I love, not all dogs, but most dogs; be they in, or out, of government.
And that man who named his dog, “Biteabureaucrat“: Shame!
I lived in Raleigh, N.C., after I got out of the Navy. The Vietnam War was still on-going. I met a North Carolina State University professor who was training dogs to sniff-out land-mines, and he took me to see how it was done.
I worked for Eastern Air Lines at the Raleigh-Durham Airport and we received in, and shipped out, many German Shepard like dogs for the Air Base at Goldsboro. An Eastern ramp serviceman opened-up the aft cargo bin on an arrived 727, and suddenly there jumped-out, over the head of the rampie, a giant Shepard puppy; headed for the bugs and summer butterflies, along the yonder runway.
The young’n had bitten it’s way out of a heavy aluminum shipping container.
He seemed a happy, not-mean, fella’. But he paid no head to anyone. All the flights had left-over meals in those days, so I gathered a bag of Tourist chopped steaks and a few First Class steaks, and hopped on a small ramp tractor. I had to get the, “Free-at-last, I’m-free-at-last“; happy young fella’ off the runway.
As I drew near, the smell grasped his attention, and he loped towards me, and his first steak on the taxiway; and so on, ever twenty-feet or so, to the the a/c belly containers storage area. An open container was on it’s small wagon-cart. I placed a steak on the ramp just outside the entry, another just inside the entry lip, and the rest of the bag of steaks, at the far back.
The happy ex-airdog, confidently gobbled the steak on the ground, then cautiously, slowly worked on the one just over the entry lip; his forefeet un-sure, his aft feet, safely still firmly on terra firma. The many steaks in the back, had his full attention. His tail was still wagg’n, so I approached from the rear, and lifted his aft two feet level with the fore two feet, and from side-to-side walked him on in. Finally he sat to finish the feast; and I shut the door, and got the container cart with him, to and on into, the freight-house.
When the Goldsboro handlers arrived and I showed them the chewed through, heavy aluminum dog shipping crate; alarmed they asked: “No body approached him, did they?”. I said he was just a sweet little-BIG puppy, and I just petted him, and said we need you in here; and he got in.
Opened back up; he’d eaten all the evidence, and had a contented grin, and big belly. A happy face.
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