.  Basically I just kept going through. I would pay, go into the house, and just wander. Eventually, after an hour or so, I would exit, go change my hat or jacket, then go back in. There were 4 of us weredogs working The Beast that night. I and another dog were acting as patrons. The other 2 were working as volunteers, one of them, ironically, in weredog form as a werewolf. He said it was embarrassing, that people tended not to be scared of him, but to be drawn to him. He said women, and men, kept stroking his coat, saying, "Man, that is a great costume." Kids kept hugging him. 

Anyway, I digress. It was about 9:30 pm when I heard something I knew was real fear. I found an access door, to the back area, to be used only for staff, and let myself through. Back there I found a werewolf slobbering over a teenage girl. She had stopped screaming due to fear. I could tell the wolf was debating whether to really kill her or not. 

I came up behind him, grabbed him by his head fur, twisted hard left, then right, heard his neck crackle, then threw him against the only brick wall in the small space. (Throwing him against the plywood walls would not have been good.) Then I was on him, with punches and claws, before he could recover. I meant to kill him.  But, he managed to leap upward into the high ceiling timbers and escape out a window. One of the other dogs said she saw him go, but could not go after him.

Still in weredog form, I turned to the girl and said in my nicest voice, "Having fun? Isn't this great?" She could not respond. But, her eyes got big as headlights. I placed a paw on her shoulder and said, "It's alright. Really." She hugged me, my only hug that night. 

I guess we made a lot of noise, because I woman wearing an ID badge on a lanyard and a black t-shirt that said The Beast came busting into that back area and about screamed, "What the hell is going on back here?" She looked at me and said, "Who the hell are you?" I said my name was Bob and that I was new. She was looking me up ad down, brows furrowed, then said, "Hey, who did your make-up." Just then the girl whimpered. I said, "I better lead her out. I'll catch up with you later."

So, you see, I cannot afford to stay in, not this week. I also need to meet up with Jason and Jessica. They are going loose canon. And I have not been able to get ahold of Warin.

Gisella's leaving. I got to take Bella and Flecka for a walk. I need it too. Then I need to get ready for tonight.

If Jack stays home Sherry and the boys are safe. He cannot take a werewolf in hand-to-hand, not even with a large Gerber or Buck knife. But, with a .45, my money is on Jack. As I have said, he is a former Army Ranger. He can shoot, and under pressure. Contrary to common myth and Hollywood BS, werewolves are not impervious to fast moving lead. Weredogs either, for that matter. We are of flesh and bone, after all. 

So, I got to figure out how to keep Jack home, this week at least.  And next. And after that. 

Meeting In A Bar, Open Door At Home

I met up with Warin last night to attend a pack meeting.  But, we never made the meeting.  Warin said he had someone who wanted to talk to me. He would not say who. 

He drove us to a bar in Westport called The Beaumont.  It was packed with people, noise and scent. Warin led me over to a table near the bar.  A woman was sitting there.  Her eyes were on us as we came in and approached her.  She was built, with long, lithe, strong limbs, dark hair, and a face that few women can attain, regardless of cosmetics and surgeries. But, something was wrong.  But, I could not put my nose on it.  

A waitress brought our drinks.  I had a beer. I planned to sip it slow.  "My people want to end this war once and for all," she said, then downed half her white Russian. 

Werewolf.  I did not smell her for some reason.   I assume it was all the crush of people, body odors, men and women aroused, the myriad scents, including the buff wings and nachos. I am a fool for nachos.  

"We are divided," she said. She explained that werewolfdom was divided by those who wanted to live in peace with dogs and people, and those who wanted to rule, and feast. She asked me how weredogs stand.

"Together," I said.  "All of us."

"Impossible," she said, nearly laughing.

I was about to tell about how dogs stand together that it has always been one of our biggest advantages over wolves, when in walked Jack.

