There is a primeval, visceral connection between canidae and hominid.
This video is both amusing and also disturbing.
Funny, no?
Until the baying you hear is because the pack has picked up your scent.
Just to continue this downer… if there is a societal collapse, for whatever reason, domesticated dogs that are alone and starving will form packs. And they won’t be afraid of human beings.
You will want to be the alpha on that day, sheltered and well-armed.
I lived in an Italian town in which, because of ridiculous left-wing liberals, large packs of semi-feral dogs roamed the streets at night. They made a horrid ruckus and they were dangerous. They would collide in an intersection by the city gate visible from my window and, sometimes, have it out. It was … instructive.
Have a nice day!
Dogs form packs for the same reason our fatherless boys form gangs. The pack offer structure and protection.
Yes there is a “special” connection between man and dog. The oldest unwritten treaty is between our two species and one of the main reasons we could survive and thrive both as hunters and later as farmers and herders. With the thousands of homeless, starving dogs put to death each day in our American kill shelters and with the suffering that thoughtless, selfish humans afflict on dogs they abuse or neglect, we humans break that treaty again and again.
When I pray the Nicene Creed each Sunday I remember that He created all and that I have a duty and responsibility to respect and defend created life.
When I read the Book of Tobit, I reflect that I too have been blessed to have had 3 x “a little dog accompany” me on my journey.
When I see portraits and statues of angels with page boy haircuts and white gowns and wings, I smile about how surprised some of my fellow species will be on their entry into Heaven to find wags not wings.
Strange that this should come up today. I picked up the ashes of my little angel last evening; she who left me too soon and too suddenly. Praise God He put her into my arms and my heart at just the right time 6 years ago.
Mmmm….not necessarily.
The dogs of Moscow are famous for their non-pack behavior. They are not pets, but they live and have lived for centuries in the city with human beings. No one owns them. Some people take it upon themselves to feed their neighborhood dog(s), kind of like people here in Austin feed feral cats. The dogs are so intimately acquainted with the ways of humans that some have mastered the subway system and regularly ride the rails. One human fellow killed one of the dogs and was beaten by other humans before he was arrested for doing so, yet the dog “belonged” to no one.
Anyway, here in Texas, there is a terrible culture in the rural areas of not spaying or neutering, and with plenty of working dogs left intact, there are lots of unclaimed dogs that just hang around. They don’t really form packs, either, and if any show a vicious tendency, they are dispatched thanks to the prevalence of firearms. It’s a rather ridiculous situation on the front end, but a sensible one on the back end.
This is very Huskie- like behavior. I have one, and she is the talkingest animal I’ve ever seen.
Years ago I taught at a little Catholic school on the Navajo Reservation. Packs of wild, mangy dogs were common, and could be dangerous.
One of my students told me to reach down to the ground and the advancing pack would disperse. It worked! The Navajos throw rocks at feral dogs and they are smart enough to know what’s coming. Never had to actually pick up a rock.
The nuns had a beautiful, healthy German Shepherd-like dog whom the packs respected, and who would appear out of nowhere whenever you went for a walk.
Years ago we had a female Border Collie-Aussie mix and her two grown pups.
My son brought home an adult Boxer rescue.
The mother and her sons hated that dog. They were normally well behaved, intelligent dogs but they would jump on him whenever they got the chance and I don’t doubt they would have killed him.
Once I was put in the position of trying to pull three enraged dogs off of him. Luckily we were outside near the dog house with a chain on it. There’s only so much you can do with two hands.
May I take this opportunity to recommend When Did The Wild Poodles Roam The Earth by David Feldman?
I’d hate to live next door to that!
a few years ago, we got a 1.5 year old standard poodle from a rescue (my daughter’s dream breed)- for over two weeks, he would wag his tail and be all friendly- not one bark! I was afraid his voice box had been removed. We finally heard his bark (rather ferocious sounding) when a postman tried to open the back gate (I later learned that it is only the miniature poodle that is yippy)
Katherine, when I was a kid, we would drive thru Gallupand Window Rock. I remember crying every time I would see a feral dog out there. So sad!
We have a TV advert here in Australia in which one man blows on a mouth-organ and, what looks like a dingo(wild dog) sitting beside him, sings along to the mouth-organ.
While I suppose that some abandoned domesticated dogs would form packs, I am more inclined to believe that most of them would simply starve if they had no one to feed them, just as most humans today would probably starve if they no longer could obtain food at a supermarket. Learning skills as needed isn’t always the easiest thing to do, which of course is a good reason to learn those skills before they are needed.
Here in Texas we had a coyote attack Governor Rick Perry and his dog. The Governor pulled out his Ruger LCP and shot the coyote dead. Liberals decried his inhumanity. Ruger issued a commemorative Perry edition of the LCP. Texans still have their heads screwed on straight.
If the lights go out in a major metropolitan area, no one will have their “heads screwed on straight.” Check out Ted Koppel’s “Lights Out.” Even with a Tumbler in hand, prepared to be sobered by that book. Indeed, we will revert to base instinctual behavior when we are in survival-mode.
