DAWGS vs ILLEGALS

I thought it would be nice to show a few photos of the cast and crew of the following bit of scribbling first. This all occurred nearly a quarter of a century ago.

Snack Time

This is Dina(saur), she's had K-9 training, lost her master after 2 years, and “adopted” me after a loooong time. My wife, Nina, is giving the landshark a snack.

Cookie Monster

If you think she has lovin' on her alleged mind, you'd be right! She is Dina's daughter, the runt of the litter, weighs 90 lbs, and eats bad guys.

Nyerlathotep

I called him Tep, sometimes Nyerlathotep tangled my tongue. He's somewhere between 150-160 lbs, hard to weigh due to him going completely boneless whenever I would try and pick him up to tare-weigh him on the bathroom scale. He prefers to play with the bad guys before eating them. Kinda like a cat with a mouse. When he was around six months old, about 50 lbs, I was tossing 40 lb dry-weight concrete blocks over the garden fence. He was retrieving them. However, he was selfish with the bad guys. His food, not mine...

I'm sorry I don't have a photo of the bad guys, however the Suwanee Democrat has photos of two of them. The photos were taken in Suwanee Hospital. They didn't look well.

This all started not too long after returning to Florida after the disaster that was Albuquerque, New Mexico. Nina was off visiting her granddaughter (and, incidentally, her son & daughter!) in Las Vegas, and, as usual, I had the whole place deep in the woods completely dark after bed time. At that time we only had Bear, our Rottweiler/Shepard-cross critter with us/me when around 2 AM, I heard a car driving onto the front yard. In my extreme brilliance, I got up and turned on the front floods and walked outside with the shotgun only to find a big “chebby” full of wetbacks “looking” for some Anglo. I'm fully back-lit, a wonderful target, and Bear did not know what to do. In hindsight, he was probably the determining factor in the wetbacks' decision not to continue to do wetback things. They left. I lived.

After the Hell I suffered in that shit-pit of a city called Albuquerque, it was hard to fathom that my dear Florida was headed the same, lawless way. A plague. A curse from God. I couldn't stand anymore bullshit like what I had already endured.

Bear

He ate biscuits. Terribly vicious to Bisquick.

In the year 2000, I had the trio of sheps shown earlier. The youngest was around three and all were quite well trained. Sheps are extremely possessive, what is theirs is theirs (including their people), what I thought was mine was theirs, if others try to change the way things are supposed to be, the others would need an attitude adjustment. Sheps are quite positive in their approach to attitude adjustments. “My, what big teeth you have, grandma!”

The nice Census lady came over that year. She parked 1/3^rd of a mile uphill and walked down in the jungle due to not knowing if she could get out. She was a good country girl and knew no fear. The dawgs escorted her down, cheerfully wagging tails and smiling 'cause they always knew the good from the bad. I had received the long-form census quiz and, as is normal for me, only filled out the parts that were Constitutionally required. She was of the same mind, she just had to do a required follow-up.

She sat and we talked for quite a while. She talked of a wetback “encampment” that the census takers were not allowed to enter and the FBI had been called in. This camp was only a half-dozen miles away, had a guestamate of 3,500 “residents”, and was probably the reason for the rash of bugleries in the area. Albuquerque all over again. There was another with the same problem over near Palatka with over 10,000 wetbacks.

Now I had changed the security arrangements substantially by mounting a pan-and-tilt low light level camera on the roof, a microwave motion sensor on the drive, and a 6 foot tall, alternate-strand, dual mode, electrified fence, and a manual pole-mounted, multiple flood light to try and keep my “stuff”.

Q: Do you know what can you get at a Mexican yard sale?

A: Yer stuff back.

I've often wondered why San Francisco and Silicon Valley were so absolutely marvelous and Albuquerque such absolute Hell. For all the years I lived in San Jose, I never locked my house, rarely brought my car keys in, and never worried about assault. Now the disease had come to rural Florida.

One early morning four years after the first “visitation”, the dogs were in full combat voice at around 2:30 AM. I had already been awakened by the vehicle alarm and knew by the sounds that the dogs were making, it was another home invasion. I turned on the top floods, picked up the 12 ga pump, and went to see if the dogs needed any help.

It turned out to be three wetbacks, just right for a late night doggy snack! Actually, I've never seen such speed and single-mindedness in the critters as I saw that morning. Cookie and Dina were snacking on their pair of wetbacks on the near side of the wetmobile with Cooky's piece of filth wielding a tire iron. I couldn't see what Tep was doing, judging from the sounds, I probably didn't want to. Mostly, I was interested in how Cooky was fairing; if the wetback incapacitated Cookie, I would have had to shoot him and the other two piles of shit. That tire iron wasn't meant to fight off a trio of trained German Shepards, that thing was intended for my head. After Albuquerque, I would have zero remorse other than the effort body removal would take.

In the real morning, I called my deputy friend and he just told me to keep the incident quiet. He said lots of the same crap was going on, including some fatalities that were kept quiet. Lots of farmers = lots of guns.

Just for fun (I enjoyed it), the next Suwannee Democrat had the photos and commentary on two, referring to them as “illegal aliens”. ...so wonderfully non-PC! ...wonder what happened to the third? I knew for an absolute fact that the pair the girls were playing with were in a world of hurt, couldn't see how Tep's faired. Did the two dirt-bags dump him? Maybe Tep was just being gentle with it. Not. When the pack is aroused, all of the pack is out for blood.

I never had another break-in attempt. Guess word got around.