"What is the matter," said the shewolf.  I should have thanked her.  Her remark made me realize that I was not being subtle.  Jack was with a group of 6, 2 other men and 3 women, none if which had I ever seen before. Right away I could tell that Jack was with one of the women. She was nice looking, if you like the I'm-trying-way-too-hard-to-be-sexy type of middle aged woman, the type who longs for MILF status, who spends her 401(k) or IRA on breast and face enhancements.  She was wearing a red blouse that was 2 sizes to small and screamed, "Catch me . . ." Well, you know the rest. 

"Nothing," I said.

"That your daddy?" she said, punctuated with a distinct sneer.  

I turned my gaze on her. Her smiled faded. "He's family," I said. "And as such, I am bound to watch out for him. But, I guess that is something you cannot understand."

"I understand watching out for others," she said. "We do that well. It is how we survive."

"Yeah, whatever. By the way, what is your name?" I said. 

"Diella," she said.

"Chester," I said.  She laughed and said she didn't pick me for a Chester.  

I tried to watch her and watch Jack, who was dilating his nostrils and pupils at the woman in red.  I told Diella, "Come on," and we moved to a table closer to Jack, where I could listen in. They were not saying anything, just flirting. I started focusing more on Diella. Her scent was like nothing I had ever experienced before.

Jack and the woman got up to dance. So, Diella and I danced. It turned out to be not such a good idea. My mind started to take off on tracks of its own choosing. She could dance the chrome off a ball hitch.   And her eyes were on me.  I could feel my chrome starting to shift.  

All of a sudden the DJ played a slow song.  Jack stayed on the floor. So did we.  Diella waited for me to move to her, but when I did she pressed her body to mine eagerly.  The feel and smell of her nearly made me howl. I forgot about Jack.

"So, are we going to be combatants?" she said. 

"I don't want to fight you," I said.

"That's not what I meant," she said.

Before I could respond, I realized Jack was gone.  "I have to go," I said to Diella. "Can we meet again?"

She looked at me long, her pupils large, taking me in. "Just to talk?" she said.

"Yes," I said, "About the war, and other things."

"Then, yes," said Diella.  "We can meet again, for further talks, and other things."

She gave me a look and a low growl that melted the rest of my chrome.  All my chrome is gone now.  Add it to my shopping list, right after common sense, which I seem to have lost, in light of the fact that I keep falling for shewolves lately. I have never had feelings for a werewolf, other than hatred and loathing. 

I could not find Warin. He had vanished. A woman, I assumed. I hitched a ride close to home. When I got home, at 4:20 am, the front door was ajar.  I went in as a dog, but changed to weredog immediately, upon smelling werewolf.  The realization quickly hit me that they knew when to come, when I and Jack both were gone. 

I heard a whimper and went to it.  Bella and Flecka were cowering behind the couch.  They came out and crawled over to me.  They have never liked my wereform. But they liked it last night. I asked them what happened and who was there and how many.  Becca was shaking too hard to speak.  Bella told me there were 2 of them. She did not know how they got in. She awoke just a short while earlier and smelled their presence in the house.  They were upstairs. No sounds. Yet. Sherry and the boys were upstairs. 

I moved up the upstairs quickly, snarling as I went.  It was a snarl that said, "I am here and harm my family and I will kill you slowly." It was too soft to awaken the boys or Sheery, but loud enough for the wolves to hear.   

I didn't know how long they had been upstairs.  I did not know what they wanted.  I thought how nice it would be if Jack were there, and awake, with his .45, to back me up.  But, he wasn't. He was God knew where with some MILF tramp. It was up to me. 

I moved down the hallway, past the office, sniffing, snarling, ready—awaiting the attack that was sure to come. Bring it on, I thought.  I moved past Sven's room. Nada. Past Rick's room. Nada. They are in there with Sherry, I realized. My hackles were up on my back like iron scythes. 

I moved into the doorway, surveyed the room, sniffed, waited.  Nothing.  Sherry breathing was soft and easy. She was asleep.  I moved into the room, ready, eager for the fight to come.  All I heard was her breathing.  All I smelled was her breath.

Then, behind me I heard an eruption of noise, of two running down the stairs. I turned and erupted toward and out the door, down the hall, to the bannister in time to look over and see a form go out the door. They had been in the office, top of the stairs. I was down the stairs in an instant.

