Sunday, April 22, 2007


His Army buddies called the camp K-9 "Mac the Snack" because this chow hound hound is always found around the Mess Hall begging for a bite to eat, a scrap of meat; some pork and beans, a bone or two, left over stew, even the mess cook's GI shoes, smeared with gravy heel to toe.

Dogs lap up any kind of crap, stale or fresh, that has flesh or fat attached. Cats eat rats between catnaps. seldom mice caught in traps. Cats prefer the old fashioned way. Walk and stalk the prey. Cat and mouse all the way. That's the only way to play. For a change of diet they down a dash of catfish hash.

GIs go for pizza pies, french fries, burgers supersize, washed down with Cokes and smokes, telling dirty jokes using words animals heard but found absurd.

Dogs howl and growl, cats purr and meow and that's how they talk about their chow, the handouts they got and like a lot.

Fat ass brass dine on wine and T-bone steaks, creamy pies and chocolate cakes, smoke big cigars and talk about wars and killing enemies and brag about their victories.

War is fine for canines. They eat their fill, aren't forced to kill, go over the hill at will and if or when they come back again they won't be tossed in the pen to serve time for their AWOL crime. Maybe they'll be in the doghouse instead of the Big House, but that's OK. That's just where they want to stay.

How do you punish a cat who flees, comes back with fleas and a family? Give her a feline fine, ten lives in the pen when cats have nine. And while she's serving time, where do you find a litter sitter in a condition to provide nutrition to a dozen newborn pissin' kittens?


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