The Truce of Wolf and Man
Legend has it the truce between wolf and man was brokered long ago by a lonely Neanderthal boy named Thagmuth Spline and a senile wolf pack leader named Griff Griff who had become enthralled with tummy-rubs.
The truce held for some five hundred thousand years. During which time a great many magnificent things were accomplished, including but not limited to: companionship and mutual warmth, the retrieval of waterfowl carcasses, and the pursuit of wicked foxes.
I'm sorry to report however, that our oldest truce probably ended yesterday when what appeared to be some sort of terrier, ran out from behind a fence, wrapped itself around my leg and proceeded to bite off that lovely, muscular rounded part just below the knee, that makes a calf look like a calf.
I measured my response with fire--aerosol blasts across a Zippo flame. Unfortunately a collie was watching. And collies are notorious over-reactors.
There is a very distinct possibility I've just sent us down an irreversible path to war. I'm pretty sure that collie is massing an army even as I type, and it's just a matter of time before the battle lines are all of our backyards.
We still have first-strike capability in that those who haven't heard yet will still eat anything we offer them, provided it's wrapped in hamburger meat. But the window on this tactic is closing and if we wait too long it may be too late--there are too many types of terrain that favor four legs over two.
I know the choice I've put to you is savage. But remember, that terrier drew first blood. And it's savagery that sees the battle won when the truce of wolf and man is done.
I'm very sorry Thagmuth Spline. I'm very sorry Griff Griff. Perhaps someday we'll build again--trust and love in your names.
posted by Latigo Flint @ 11:54 PM
7 comments
7 Comments:
Collies are natural leaders, you're right Mr. Flint. But come on, surely a good ear-scratching and perhaps some friendly bottom sniffing could sort this whole mess out. Wait, I meant to post that on a whole other site. Never mind it's apropos here too. Can't we set up some sort of conciliatory summit with the doggies, a pow-wow, or paw-wow, if you will. You won't? No, neither would I - having a paw-wow's just being silly.
But Mr Flint, I love my dog... and hadn't planned to dispose of her until her lady-wooing days were done, some months hence.
As the flight controls of a 747, the wheel of a yacht and the opposable thumbiness of most forms of remote communication are not in the average canine's gift, I believe I will sit and wait this one out, see how those of you in the colonies fare...
Don't mistake my mercenary nature for a lack of solidarity, though, sir... I hope you and your furry friends can sort this out. If not, I hope Hollywood gets at least a couple of awesome action blockbusters out of the war on terrier before it's eventual succumbing to tooth and claw.
It was a case of mutually assured destruction; that psychopath terrier knew what he was starting the moment he ran out from behind that fence.
What should we do Latigo!? Should we form an alliance with the domestic house cat? I know they can be fickle but they fight like savages when raised!
Say, uh, do you have any stories that end with a call to kill CATS instead?
I'd oblige you there.
Crap, I'm outnumbered three to one at my house, and some of these mofos are part terriers!!! I'm gonna have a blood feud up in here!
A paw-wow is silly Sam, Problem Child. Very silly. Dogs know when they're being patronized--trying to throw them a bone by changing the name of the summit to include a part of their anatomy is only going to piss them off.
Very well Nicolas Papaconstantinou, I guess I can't be too upset--after all, we did take our sweet time showing up to that little party Adolph threw in your house.
(But we did eventually come--never forget that Nicolas--and we brought a keg or two with us when we finally did.)
I fear you're right Trevor Record, I fear you're right. Too late now though... havoc has been cried.
I don't know P. Princess, that sort of sounds like the sissy way out, begging the cats to help us... of course we begged the French for help when the Redcoats were kicking our grubby asses, so I guess we could swallow or pride this time too.
I hear you LBB, but write what you know, right? And I've actually never had a cat run up and bite of that lovely, rounded muscular part just below my knee that makes a calf look like a calf.
Remember sweet Ari, it's savagery that sees the battle won when the truce of wolf and man is done. (Maybe also opposable thumbs, but mostly savagery.)
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