Mourning the Death of Hope for Men: The Sad Realization that All Feminists Must Face

They say there are stages of grief. It goes something like: Denial, anger, bargaining, acceptance. I’ve been through some different stages in my realization of what men are and their irredeemability. I lived in various states of denial for a long time, of course. It was only my own experiences,  which include being held at gunpoint and nearly being murdered by random men several years ago, which ultimately forced me out of denial.  This was only one of many life-threatening experiences I’ve endured at the hands of men, but it was the one that changed me the most. It’s the one experience that personally introduced me to Death. Specifically, my common sense coupled with an overwhelming fear – the kind of fear you’d feel if someone tried to shove you off a cliff! – of being in the company of males forced me out of denial about their true nature and their motives. Then, time alone and time for reflection gave me perspective on our situation as women and girls among male humans.

Still, I feel the different stages of something like grief. If not grief, then it is the fall out of so much trauma. Sometimes it manifests as nightmares in which I’m in a situation with men – sometimes men I once knew and the situation reflects some real horror from my past and sometimes it is men unknown to me. The situation is one of being held hostage and being forced to act, like an actress on a stage, in order to survive.

Sometimes late at night, I revisit the past in the same way other people do when they’re feeling nostalgic. I think about people I used to know and the dreams I used to have when I thought the world was a different kind of place and men were human like us.

Because of the Mormons I had always hated men. But, when I escaped the organization and did the de-programming, I threw out that hatred and decided to give men a chance. But, I really didn’t know much about them. My father hit me across the face once and told me, “I’m going to show you how men are going to treat you.” I had thrown that out, too, because I thought the bad men were just the ones I had known up to that point, particularly those associated with religion. I didn’t think, nor could I imagine and nor could anyone have told me in any credible way, that it is all of them. It’s too much for the mind to take. It has to come to you in your own time – like maybe on some dark day when you shake hands with Death because it’s fun for men to kill you and any life that is in you.

Since I lacked experience with men, I had selected one in particular that fit some sort of ideal image for myself of what a boyfriend should look like and be like. He was an emaciated, heavy metal version of a young Shaun Cassidy. I was 24-years old by then and I’d never had a boyfriend like a lot of other young women. I just never really liked men or masculinity. I was not attracted to them, especially white men, I think because these had been the men I had experienced the most abuse from. I didn’t know how different they really were and back in the late ’80s and early ’90s, long before anybody ever heard of “transgender,” there were men who looked very feminine in that they either had sort of feminine facial features or they paid a lot of attention to their grooming. Back then some men wore make up and spent a lot of money on their hair.

Those were the first kind of men I ever had anything to do with and I was always dismayed when I discovered that despite the eyeliner and compulsive hair-flipping, they were not quite right. There was something wrong with them. Of course, I thought it was me. I didn’t ask a whole lot out of relationships with men. Mostly, I just wanted friendship and a sense of safety and belonging, but repeatedly I got the opposite of that.

What’s interesting is I still think some of those guys weren’t as bad as the ones I ran into later – all of which I fell into a situation with because I had other men threatening me. Those men weren’t just sort of animal and not quite right, they were extremely violent and sadistic. One plotted for years to steal my identity, rob me, rape me, and try to destroy my relationship with my family. The femme long-hairs were angels by comparison to those men.

Tonight was one of those nights when I started thinking about those days. I don’t know what I really expected from men except that they were just people. I never wanted the things that girls and women are supposed to. Yet, I am disappointed because they are, in reality, such monsters. They rape at any opportunity. Just turn your back for a second and they will attack you if they have the chance. They always seem to be plotting, always calculating, what they can do to you and what they can get from you. Even in the most brief encounters I have with men, which I am forced into by the circumstances of life despite my best efforts to avoid them, I am aware that they are full of hate for me and for women, in general. I now know how their hatred manifests in the way they speak, the way they look at me, the way so many of them simply cannot talk to a woman they’ve never met before without rubbing on me and patting me and trying to slather their filth onto me.

I am at a very high level of acceptance of the facts about men and their hatred and filth, yet I still find myself returning to these old memories from time to time. I remember when I thought men were just like us but with penises and facial hair. It’s kind of like remembering when I used to believe in Santa Claus. It’s sad that there is no Santa Claus and men are what they are.