"They went out the front door! They went out the front door!" barked Flecka.

"I know!" I snarled as I went out it.

Outside, on the front steps, I stopped. Gone.  Vanished.  Werewolves are good at that.  I went back inside in time to hear Sherry say, "What are you dogs making all that racket about?"  She came down the stairs, bleary-eyed and half-awake. 

Later I found a message, a piece of thin stone with the words, "Next time we won't just visit," claw-scratched into the stone.  

After Sherry was back asleep, I secured the house and called 911 to report a burglar. A patrol car cruising the streets would keep wolf heads down. I assured Bella and Flecka that everything was OK, and took them both upstairs to sleep with the boys. I slept with Sherry, on the floor next to her side of the bed.

Jack came home about 7 a.m. the next morning. I so wanted to bite him on the as, literally. And since I never was able to go to sleep until sunrise, I spent most of my day trying to find time and place to nap. 

Rick decided today he would take me for a walk. He never takes me for walks. But, today, or all days, he decides we will walk.  Not only that, we walked for over nearly 2 hours, and nearly 3 miles. I love that boy, but he sometimes has terrible timing.

When I finally did mange to get in a decent nap, in the basement, my last thoughts were of Dionna, and guilt.  I am having the guilts for cheating on a shewolf, with another shewolf. Dog help me.  And werewolf terrorists have targeted my family.  And Jack, our supposed family alpha male, is fooling around with some woman who makes Pamela Sue Anderson seem like Yale faculty.  

Now, I still have sleep to catch up on, and dreams of Diella. Damn. I mean Dionna.

The Big Threat

This online article caught my eye tonight: Disaster Capitalism on MarketWatch

A main point of this article, and one I agree with, is that democracy is being replaced in America with oligarchy. Behind this is an even stronger force.

The greatest threat facing mankind, dogkind, and the entire planet today is, in my most humble, yet informed, opinion, is the modern corporation. It has gone beyond capitalism, beyond business.  It is greed run amok. Few are controlled anymore by their CEOs. Anymore the corporation controls the CEO. I give you Ron Lay of Enron. 

Consider these facts. Most CEOs pick the directors who are supposed to monitor them.  Most rating agencies are paid by the companies they rate. Most audit firms are paid by the companies they audit. This is why travesties like Enron can happen. The Borg have arrived.

Yes, the Borg. Yes, I am a Star Trek fan. Most weredogs are Star Trek fans. More werewolves hate Star Trek. Instead, they prefere Dawn Of The Dead, which they consider wholesome family entertainment. 

Since mankind's beginning, there has been safety in numbers. The corporation leverages that instinct. Dogs, all canines, have the same instinct. But, that instinct has to be tempered. When the members of any dog or wolf pack start eating that pack it is time to choose new alphas, to choose new leaders.

The modern corporation is, I believe, a greater threat than even the werewolf. Although, I assume that most corporate leaderships have a heavy werewolf contingent. 

On another note, I was out late tonight. Just got in. I was not on patrol, was not at a pack meeting, was not planning the next mill rescue.  I am in love with 2 females - an irish setter and a blonde dental hygienist. Both live nearby. This could get crazy. More on this later.

I got home about 0345, let myself in through the gate. I could see a light on downstairs. Uh oh, I thought. Someone is up. It was Jack. I looked in and could see him sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. The TV was on, but he was not looking at it. I scratched at the door. He got up and let me in, never even saying anything about my being out so late, how did I get out, etc. 

I padded over to where his stuff was spread out on the coffee table. A Sig Sauer pistol was on the table in front of where he sat. Uh oh. Here we go, I thought. 

Origins of Werewolves

This Wordpress blog does a nice job of summarizing common werewolf lore and sensationalized werewolf myth:  http://chasness.wordpress.com/2008/10/07/whered-he-come-from-the-wolf-man/

But the truth is much more Darwinian.  It involves fact and logic.  And our genesis, that of weredogs, is lashed to that of werewolves like the mast to the sail.  

