Walking around Kamas Valley has been mostly dreamy, with many humans being friendly and kind, some dogs making friends and some dogs barking from behind fences.
I have been attacked once by a pack of dogs: guard dog, black lab, bitch basset hound and two noise makers. The owners keep these dogs in an unfenced yard, in violation of the leash law, 2 doors from the highway I walk along. The dogs charge across the highway, heedless of traffic, with the lead dog alternately going for my groin and face as I back southward along the berm, with the dumpy bitch snarling at my right leg but keeping a 5 foot distance and the lanky lab circling behind me to my left to cut off the retreat.
In the first attack, the ϲunt owner watched her dogs attack me until she saw I had a knife, and then called them back frantically. She might as well have set them on me, as she did not care that they were trying to surround and bight me.
Bob says that these are hipster, faɡɡot soy people from out of town who have told locals that they should feed treats to and pet their attacking dogs.
Today, an identical attack occurred as I finished the first 2-mile lap of the subdivision. Since the owners have proved themselves content to have me mauled, I tried twice to stab the big dog, but he bounced in and out too quickly for me to get to him with a 3 inch knife.
As I did this, the black lap tried to get in behind me to my left but a motorist slowed, blocked my flank with his car and beeped his horn until they retreated.
I thought about changing my route as an adrenaline dump hit me just like after Bantu pack attacks in Baltimore. Then I smoldered inside and decided that this Neanderthal with a knife defense was just going to embolden these dogs until they perfected their encirclement tactics and I ended up killing one while I got chewed on. I decided that if I get caught with just the knife that I would feint at the big dog and cutoff the basset hound against the fence, butcher that fucker with one hand as I used it as a meat shield with my left hand and then throw the dead dog at the pack.
But, what I really wanted was to slaughter the leader, that big bastard with the thick leather collar and a body as thick as mine.
I picked up my PVC training stick from the garage gym and decided to shatter that fucker’s snout and then go in for the kill, hopefully sweeping two legs and jump stomping its spine or ribs—I wanted its hide, I had a thirst, just an hour ago, for the kill.
So, as I walked I thought of how hopeless it is to try and fend off packs of hoodrats or dogs with a short weapon, thought that maybe I should have brought the 6 foot shovel for cleaving paws and jaws, and then, as I walked by the horse farm I noticed the ubiquitous rocks, sorted on the side of the road until I found a 2-pound baseball-size round rock, hefted it, and went to war, determined to walk past that garage kennel [the garage door is always open] until I made a kill or they stopped attacking.
Sure enough, towards the end of the 4th mile, that same pack of five came charging out of that yard, and from behind the garage came three large hound dogs. Hoping this was the momentum needed for a pile up in front of me, so I could get a kill, I calmly waited, stone in right hand, pipe in left, right foot back, reader to throw a sinker from five feed into that hated hidebound skull.
Eight dogs charged across the highway, and streamed down the side street behind them. The owner watched and said nothing as I waited the onrush of barking, snarling dogs. Then, as the big dog got within five feet, I hefted the stone, and only then, did the owner yell, “Max, back Max!”
In a world of men I would be within cultural bounds to challenge this man to a duel, but he has come to replace my host and the other locals, is the slothful slow invader and prince of this colonized land, so I walk back to Bob’s and beat the bag to leach out the thirst to kill. About 500 strokes and punches in, I no longer have an overriding desire to kill and I sit here, at the roof of this sissy world, and write this.
I have rediscovered hate, and the object of that hate is suburban dog parents, the sissy cartoon race that cannot live anywhere without dog children and feral negro guilt servants.
Monday I will climb a mountain rather than walk the subdivisions, and I’ll be more heavily armed incase the suburban fucks moving in at the base of that mountain have unruly dogs as well.
Being a Bad Man in a Worse World
Fighting Smart: Boxing, Agonistics & Survival
some of these soy hipsters are going to experience arsons should the rule of law ever lapse. It's amazing how aggressive and awful these people become when they know they can sic the State or the Law on you if you retaliate.
I'm not opposed to law enforcement for any other reason that it enables terrible behavior. Generally, I'm thankful for the deterrence it provides criminals, but it's now just in the way.
It is truly amazing how anti-human materialists become—and I thought I was a misanthrope.
A former United States postal carrier told me that the most effective way of dealing with aggressive dogs is to feed them raw hamburger meat mixed with De-con rat poison. Just toss it their way and then be on yours.
The "dog parents" who call their dogs their children are truly despicable. Fur babies my ass.
Noted, Blanco Diablo.
James, maybe consider the European (greater Alps area) custom of carrying a walking stick? Those are often adorned with an antler as the tip, for better purchase, and generally resemble a spear... Might solve your range limitation.
The dog ownership in North America has reached the level of a craze. It feels like an ancient hunter impulse gone wayward. People accumulate them indiscriminately, spend to provide them with a level of care (medical and otherwise) surpassing that of humans, and forgoing having children to afford all of this.
The zeal of protecting them (shouldn't it be the other way 'round?) is nauseating. I was once parked in a waiting area, while on a road trip with my family. A group of Harley riders parked nearby. One of the women wandered over, inquiring without a greeting whether I was going to take my wife's small dog out of the vehicle, as it could be too hot in there. A young child, who was also in the vehicle, did not as much as an acknowledgement.
In my rural area people would let their large dogs roam. After a while they'd start forming packs and preying on young cattle. Then the ranchers would have to shoot them from afar. Imagine being attacked by a jelled pack used to proving for themselves... not much different than wolves.
Yes, it seems my close range Neanderthal urban tool kit is deficient.
Fascinating story!
James, any thought to using Lawfare against these people? That is really all they understand. Sort of a judo move, using their system and their 'laws' against them. But a short letter to the county dog control people—(my county it can be done online). I've seen it work in the suburbs—a barking nuisance being used, it seemed, in a passive-aggressive manner by one neighbor against another. Very effective. If you raise a complaint here, they are pretty much bound to respond—even if they just waive it off and ignore you. It would help tremendously in a lawsuit if you got bit, since you were being judicious and going through proper channels to try and abate the nuisance. But since the dogs represent a clear and present danger to any kid at risk of having it's face chewed off, the county might be proactive—assuming these people don't own the county. Makes a great paper trail and probably defense, too, if you got sued for braining the guard dog—and video of an attack would have a personal injury lawyer salivating. Well, definitely not legal advice, god forbid, but it would be nice to see these types get 'hoist by their own petard.' I think I read it on your site how the Spanish conqistadors used dogs to control the Mexican population. la meme chose for these new invaders.
Thanks for the advice, JR
Since I don't live here, I'm leaving that up to my hosts.
Man, I felt like a disobedient Aztec peasant when all eight of those things were charging me!