Lessons from My Groundhog: Wild Animal Wisdom Feminists Can Use – Modified on 2/18/2017

On this date, 2/18/2017, I modified this post to remove references to a hateful, liberal, feminist charlatan who poses as a radical feminist and tries to get women to give her donations because “poor women,” like herself need help. Once again, I apologize to anyone I misled by calling this woman a radical feminist. I was deceived. The deception from this woman and women like her has caused me a lot of pain and I’m sure women like her have caused a lot of grief and erected many barriers for women trying to escape domestic abuse and to recover from some aspect of sex trafficking. Anytime you hear a woman say she is a Marxist or a liberal and she cares about women, look twice at her. I should not have ignored the earlier warnings. Anytime a feminist says that a woman has to be hit to be considered abused, you know you’re dealing with one of the enemy. These frauds are worse than MRAs!  Furthermore, women who claim to help those who have been subjected to the so-called sex industry while talking about our “privilege” as white women and “heterosexuals” are enemies to radical feminism and to all of us who are survivors.

Here is the post, which is mostly the same except for a video reference and a couple of paragraphs, which weren’t really that relevant anyway:

I was thinking about doing this post for a while because I did, indeed, learn a great deal watching my groundhog, Little Otchok, who I mentioned in the previous post.

The groundhog is a rugged individualist, a steady and prolific builder, an observer, well-groomed, one who times his activities according to external conditions, and who is highly focused. The groundhog doesn’t require a consensus, doesn’t need anyone’s permission, and doesn’t worry too much about what the other groundhogs are doing.

Many ideas I already had in my mind were reinforced as I observed the groundhog – and not just observed, but, at times, almost existed with or projected myself into this critter’s life.

Lessons from a Groundhog

Focus. The groundhog is capable of remarkable focus. Since the groundhog must consume a year’s worth of its food supply in only several months, it is almost unshakably intent on finding and eating food. Eating food is important work for the groundhog and his focus is almost absolute. If disturbed, he simply takes his work with him elsewhere to complete the task. Noises do not disturb him as long as he has his work to chew on. When he cannot do his work in the light, he does it in the shadows. We can keep on working on what’s important to us, even with distractions – just focus like the groundhog when he’s eating a carrot. Although, there are times when a groundhog has to throw the carrot and run for cover! 

Happiness is a place. My father once told me: “Happiness is not a place.” But, he was wrong. Happiness is, in fact, a place. It is a place where you can get the things you need. For the groundhog happiness is a place where you have shelter beneath an overhanging rock, soft dirt to tunnel in, a ready and abundant food supply, fresh water, a cozy place to sleep, cool shade when you want it, warm sun on your face when you want that, and protection from harm. (In fact, my groundhog has his own security detail – me!) So, happiness really is a place and certainly if you are in an unhappy, miserable place where you cannot get the things you need and you do not feel safe, you must consider finding your own happy place.

Watchfulness. The groundhog is an observer. With finely tuned senses and his feet firmly planted on, if not inside, the ground, he sees and hears what’s going on for a long distance around. If he hears something unusual or suspicious, he stops, focuses on the sound, and listens. If he suspects it is a threat of any kind, he immediately runs for cover. With this watchfulness comes a degree of suspicion. The groundhog does not expect the best. He knows that danger lurks all around. The groundhog is not a Pollyanna, but a realist! We must be watchful and wary. We have enemies who think we are food or playthings.

Timing is of the essence. The groundhog will wait patiently in his hole until it’s safe to come out. He knows when its time to be active and do things and when its time to rest. There’s a right time to do most things we need to do.

Independence. The groundhog’s got his own thing goin’ on. He doesn’t care about anybody else’s thing. (The only time this changes is in the Spring during mating season, otherwise, the groundhog is a loner.) He is a complete being. He doesn’t need validation. He minds his own business and minds it well. We’ve all got our own thing goin’ on.