Werewolves say they don't like the attention. But, that is not true. They thrive on it.  Fear is their beer.  They drink of it to get drunk.  They do not need to kill to survive.  Any werewolf could pull into any Gates Bar-B-Q (as do both werewolves and weredogs, often) to eat and live.  (Of course, that Gates would have to close up for the day at that point.  They'd be out of meat.)  They kill for the pleasure, to see their victims eyes, to hear their screams and pleas, just before and as they are killing them.

Our mutual history has to do with an animal now referred to as "Aelurodon," which scientists think has been extinct for thousands of years.  Think again.

Just watched one of my favorite movies, A Boy And His Dog.  Not exactly a feel good movie.  But, a classic.  

Wait.  Someone is moving around upstairs.  Damn.  I have to shift, change back to dog form.  That is fine.  I sleep better as a dog.  Human physiology is not meant for sleep, not really.  But, I have so much e-mail to catch-up on, investments to make decisions about, irish setters to visit.  

Warin left a voicemail for me saying we need to talk.  Not tonight.  Have to be tomorrow, or Saturday.  

I drank 2 of Jack's beers. Hope he doesn't notice.  

Fresh meat.

New Wave of Puppy Mill Laws?

Taken from the KC Star on Oct. 15, 2008:

The Humane Society of the United States has counted Pennsylvania among a handful of states where lucrative, largely unregulated puppy mills are concentrated.

The issue caught the attention of Oprah Winfrey after a suburban Philadelphia rescue organization put up a billboard in Chicago begging  to do a show on dog breeder abuse. The movement took on new momentum when, in August, operators of two eastern Pennsylvania kennels shot 80 dogs after being ordered to let veterinarians examine some of them.

The new law imposes strict standards on commercial kennels, including at least twice-a-year veterinary exams, larger cages and exercise requirements."We've catapulted ourselves into having one of the best laws in the country," said Sarah Speed, the Humane Society's Pennsylvania state director.

At least three other states have passed crackdown measures this year. New laws in Virginia and Louisiana limit the number of dogs that can be housed in kennels, and Arizona law enforcement officials were given the power to impose a $50 fine against anyone caught selling animals along public roads or in public parks in urban counties.

Entire article:  http://www.kansascity.com/440/story/835752

Chester:
This might be a day late and a dollar short, but it is welcome all the same. On my last op with Jason and Jessica we went in on a puppy mill southwest of Bolivar. Jason had a team survey the place for three days prior. The moon was full the night we assembled, checked our chit, and went in. All we found were forty-three dog and puppy corpses. They were cast around haphazardly, like forgotten party favors. Their throats had all been cut. The butchers were gone, their scent still fresh, less than a couple hours old. They knew they were being watched. That is why they cut throats instead of just shooting the pups in their heads. The wanted to be quiet about it.  Then they split.

The butchers were gone. But, I will find them. By Dog, I will find them. I smell werewolf. It has to be. None of this seems like people. But, why? Why would werewolves get into puppy milling?  I have never heard of them doing it before.

I need to make the leap and bring Warin in on this. It's just that something tells me not to. But, he's OK. If he wasn't, I would smell it. And I need his help, to run interference with the pack, and the grand pack, and whatever else comes up, if need be.

Warin is a man by day. He works as a database administrator at Sprint. Or Embarq, or whatever. I worked there before, in a human rotation. Warin says things are still a mess there. That place is run by werewolves, I guarantee. Nights we are together, Warin takes dog form; I take man. Except or pack meetings, specially grand pack meetings. Many like to stay in weredog form at meetings. Weredog capacity for beer and bar-b-q is amazing, compared to people, or even large dogs. 

There is always discussion amongst weredogs concerning authentic, true form. You would think it is weredog, right? Some weredogs agree. But, some say "dog." Others say, "person." I am not sure. Or I don't care.

No nights out for a while. Rick is having anxiety attacks, bad ones. He can only sleep if I am on the floor right next to his bed. I better get back up there. If he wakes up, to go to the can, whatever, and I am not there, he will flip out. Besides, Jack and Sherry are both home tonight, in the same bed even. I can rest easy.

