Swamp Dog – An Ode to Military Humor

If you have read my recent posts, you know that I have been discussing my family’s departure from Hawaii on our way to Tacoma enroute to North Dakota and the East Coast.  I was ultimately headed to the East Coast to Fort Lee (now Ft Gregg-Adams), Virginia to attend the Logistics Executive Development Course.  The stops in Tacoma and North Dakota were to visit relatives.  That reminds me, I should probably tell you my theory of relatives sometime.  Not now, but some other time.  See, Einstein had his theory of relativity.  Well, my theory is kinda like that.  Only, my theory is about relatives.  Kinda neat, huh?  Oh yeah, the stop in North Dakota was also to retrieve my red Chevy van.  Well, I have talked about our journey across the United States to get to Fort Lee, Virginia.  We had some interesting exploits along the way and you can read about those exploits in some of my recent posts.  After arriving at Fort Lee, Virginia, I spent some time in my most recent posts talking about finding a place to live.  I mentioned in one post that we found a place in a trailer park in Petersburg.  And I mentioned in that post my sentiments about the manager of that trailer park.  But my family and I decided not to let that pickup driving, backwoods dwelling, varmint hunting, shotgun hauling trailer park manager interfere with our ability to get along and adapt to our new environment.  Even though we were treated as if we were “other-colored” people, we learn to improvise, overcome and adapt.  My son was getting along just fine and playing with his friends and time moved on.  Well, as I said, time moved on.  My family all got integrated into life at Petersburg and Fort Lee.  Even I got accustomed to life in Petersburg and Fort Lee.  My running routine began once more, I ran through those woods pretty much every evening after school without fail.  And if you read my more recent posts, you no doubt read about the orchestrated run that was thrown together by the cadre at the Logistics Executive Development Course.  However, my most recent post didn’t talk about running at all.  No.  I have discussed country briefs before, but that wasn’t my most recent post.  Nor was my most recent post about having to deal with the sensitive politics revolving around Allied army officers attending the Logistics Executive Development Course, but that was close to it.   It was in fact dealing with the sensitive subject of being tricked into being wrongly promoted and then demoted in less than a week.  Not a fun subject if you are the intended target.  Yes.  I happened to have been the intended target of such a prank.  The subject of today’s post is more or less, probably more less than more, a lopsided thank you, or an apology for the prank promotion.  The commanding general of Fort Lee was organizing a command hunt of the swamps on Fort Lee.  The hunt was by invitation only.  Of course, the general only invited his close friends and associates who held hunting licenses and knew the swamps at Fort Lee.  The target or targets were to be white tail deer.  When the invitations for the hunt went out, I received an invitation.  Go figure.  I don’t know how in the hell that happened?  Yes, I did have a hunting license.  Yes, I knew the swamps of Fort Lee and explored them regularly.  However, I was not what you would call a close friend or associate of the general.  Oh hell no.  Not by a longshot.  In fact, you could say that I was trying to disassociate myself from the general ever since the fiasco with the promotion/demotion.  I did not want to have anything to do with that sorry sonofabitch.  I thought perhaps maybe that sick sonofabitch was including me in the organized hunt for the express purpose of getting me shot.  You know.  Shit like that happens all the time.  A bunch of friends are out in the woods hunting.  In the heat of the hunt and confusion and fog and mist a bunch of shots ring out and somebody gets shot.  Oops.  So sorry.  We don’t even know how the hell that happened.  We thought he was a deer.  Uh huh.  Sure.  It was especially suspicious, considering the fact that I was the only Captain invited on the command hunt.  Very suspicious indeed.  When we got out to the swamps for the hunt, the people were divided into two teams – the hunters and the dogs.  The hunters are the people that would actually shoot the deer.  Or, more likely, they would shoot at the deer and miss.  Cuz most people ain’t as good at shooting as they think they are.  Perhaps here is a good place to insert a little information about the types of firearms allowed to hunt deer in Virginia.  In the swamps of Virginia, a person is allowed to hunt deer with a shotgun loaded with buckshot or a black powder rifle (primitive firearm).  The dogs, affectionately referred to as swamp dogs, tromp through the swamps and trees and thicket and scare up the deer and chase them to the hunters.  Of course, I was selected to be a swamp dog.  Go figure.  The general and his cronies never figured to allow me to shoot a deer, even though I had taken a deer or two out of these very swamps.  Nope.  I was just a swamp dog.  Then, when it came time to gutting and cleaning the deer, I was right in the thick of that too.  Go figure.  You couldn’t expect the general and his high ranking cronies to get their hands dirty, could you?  Of course not.  That’s right.  The lowest ranking slobs, excuse me, dogs, on the hunt were appointed to do all of the dirty work.  But in the end the meat from the hunt was divided equally among all members who attended the hunt.  Other than doing a lot of the dirty work as a swamp dog on the hunt, I experienced no other exercises in futility.

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