Slow and steady. Easy does it! Persistence pays off.  The groundhog’s body of work consists mainly of tunneling and building a cozy nest lined with leaves. One groundhog can build many tunnels, at long distances, and with many chambers. The groundhog’s little clawed paws move dirt efficiently, but only a little bit at a time. By chipping away at a problem a little bit at a time with tenacity, the little groundhog does great things. We don’t have to complete a big task in one big effort, rather a whole lot of small efforts will get the job done right in due time.

Take care of yourself.  The groundhog is very self-grooming, bathing in a fashion similar to a cat. Underground, he may build multiple bathroom chambers, but he, also, does business outside digging a hole and covering up the refuse very neatly. The groundhog doesn’t engage in grooming, cleanliness, and tidiness for anyone else. The groundhog takes care of himself for himself and no one else. We should always take care of ourselves, take care of our health, cleanliness, grooming, and mind how we dress, even if we don’t see other people. It’s healthy and it’s especially important for those of us who live alone and don’t go out much.

Life skills. The groundhog knows where to make a home, how to build the tunnels and the nest just right, how to forage, how to find water, and how to do the other things he needs to do to survive. We all need good life skills and if we don’t have them, we must focus on acquiring them. (I’m doing that right now and I credit Little Otchok as my inspiration.)

The main lessons I have learned from my groundhog involve getting big things done a little at a time, improving my life skills (things to do with my home), and staying focused despite distractions.

The groundhog is focused on the self. There’s nothing at all wrong with that. Although, I do think it is an idea that runs contrary to a lot of leftward thinking. But, if you don’t take care of yourself first, you can’t take care of anyone else. If you don’t do for yourself, build what you need for yourself, and get the things you need, then you can’t help anyone else do those things. Remember: When the plane is going down, you put the oxygen mask on yourself before you assist anyone else. It is not wrong or selfish to do for yourself first – or maybe just for yourself. If every woman liberated herself right now, we’d all be free!

Stupid Men, Vicious Dogs, and Doxxing: A Post in Which I Vent About Some Things

I apologize ahead of time for this mostly self-serving post in which I vent about some things that happened over the course of the past several weeks. There is a property adjacent to mine and across a gulch, which is owned by a man who doesn’t seem to care about anything. He has a habit of putting very bad tenants in there – strange looking people, at least, for these parts. In the past, the house has been the source of a lot of trouble. It has been occupied by a gang of drug dealers (all white guys – ’cause when I say drug gang, people always think “black,”) and meth cookers and the scene of domestic abuse involving, at least, two different sets of tenants. Not to pick on Californians, but the worst of the tenants I’ve dealt with have all turned out to be from somewhere in southern Cal. Maybe the landlord has some kind of connection to the area. I don’t know. But, they never get along well here, either with their neighbors or with law enforcement.

The latest was a male-female couple, the dudebro of which looked like a standard, toothpick-legged, saggy-assed, bleached out blonde lover of water sports, the kind that might be found lounging on a beach in southern Cal. He just looked like he was right out of central casting and very much out of place here amidst the hills and the rocks.

I have few pleasures. I am a middle-aged recluse. I’m a small, bird-boned woman. I don’t like to step outside much, but I do usually only to do the things I must do, such as maintain my property or get groceries. But, a few months ago, over the summer, a new friend came to stay with me. The first hint I had of this new arrival was that the tops of all my parsley had been mowed down. Then, I spotted him one day, near the gulch. At first, I thought he was a big rabbit, but he had tiny little ears – it was no rabbit. Then, I thought he was a beaver, but then he turned and I saw a long fuzzy tail – it was no beaver, either. No, it was a groundhog, a woodchuck, a cousin to the world-renowned oracle Punxsutawney Phil Sowerby, come to stay under a big rock, a boulder, in fact, near the only window on the back side of the house that I leave open and without heavy shades and curtains.

phils-cousinIt’s a private place for me and my Little Otchok (from the Algonquin language, it is “one who watches”). I had probably been incidentally feeding Little Otchok for a while before I noticed him because I always throw out the tops, peels and rinds and sometimes the poor results of my culinary experiments. When I saw that he had taken up residence under the big rock, I began intentionally feeding him all kinds of things. The groundhog is an omnivore and will eat virtually anything, but he does have certain preferences. I enjoyed putting out different types of food and watching to see what he would eat first. Groundhogs have little black paws that look and function very much like human hands and he would stand on top of the rock, eating first a carrot, then a slice of bread, then a nut. If he sensed a presence, he would take his valuable ear of corn or end of a loaf of bread and move it under the rock and I’d see him still working on it from the shadows.