Also, seems we have an other-than-werefolk reader looking in on this blog. Welcome. Of course, this must be simply "whimsical fancy," as you say, fiction. No one would believe otherwise. Weredogs don't fit in with your construct of human reality. Or does it?

You identify yourself only as "anonymous." Anonymous is not infrequently synonymous with werewolf. They used that a lot in the Middle Ages. "Dear Sir. Sorry about eating your daughter/son. Couldn't help myself. Hungry. Signed, Anonymous."

Alas, the kid is up. I can hear the creaking of bed springs, him starting to whimper. Gotta go.

Fresh meat.

OBP - Large Numbers Back to the U.S.

Wow.  There has been a virtual flood of OBP dogs and cats coming back to the U.S.  Incredible.  During the entire time of Vietnam there were only a dozen or so dogs that ever got back. And all those efforts were kept very covert. No one could know. 

The protocal for these OBP operations seems to be groups of about 20 dogs and 2 cats for each group that makes its way back stateside.  20 dogs.  Damn.  I wonder what the total count is, and how often these groups move.  Weekly?  If the first dog, Charlie, made it back to the U.S. in March of '08, then all flights back have been since then.  Impr

essive.

Chester - FM

OBP Successes

Welcome Home Taji!

Taji arrived on June 5th at Newark International Airport 

in New Jersey along with her 4 brothers and sisters, 19 

other dogs and 2 cats. She was greeted by SPCA International staff, volunteers and a team of FedEx employees.

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Welcome Home Hause!

Hause arrived on June 5th at Newark International Airport in New Jersey along with his 4 brothers and sisters, 19 other dogs and 2 cats. He was greeted by 

SPCA International staff, volunteers and a team of FedEx employees.

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Welcome Home Chewey!

Chewey arrived on June 5th at Newark International Airport in New Jersey along with his 4 brothers and sisters, 19 other dogs and 2 cats. He was greeted by SPCA International staff, volunteers and a team of FedEx employees.

 View Profile

http://www.baghdadpups.com/success/

Chester

chester.weredog@gmail.com

Operation Baghdad Pups

Operation Baghdad Pups began with an email received on September 11, 2007. The desperate words of the U.S. soldier serving in Iraq told of his desire to get the dog, Charlie, he and his regiment had befriended out of the Middle East before their tour of duty ended. Because it is against regulations for troops to befriend an animal or transport one on a military flight, the likelihood of the determined soldiers succeeding alone seemed doubtful.

Members of this Army regiment discovered the dog earlier that summer while patrolling a dangerous neighborhood on the outskirts of Baghdad. The malnourished and flea covered puppy, no bigger than a baked potato, was scooped up by a soldier who felt sorry for the pitiful orphan. Hidden in a tattered blanket, the puppy was snuck onto the Coalition Outpost. As the soldiers took turns secretly caring for the puppy the strong bond between man and dog grew.

Here is the Operation Baghdad Pups site link.

http://www.baghdadpups.com/

Chester:

This is an SPCA outfit.  Looks good to me. Seems to have started with the desperate calls for help from troops.  What possible reasons could there be for the regs against bringing dogs back to the home, bringing everyone home?  In Vietnam the official reason was risk of exotic diseases that the dogs could bring back. That was horse shit. These regs are probably horse shit too.

chester.weredog@gmail.com

Sgt Beberg and Ratchet

Army blocks soldier from bringing puppy back

By FREDERIC J. FROMMER

Associated Press Writer

More than 10,000 people have signed an online petition urging the Army to let an Iraqi puppy come home with a Minnesota soldier, who fears that "Ratchet" could be killed if left behind.

"I just want my puppy home," Sgt. Gwen Beberg of Minneapolis wrote to her mother in an e-mail Sunday from Iraq, soon after she was separated from the dog following a transfer. "I miss my dog horribly." Beberg, 28, is scheduled to return to the U.S. next month.

