My Brother's Dogs

My brother's dogs from next door come in and out of this second floor room I use to type and sit in. I've known them all since they were puppies, and their mother since she was a young dog too. The dogs run free and can do whatever they like. There are hundreds of acres the family owns for them to hunt food. They just don't know what food is to hunt and kill it to eat.

Food comes from a big plastic-coated paper bag my brother stashes in a 55 gallon plastic barrel usually used for trash. It keeps the weather away from the food, and the dog food out of their own living quarters. Rainey could learn from this, but like the dogs, he doesn't know how. It's not as easy to fool humans as it is dogs, but they both learn the same way, buy imitating others. How else could they have evolved to be-co-me homo sapiens. Only the top of their species become humans. Top of their breed is not good enow.

This morning, only the mother dog has climbed up the outside stairs to visit me. The outside deck at the top of the stairs is as close as she will come to an elevated place to overlook her surroundings here on the flat coastal plains. There ain't even no hills of any size here, much less a cliff to look out from. I may be imagining it (how else?), but I "see" the call of the wild when she hesitates at the top of the stairs to look around.

Her children will come later. Some people might think the dogs come to see me because, although I don't feed them enough to make it worth their while, I'm part of the furniture of their realm. They come to see if their is any food over here. They don't know that. They don't know they're hunting by instinct for something to kill in order to survive. They don't know we're not friends.

They don't know their master is my brother. They only know I don't mistreat them or try to discipline them or try to get them to do tricks to impress my friends. I don't need them for that. I'm a much better barker than any of 'em. If I did, then I would have to use food as an enhancement, and if I gave them food as a reward to do tricks to make up for my lack of talent and ability to entertain myself and others, then they wouldn't need my brother and his wife, who actually use them for guard dogs to alert them if enemies try to sneak up on them. Even me.

Chokolat, the sire dog, top dog, dog of the month, and all around force to be tangled with has changed his ways since the arrival of an impregnable young female dog. I don't remember what they call her. She had nine puppies. I call her "Momma Dog". My brother and his wife gave away all but two of them.

The two they kept were a matched pair to start with by color. A perfect blend of whateverinhell breeds Chokolat is and whateverinhell mixed breed Mommadog is, as far as color goes. Chokolat has long hair and a black tongue and some pug and collie and should be living up in the far north than here in the South. Mommadog has some razorback hound in her, and is the most amazing spectacle to watch posture herself in such a way as to look over the savannah grasses of her ancestor's homeland, there don't exist here on the coastal plains.

Chokolat doesn't come over here anymore unless my brother visits. He guards the home place. Mommadog and her two grown children, Chokky and Lattee. Chokky is the male and has a big head and will get right in your face and dare you to pass him by. Lattee is just sneaky and will let you think she's intimidated, but she's just working with her mother to drive you two one of the male dogs.

They might not bite someone who approaches my house. They will sure as hell let me know a stranger is out and about, but if you go over to my brother's house where Chokolat and that food sack are like you're gonna mess with their food source, all bets are off.

I don't think I could have traveled around the country empty-handed if I didn't understand animals on some preliminarily genetic level. I may understand animals this way because I did travel around the country empty-handed. I found myself a nightly place to lay down in the open to rest and sleep just like the rest of the animals do that travel around. None of them with the reach and scope I had, except for the migratory birds and other like kind.

Like most other animals I had to find something to eat everyday from friendly humans or kill or threaten to in order to take it for myself. Almost exactly like my brother's dogs, but not for the sa-me reason. I know what food is. Food is my brother's dogs, for one thing. I could kill and eat them for food, but if they killed me because of their instincts, they wouldn't know my carcass was food until it started rottening. Their only regret for my dying would be that I knew how to open that garbage container that has what they know food to be inside.

My friendliness, when I was on the road, was like that sort of friendliness the visitors who come here think my brother's dogs exhibit toward me. We're both seemingly friendly because our real goal is food, and further away than one might think is the second reason I might appear to be friendly is sex. Iff'en I ain't et for a few days, sex is only a tool to get food. Well, back then it was, when seeking sexual partners was totally in vogue for wannabe young lovers.

Frankly, although I don't expect to be received well, much less believed or found to have a convincing argument, the biggest reason homo sapiens have succeeded as a species is our over-the-top ability to imitate anything and everything that moves, and especially wot don't. Take that one step further... what? You can't imagine that? Well, glory be!

How about the ability to not only imitate anything that IS or can be accounted for in the sensory dimension, but the particular talent and gifts for imitating or me-me-keen (mimicking) anything that ever was or could be in the future. That's what the new species beyond homo sapiens will be like, and if you're not there now, there's a real good chance it'll be your ancestors who will lose out on your chances to be absorbed by the white light. You might not pay for it now, but what about when you die and join them on the waiting list. That's gonna be hell to pay.

You do know I'm making this crap up as I sit here listening to the crows call each other to gather in the tall yellow pines left over from the hurricanes outside my opened outside door, right? Read the header again if you don't understand. I don't try to distinguish the veracity of the drifting thoughts I attempt to capture with words. There is just not enough ti-me. I am is too busy trying to choose descriptive terms that will not only get me over the hump with other people's idea of reality, I do it because essentially I may need to forgive other people's attempts to tell their truth in order to get them to share their food with me, and probably, although I deny it vehemently, secondly, and with extreme regret for my unqualified weaknesses, sex.

As a group, human beings are a lot like the pets they keep. They think food is what you buy at the grocery store. Like my brother's dogs they hunt without knowing it's actually food and sex they're sniffing around for. It's not their fault. It's what their caretakers taught them food is. They oughta hate their caretakers for making them into domesticated animals, but instead, like their pets, they lick the hand that provides them with rewards for learning new tricks. Why would they think or suspect in rare moments their feral nature is bad? In my opinion, this statement from the translated Gospel of Thomas is plausible:

55 Jesus said, "Whoever does not hate father and mother cannot be my disciple, and whoever does not hate brothers and sisters, and carry the cross as I do, will not be worthy of me.
37 His disciples said, "When will you appear to us, and when will we see you?"
Jesus said, "When you strip without being ashamed, and you take your clothes and put them under your feet like little children and trample then, then [you] will see the son of the living one and you will not be afraid."
http://users.misericordia.edu//davies/thomas/Trans.htm
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