This went on for some time and we lived in peace and happiness. I fed the groundhog daily and he made me laugh with all his antics, his nosing the air, and digging the ground beneath the rock to make his home just so, sunning himself on the rock after devouring half a head of cabbage. He rubbed his face on the big rock and on the objects along the way I have to travel to get to his rock home to deliver his food and change his drinking water. This marking of territory, I took as a sign of friendship. He often looked up at me in the window while he was eating the food I just brought him. I knew he knew we were friends and there was mutual respect. This groundhog is a gift to me from nature, herself. As long as he is on my property, he is safe, well-fed, cared for and loved.

Then one day, they came – the new tenants with the bleached blond hair and their collection of water sport items. We are far from the ocean, but there are many water enthusiasts here because of all the rivers and lakes. Many people come from all around to enjoy our waters. These people definitely looked like clueless suburbanites to me. I got an especially good look at the man when I was feeding Little Otchok and he just decided to let his dog loose from its leash. Dogs hate groundhogs. Immediately, the dog, a black and rectangular-headed mongrel, came running after Little Otchok, he put his head under the rock and barked and growled at him, and the man came over afterward to take the dog back. He said he was sorry. I warned him that the groundhog is a wild animal with sharp claws and big, long teeth and it probably isn’t a good idea to let his dog run loose around the woods because there are all kinds of animals – none of which have had their rabies shots or anything else.

Apparently, this little warning meant nothing. For days and weeks afterward, whenever I went outside to feed Little Otchok, I was worried about that dog running loose. This dog, which the owner had told me was a year-old female, was pretty good size, maybe 40 to 60 pounds, big enough to hurt or kill Little Otchok and he would come and gobble the bread I baked for him with one big greedy bite. So, I began shoving Little Otchok’s bread under the rock and stopped feeding him from on top of it like I had done before. I never knew when the bleached-hippie was going to let his dog loose. Sometimes he did it after I fed Little Otchok and sometimes the dog would be waiting and would not let me near the rock. It barked, growled, and charged at me – at first running toward me, then running off, just to do it, again. If I retreated, it came with me, barking, growling and showing its teeth.

groundhog_in_grass_270x224This was a big problem. I began having a lot of anxiety about stepping outside and I feared for Little Otchok. I live in a poor, rural county. We don’t have animal control. It’s not like in the big city or the burbs where you can call animal control and the people with the vicious dog get a warning. Often in the cities and suburbs, a dog gets a lot of chances to threaten the neighbors. I’ve read of cases of dogs biting neighbors and nobody can do anything but call animal control and if animal control doesn’t take the animal away, then it continues to go on. I figure City Boy thinks he’s still in the ‘burbs. Or maybe because he sees some trees, he thinks it’s okay to let his dog loose, although there are people all down in this valley, doing normal outdoor activities, like working in their gardens or tending their own pets and livestock.

This guy has a girlfriend/wife who works. She literally ran me off the road (these people don’t seem to realize that you can’t drive on a narrow, winding mountain pass with barely room for one car like it’s the L.A. freeway) on her way to wherever she worked. At least, she had a job. He did not seem to have gainful employment. I don’t normally watch the neighbors this closely – only when they make themselves a danger to me. But, I tried to observe a pattern of when it was safe for me to be outside. There was no pattern. At any time, the dog might be out there.