Read the entire story:

http://www.kansascity.com/444/story/839881.html

Chester

chester.weredog@gmail.com

I hope we have dogs over there helping these two out. I am certain we do. But such efforts are risky, require clandestine care. Of course, our existence is clandestine, because no ever knows what we are doing OR that we even exist. Thus, this blog is not even a wererisk. No one but weredogs, maybe a few werewolves, read it. If any people did, or do, they would just write it off are fictional whimsy.

I need to find out where this Sgt Beberg is, how close to Braden she is. Maybe he and his boys can do something. Colleen sounds like a very industrious troop. Braden says his platoon sergeant is also a good guy, and also likes to flirt with Army regs, and has dogs of his own.  

I also need to research this Operation Baghdad Pups. 

C - FM

Weredog Images

A weredog in the Chicago pack sent me this image. It resembles Rex, a lot, at least in terms of musculature:

http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://art1.server05.sheezyart.com/medium/46/468213.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.sheezyart.com/view/468213/&h=300&w=181&sz=43&hl=en&start=7&um=1&usg=__xggBdpCS5udEdQIbN6cVjX5GFhY=&tbnid=y3P0-WNQZYk4UM:&tbnh=116&tbnw=70&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dweredog%2Bimages%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26sa%3DX

I looked for more. I could not find any. There are thousands of werewolf images, but no weredog images. I suppose this is a good sign. People fear werewolves. They love dogs. And, of course, weredogs. I do not think it is relevant that most people do not even know we exist. We like it that way.

If anyone knows of any weredog images, please let me know.

Fresh meat.

Braden, Iraq

Braden is in Iraq. I have not told about him for some time.  He is with the 2nd Brigade of the 4th ID. I forget which FOB. I need to know that. 

He says the IEDs are about the same. But the snipings and fire fights are less. The word is all the action is shifting to Stan. "And that's too bad," he wrote to Jack. "Because I got our hummer so cherried out that Hadhji wouldn't stand a chance." He says his hummer is named Electra.

One of his best buds is a medic, a female, who was assigned to their platoon because they were short a medic. The LT didn't want a female. But they had to have a medic. Troops get edgy when they don't have a medic along on missions. Turns out she is good, a damn good medic. Because of that, and that she has a great smile, everyone is crazy about, and looks out for her, outside and inside the wire. Her name is Colleen.

Colleen confided to Braden that the battalion sergeant-major is pressuring her to let him into her pants. To say that Braden is pissed is an understatement. He cannot stand the injustice. She says she cannot go to anyone about it, not even the I.G. Braden told her they can't do this. She is a soldier, for fuck sake. He sent in an e-mail to Jack that he has to do something about it, that he cannot stand by and do nothing. Jack, the wise old veteran, sent back: DON'T YOU DO A DAMN THING!  YOU CANNOT BUTT HEADS WITH A SERGEANT-MAJOR!

Braden has not responded. Yet. I fear that if things get bad enough I may have to come clean with Jack so the two of us can go over there.

Sounds like Iraq is a magnet for werewolves, on both sides of the wire.

I found another new partner. Nestor went back to his just-former family. I don't know what he plans to do. He cannot be a dog again for at least another six years. But, he says he misses them so bad that he must be with them, or near them. I have seen this before. It is rare, but not uncommon. It rarely bodes well. Alas the life of the weredog is rarely easy.

My new partner's name is Warin. He seems OK, not too dense. He smells Ok as a man and a dog, and as weredog. I have not yet seen him fight. And I have not told him about Jason and Jessica. Yet. 

Jack is not home yet. I have to go find him. It won't be a problem. I know his scent so well that I could track him in a feed lot.

Fresh Meat.

CNN: Dog Adopts Tiger Cubs

Now for some upbeat news:
http://www.cnn.com/2008/LIVING/wayoflife/07/31/dog.adopts.tiger.cubs.ap/index.html?eref=rss_us

This is not that uncommon for dogs, especially herding breeds. But, still, you have sit back and think, "Wow. What a dog."

Fresh meat.

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.