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10.06.2003
Dogs of War Because I think its important to remember. Last time America felt compelled to pursue a war involving power politics was during the Cold War. Then, as now, we felt that our ends justified our means. Winning, defeating the communists was priority number one. In the process we helped create Osama Bin Laden, we helped usher in the fundamentalist regime in Iran, we split North Korea into two halves, we turned Afghanistan into a warzone, we coddled Saddam Hussein, we spent thousands of young lives trying to keep a domino from falling, which it did to no consequence and we spent countless hours chasing communists. And sure, the Soviet Union collapsed, and behind the dreaded Iron Curtain we found Russians. Russians who now seem like no threat to anyone. The dog's bark had been worse than his bite. But we had spent so long spinning such nightmarish tales of the braying hounds just over the fence that we had nearly torn down our own house and those around us in the process. Only now can we turn a critical eye on the mass hysteria that had inflicted our nation (and theirs as well). But our respite was brief. The important lesson gleened from those noble "communist fighting" days was single; frighten people enough with tales of our enemy's cruelty, ruthlessness and cunning and people will line up behind those politicians most willing to flex muscle. So now we have the "War on Terror", brought to us by the people that brought us the Cold War. Only now instead of communists hiding behind every bush we have terrorists hiding behind every bush. We shall return to the glory days of national paranoia. Several months ago I was in a small bookstore here in Tulsa. I happened across a fascinating book published during the height of the Cold War frenzy. At the time I had little money for unneccesary purchases so I leafed through it and put it back on the shelf. I made a mental note of where it was and I promised that once I had a few dollars I would return for it. Needless to say, when that day came, I could not find it again. But I recall the content of the book; dark, shadowy, ink-scratch clouds with menacing eyes clawing across Europe on its way to America. Bright, strong square-jawwed Americans prepared to fight for liberty. It was propaganda at it clumsiest. To my dismay it was not just some stray publication from a fringe cult of fanatics, it was an official publication of the United States government. I recall thinking that at once I was glad not to be living in those dark days but sad that I could see darker days to come. It all comes down to whether or not we keep our cool this time and not go all nutzoid like we did back then. And since that time we have invaded Iraq and my worst fears were realized. Now we see once again that the threat that prompted us to action was false, another puppy behind the fence. But there will always be more howls in the night to feed out nightmares. and... Dogs of Peace. On a more personal note, a smal story, one that might explain my current pre-occupation with dogs. Today as I sat in my bedroom at the computer with the window open I heard a clinking noise. I was unable to place it, but I thought it odd. Later I would find a dog, a small brown one with a greying muzzle standing just outside the glass of the front door. He stood there with his back legs on concrete walk and his front legs on the step. For some reason he was fascinated by the inside of the house. I found his intense stare alarming and I was at first cautious about going out the front door to meet him. I saw that he was wearing tags but I could not read the information on it from where I was inside the house. When I pushed open the glass door a bit he scooted back into the yard and began to bark. I assumed that he would soon run away, off down the street and away. But no. Not only did he stay, he worked up the courage to come stand at the door again. I watched this from around a door frame leading into the kitchen. My initial plan was to zoom in with my little digital camera and try to take a picture of the tags so I could call the owner. That was a dumb idea and soon I decided that I would have to actually catch the dog in order to read the tags. But I know a little about skittish dogs and just how utterly frustrating they can be, I hoped this dog was not so easily frightened. I ruled out the simple method of chasing him down. I harbored no illusions that I would be able to catch the dog in a contest of speed and agility. So I set about to lure him in. I went out onto the porch, and reassured by the small size of his jaw I sat down on the step and lowered my gaze. Sure enough the little dog stared at me warily. He would bark, walk around the yard, mark a small bush and stare some more. Eventually he would approach a little closer, like a plane on a flyby. Then he would wander out by the street, mark the bush again and come in for another test pass. This went on for about twenty minutes until finally, contact was made. A nose quickly touched my hands and the dog galloped away. Next he came up on the porch behind me and I was able to extend out my hand and grab his collar. Now I could read the tags. But the dog wanted rubs, so I obliged. After calling the owners and informing them of where their dog was, we waited on the porch. After a couple of minutes the owners pulled up. The dog's weird fixation on my house was revealed. It turns out that the daughter of the current owners had lived in this house, and in fact the dog had lived here as well. They now lived down the road and the dog had escaped from the yard and had come across his old house. We had been blessed with his visit. He was a friendly little dog. My apprehension had been unwarranted. My willingness to engage the dog with patience and diplomacy had been fruitful, he was returned home. Had I chased him away he would have returned, or worse he could have wandered off and been run over. | |
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