Gee, Rich. I hope the former guv’s dog was okay. Establishment RINO pols, not so much. ;-)
We have two fantastic saints to whom we can offer intercessory prayer for the welfare of our dogs (and those doing it tough) St. Roch and St. Hubert; Fr. W. at our FSSP parish in Sydney blessed my current guide dog, dedicating her into the care of St. Hubert (also a good go to saint for bad dog behaviour). My second guide dog Verity would yodel whenever certain hymns were sung back in my pre-Catholic days (at once heartily embarrassing and very cute) Thankfully neither Aaron my fourth guide nor Nyssa my fifth (both with me during and post Catholic conversion) have ever tried such antics, sitting very calmly through NO and TLM alike. We learn a bit about canine behaviour during guide dog training and the pack is a thing to behold, whether it be eight guide dogs free-running together off harness or a working guide almost irresistibly drawn to a pack of (supposedly) pet dogs in a swanky café neighbourhood (she did not engage them, thankfully). Wild dog packs are a scourge of rural and remote Australia.
JARay, The singing dingo on the tellie is a definite sweetie.
That is an interesting video. Border collies, golden retrievers etc. are great, but there’s some bad doggies out there. Packs of war dogs were used back in the days of the ancient Greeks and Persians.
Wolves are also a bit of an issue these days. Reintroduced into the Yellowstone area about 1994, my ranching buddy out West says some have strayed as much as 300 miles and have attacked livestock.
If Fr. Z doesn’t mind, here’s some Catholic-friendly post-EMP fiction with a bit of a wild dog angle. It’s shortened, hopefully not too clumsily, for the combox. Any and all criticism welcomed.
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At twilight Mark sat on his front porch smoking his pipe. On a table sat several books and a lantern, which maybe he would get to. His son was due back any minute now.
The rolling, forested hills of southern Indiana were quiet these days. Often a week would pass before an engine disrupted the calls of blackbirds and owls, or the sigh of wind in the trees. Mark watched the stars appear across the sky. We’re still adjusting to a new world, he thought. The serenity of nature at times added to the stress of adjusting, it could remind one of physical remoteness from the rest of the world.
On Father Tom’s ham radio, solar panels and antenna permitting, contact was made sometimes with stations around the Ohio Valley and north to the Great Lakes. Father Tom told Mark that the population of the US was down to about 10-15% of pre-attack after several years now of starvation, violence, and disease. A newly formed Diocese of the Great Lakes gathered in those that remained.
Mark peered through the dusk at the county road. Two people on horseback moved slowly along the tree-lined road and turned onto the gravel driveway toward the house. Mark smoked his pipe and watched as his sixteen-year old son Paul and the messenger, a lanky disheveled man, dismounted and tied their horses to the post.
Mark stood as they walked up the steps. “Any problems son?”
“No pa, we met at the roadblock past town. All quiet. This is Nate.”
Nate extended a damp hand and a dispatch case. In the moonlight Mark noticed Nate was maybe a couple years older than his son. They talked for a few minutes then Mark sent the boys in for some supper. Mark told Paul to send his cousin out to look after the horses and feed the dogs. Paul was also to send his “Uncle” John out to the front porch.
Mark sat down near the lantern, relit his pipe and opened the dispatch case. Some agricultural news. A note that some ham operator fifty miles away was somehow getting daily weather reports from the Omaha area. That could be useful. Mark wrote “Father Tom” across the sheet. Medical news, grim. Off to Doc with that one. A report that a large gang had somehow repaired the electronics on eight powerboats and houseboats and were raising havoc around the Ohio Valley. As Mark was reading another report about the gang’s use of trained dogs and wild dogs the front door swung open. John limped over to the table and settled himself in a chair.
“Well Mark,” he smiled weakly, “what’s the latest disaster?”
Mark handed him the report about the gang and boats, then sat back and watched John read.
John looked up. “Vikings? In the 21st century?”
Mark nodded. “And not far enough away from here. They must have some mechanics, looks like they welded sheet metal to the sides. Gun mounts. Maybe a few ex-military guys too. Look at this.” Mark handed John the report on war dogs.
John read it and let out a low whistle. “So, they don’t feed ’em then near a village they’ll let loose a pack of thirty or forty to terrorize the locals before swooping in.”
Mark nodded. “It’s been done before.”
John read over the reports again as Mark puffed on his pipe and gazed at the books on the table.
John eyed his friend. “You have an idea.”
Mark leaned forward and picked an Army field manual from the stack. Sliding it across the table to John he said, “Improvised Munitions Handbook.”
As John opened it Mark said, “Gelled fuels. We have alot of gas here, and only two pickup trucks around town that need it. Let’s get with Shawn tomorrow and head over to Nick’s shop. I think we have some flamethrowers to make.”
Thanks Semper…I hope he good guys win. (Well, we know who wins in the end anyway!)
Liberals seem to have forgotten that feral (unvaccinated) dogs can carry rabies (as can skunks, raccoons, foxes and bats).
majuscule: You’re right, He does win in the end! As for His pilgrim Church on Earth, looks like more obstacles these days on the way to the New Jerusalem.
And about the Catholic fiction piece, thanks for the thanks!