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Location: Midwest, United States

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Feral Dogs

I share my world with feral dogs. I wish that weren’t so, but Life is what it is.

I live in a place where, just outside my door, roam packs of dogs that claim no place called “home”. They do what they do simply to survive another day.

I was reminded of this when I heard a train whistle in the distance. There’s something ‘bout a whistle and a wail that gets the feral heart a thumpin’. Minutes later, I could hear the barks, the snarls, growls and howls of instinct and survival.

I heard it all through an open window and the safety of my garret.

And I remembered the day I ran for my life, literally, when I was trying to draw water from a monitor well at a landfill in just another godforsaken unincorporated area where hegemons screw the inhabitants. I was hauling a bailer from a well drilled deep when a pack of feral dogs came on the scene. I spied them. They saw me.

The chase was on.

I ran for my life. I did. I sprinted as fast as my two feet could propel me to my truck parked (all too) far away. The hounds were faster, but they started from farther away. I caroomed into the truck, threw myself in and slammed the door. The pack circled and howled, jowls drooling.

I admired them, one soul to another. It was a primal "thing". These were not anyone’s "pets". These were rugged, singular souls that fought for every scrap.

They were the survivors. They deserved their due.

Me? I was relieved that I dodged the fate of having my throat ripped open by a toy poodle gone bad.

* * *


Blogger Ponita in Real Life said...

Oh good lord, Jonas! That would have been horrendous....

There have been packs of dogs here (not feral but let out to roam by idiot owners) that have taken down deer and livestock (within the city limits yet) and ripped them to shreds. The pack mentality is very strong, even in those toy poodles.

Glad you outsprinted them... Very nasty (and painful) way to go. But yes, you do have to admire their will and skill to survive.

Wed Apr 14, 10:41:00 PM  
Blogger Kass said...

I love the sound, smell and meaning of the word "feral." Hegemon isn't too bad, either. Caroomed... I give it an 8. This is such a gritty cowboy-kinda-post. I feel all oily and sweaty.

Thu Apr 15, 12:26:00 AM  
Blogger Jonas said...

I suppose it's all a matter of perspective, Ponita. To be ripped to shreds by renegade poodles? My friends would most certainly find humor in that.

I live in a 'hood where just 'bout everbody owns a pit bull. Oh, sweet jeebus, how I've come to love 'em!

Funny thing, Kass, I was posting the subsequent entry whilst you were feeling all oily and sweaty. So was I.

Thu Apr 15, 01:40:00 AM  
Blogger Wine and Words said...

"I was standin' at the station
Ten to midnight in the rain
I was mindin' my own bus'ness
Waiting for that midnight train

Nobody in sight, starin' at my shoes
I took out my paper to find me some good news
Mindin' my own bus'ness
When the ticket man calls my name
Yeah, yeah, babe

There ain't no midnight train." (Buddy Guy)

Oh, but there's dogs. Hmmmm

Thu Apr 15, 06:50:00 PM  
Blogger Woman in a Window said...

Jonas, you've both the feral dogs and the soft breeze, I do believe.

You are writing especially beautifully as of late.


Fri Apr 16, 08:54:00 AM  
Blogger anna said...

Yikes! That's terrifying. I was bitten by a single dog when I was a child. I can't imagine being chased by a pack of them.

So glad they had started out further away.

Fri Apr 16, 02:04:00 PM  
Blogger Jonas said...

Yeah, Annie, and I keep standin' at the station...dogs howlin' all 'round me. Silly me.

Funny things happen, Erin, when windows are flung open...

It WAS a strange experience, Anna. One of many. One of, perhaps, too many.

Sun Apr 18, 06:42:00 PM  

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