First Time in Missouri

We were training today in an area we had no yet got into and came into a field, doing danger area SOPS, when it struck me that I had been there before. It took me a while to get my breathing back as memories came crashing down on me.

The first time I ever came into Missouri was in the bad years just before the Civil War. It was 1859. I was traveling west with families of Dutchmen, not long arrived in America. They were 2 women, 2 men, 9 kids and 8 of us dogs. One of the men had a soft spot for dogs. One of the women simply had a yearning for enhanced security.

We were crossing a broad field, the same field we came into today. We could tell it has ben planted, but had ben allowed to go fallow. At about mid-field a group of men in blue came riding toward us. Something about them made my hackles rise. Mr. Olafson said that it was OK, that they were Union soldiers. Or so he thought because of their blue. They weren't.

They surrounded us. Some tipped their hats. The leader said, "Are ye Union or Secesh?"

Mr. Borkland assured them in their blue coats that we were indeed good Union folks. All the riders lowered their heads and brims and drew their guns. "Well, that's too bad for you," said one of them. That is when I noticed the grey pants.

They shot and killed one of us dogs, drove the rest of us off, and started molesting the women and older girls. They were cursing "Goddamn Dutchmen" and all other Union men and sympathizers and talking amongst themselves about whether they should string up the men of just shoot them.

Of us dogs, 4 of us weredogs. We quickly made a plan and all of us, weredogs and dogs, flanked around to where we could get into some taller grass and get back to an amongst the bushwackers and our families. Before we could get in amongst them they started shooting.

Mr. Olafson and Mr. Borkland were shot down first, then the women. They were going to work on the kids, laughing and hollering, as we got in amongst them.

2 of us weredogs, the 2 best shooters, got ahold of rifles and started dropping the killers as fast as they could shoot. Me and the other weredog, and the 3 dogs, all large mastif mixes, got in amongst and moved as fast as we could, tearing and slashing and ripping and howling and snarling and feeding the ground with the blood of evil men.

3 of the children survived, the youngest, who had just sat down and wailed when the shooting started, and a boy Borkland and a girl Olafson. 1 of the dogs and 1 weredog were shot, but not mortally. 3 of the killers were laying on the ground, moaning. We would have to finish them, but our blood lust was waning. We had shifted back to human form to try and comfort the kids.

"What now?" said Beau, one of the other weredogs.

Before I could think of an answer we sensed that we were surrounded. In the heat of the fighting we had not noticed them: over 20 werewolves.

Half of them were in human form and half were in wereform. They wore blue, jackets and pants.

The leader, a captain assured us that we were meant no harm, and that we were welcome to join in the feast with them. They all dismounted and converged on the dead and wounded men. "What the hail's going on here?" said one of the wounded me, his voice brittle with confusion and fear.

We declined and went on out way, hearing as we walked the screams and howls and snarls and tearings of flesh, telling the kids to keep walking, not to look around, not to look back.

We turned all 5 of them, the 3 children and the 2 dogs. We had to, after what they had seen, and given that they were orphans. The 9 of us made it all the way to California, found ourselves families and lived happy for some years. But that's another story.

I stood again recently in that same field today, not far from our training area, and thought about that night so long ago.