On Sheep, Wolves and Sheepdogs

I would never assume a wolf to be stupid, they in fact have or practice killing than sheep dog, and that's a fact.
The biggest fallacy is believing that the bad guy is a bad shot, and that is simply not true.
People that are desperate can get very organized even self sacrificing if need be .
Many of the people that die in war are those that are brain washed into to commit bomb suicide, and/or threatened that their family will be killed ,if they don't do it. (they are usually killed any way, after the fact).
It is best to assume that every single aggressor, is better trained than you are.

 

No longer quite sure what I am... used to think of myself as a sheepdog...

I know there can be a rage inside of many sheepdogs... guess what they do with it matters...

 

Not one reference to the OP topic...a case of....

??

 

It seems some wish to elevate simple to complex. A Great Pyrenees is a sheep dog, a Bichon Frise is certainly is not. A Rottweiler is a superb protection breed; a herding dog it is not. A Doberman is a great protection dog and service dog. However, it's better at protecting family than herding sheep or fighting wolves. Dogs have been bred or trained to be "specialists."
My Pitts are long legged Blues; bred to be bear hunting dogs for generations. They weren't bred to be fighting Pitts.

I thought killology made it simple with 3 classifications. Apparently it did not or some folks missed what the article was all about.

If you keep it to those who ask, shall receive; you'll never have a problem.

Train as you will fight is correct; however, even bin laden sent his fighters to Chechnya to "season" them. Combat seasons the war fighter. Seasoning is important as killing another human being is a big step.

@tacmotusn
This old dog still does long distance "commo" at 300, 600 and 1000 meters. I know how to use the mil dot system and read or dope the wind. Both are an important skill set when shooting long distances.

 

Grossman's article was clear enough that it didn't really need the analogy. Unfortunately, some take the analogy so far away out of its reasonably understood context, that the analogy is no longer sensible.

 

I'm not very political as one only dies once, nor do I get fear. Therefore, the interest in two retirees is rather low. Control what, my friend? Two 60+ year old retirees? I'd assume the JBTs would have better things to do with their time.

Edit:
@Yard Dart
I figured you'd get what I was saying.

 

@Taku
I see your point, period. However, except for 2 votes, my generation has passed the Flag to a younger generation and the question is what will they do with it?

There are no excuses and talk is as empty as the air that forms words.

 

Wo there now Rott's are known as the butchers dog because they were herding dog's.. Shame on you for picking on my little boy like that... Had to hide that post from his sight..

Had a Rott stomp some chicks when trying to round them up but he had never been around chickens before..

Let me put this out there.. For those of us residing in the country, we have a relationship with those that live close by that we all watch out for one another.. And there are a few like minded folks .. So, if things did go bad I have no dought that we would continue to look out for one another..

 

Now there is a promise that if kept, might be the kind of minor miracle that may prompt me to reassess my position regards the divine Viz. God. Unfortunately similar promises have been made before, without any enduring effect. No need to get on bended knee too prematurely.

 

Ya can't talk of sheep, dogs and wolves without mentioning good ole Gunga Din

You may talk o' gin and beer
When you're quartered safe out 'ere,
An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it;
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it.
Now in Injia's sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them black-faced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.
He was "Din! Din! Din!
You limping lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din!
Hi! slippery hitherao!
Water, get it! Panee lao!
You squigy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din."

The uniform 'e wore
Was nothin' much before,
An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind,
For a piece o' twisty rag
An' a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment e' could find.
When the sweatin' troop-train lay
In a sidin' through the day,
Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl,
We shouted "Harry By!"
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been?
You put some juldee in it
Or I'll marrow you this minute
If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!

'E would dot an' carry one
Till the longest day was done
An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin' nut,
'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear.
With 'is mussick on 'is back,
'E would skip with our attack,
An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire,"
An' for all 'is dirty 'ide
'E was white, clear white, inside
When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire!
It was "Din! Din! Din!"
With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green.
When the cartridges ran out,
You could hear the front-files shout,
"Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!"

I sha'n't forgit the night
When I dropped be'ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt plate should 'a' been.
I was chokin' mad with thirst,
An' the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din.
'E lifted up my 'ead,
An' he plugged me where I bled,
An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water-green:
It was crawlin' and it stunk,
But of all the drinks I've drunk,
I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.
It was "Din! Din! Din!"
'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen;
'E's chawin' up the ground,
An' 'e's kickin' all around:
For Gawd's sake git the water, Gunga Din!

'E carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean.
'E put me safe inside,
An' just before 'e died:
"I 'ope you liked your drink," sez Gunga Din.
So I'll meet 'im later on
At the place where 'e is gone—
Where it's always double drill and no canteen;
'E'll be squattin' on the coals,
Givin' drink to poor damned souls,
An' I'll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!
Yes, Din! Din! Din!
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
Though I've belted you and flayed you,
By the living Gawd that made you,
You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

 

I for one appreciate what you post here, brother...lord knows if you didn't nobody else would.

 

Agreed.

Any claims to being a sheepdog by most, need to be treated with a certain degree of scepticism. The reality is that most are probably members of the flock, with slightly sharper, and bightier, dentures than the rest.

Reality, when the time of testing comes, will identify those who have what it takes to be the sheep dogs. They will be those who naturally come to the fore,, or those who will move to the sound of the guns, despite their healthy inclinations to do otherwise

 

Was it Homer who said: "Out of every hundred men, 90 of them shouldn't even be there, 9 will carry the fight, a 1 among them is a warrior, ad he will carry see the rest home?"

 

@Tikka nailed it earlier: "the answer is found when they meet the two way range".

Those who have already danced with the bear got nothing to prove to anyone, including themselves.

 

Ya but there is always the child of disbelief until you can show them some pictures , and even then ........