One day when the dog was barking loudly (this is a very, very quiet place normally – so a dog barking like that anywhere around would echo all over the place and get attention from a long ways off) and wouldn’t let me near the rock, I made something of a show for the new neighbor, hoping he would get off his lazy ass and come and get the dog. “Go home,” I repeatedly shouted at it. But, the dog was not just aggressive – it was stubborn and tenacious. Once it was engaged, it kept on. I moved back toward my house and it moved with me. I heard the man shouting ineffectually something, maybe it was, “Stop that, doggie.” It was something meant to give the illusion that he cared that his dog was terrorizing me. Now the thing was in my drive way. I lobbed a big rock at it with every intention of hitting it, but it moved aside and continued barking. I was backing up and it was coming with me. I raised my self-defense item and was about to put an end to this animal’s reign of terror when finally the woman came out and got the thing. The man could not be bothered. Or, I thought, maybe he enjoyed the fact that I was being terrorized by his dog. This is his civilized white man’s way of harassing me by proxy.  The dog seemed to me a weapon of his systematic oppression of me. Only the woman had the sense to open the door, come outside and call the dog off before I blew its brains out, which I was just a few seconds away from doing on that day.

I didn’t want to kill their dog, but it didn’t look like they were going to leave me much choice. They knew the dog was bothering other animals and things on my property. They knew the dog was harassing me by proxy, terrorizing me. They were witnesses to all this. I was losing sleep worrying that it would kill Little Otchok. I was, also, wondering how I was going to paint and do some things outside with this dog around – a dog who might emerge out of nowhere and try to bite me while I’m working and I’m up to my elbows in paint or my hands are stuck in a glove and I cannot easily defend myself.

Knowing what was going to have to happen, but not knowing what circumstances I might be in when it did, I called the local sheriff to make a report. We have good state laws about dogs and even better county ones as it turns out. I had only heard about the new law which had been passed in the county several years ago when we had vicious, biting, attacking dogs – I personally had a Rottweiler and pitbull, one from properties on either side of me that would jump on me in my driveway. I was bitten on the ankle by the pitbull, but it was only a small nip that didn’t break the skin. The same dog attacked and nearly killed another dog down the road a ways and the owner was fined several hundred dollars. The owner of that dog was the one that told me about the law and according to her, she and her pitbull were the real victims. That’s when I started regularly carrying. I never step outside without something handy. And, it was back then that they passed a law that you could shoot a dog on your property.

But, I wasn’t sure. A sheriff’s deputy came out and tried to knock on their door to advise them not to let the dog run loose, but they didn’t answer, even though I know dudebro was home. So, the deputy spoke to me and advised me of my rights. I was pretty sure that I knew my rights in this instance, but it was good to have verification. I, also, wished that the guy would just get the message so I didn’t have to kill the beast. I didn’t know what I would do with the carcass! It was big dog, at least, relative to my own size. I don’t think I could have carried it or dragged it and I would have bashed it in the head, again, with a shovel before I got near it because I was afraid of being bitten by it. I would want to make sure it was good and dead.

All this went through my mind. It was very stressful. Maybe I should mention that I have been seriously mauled by a dog before as an infant. I was about three-years old when I was attacked by a small dog – a poodle of all things. As it turns out these dogs are among the chief attackers of babies. So, I am not a lover of dogs. In fact, I genuinely hate them. It is difficult to live in this country, especially in towns and suburbs where dogs are elevated to a god-like status, and have this kind of fear of dogs. I, also, will not stay somewhere that dogs have been – and I know where they have been because they leave behind a terrible stink. I swear I can smell dogs when they are in heat anywhere around my house. They reek like male goats – it’s a very similar smell to an old billy goat, but it smells more like wet dog than horny goat. I have other reasons for not liking them, which is simply their dog behaviors, such as trying to kill other animals on my property.

So, I was about to remedy the problem, in fact, on another occasion. I had fed Little Otchok and gone back inside the house to observe him when suddenly the dog appeared, had his nose under the rock and was going after my friend. Its’ a terrible thing to see one of these dogs attack a little groundhog – terrible, terrible! I’ve seen them go after cats the same way. Two of them will literally tear a cat in two and one alone will bite and shake the little defenseless thing until it’s dead. They do the same thing to tiny humans. I immediately went back outside and down by the rock where I confronted the dog, which was now standing in front of another big boulder and a structure I use for storage on my property. This wasn’t a good place to shoot it, but I was face to face with this snarling beast just a few feet away. I had picked up a rock – I had a collection of them handy for driving this dog and the others who had suddenly started coming around away from Little Otchok’s home. I had the remedy in one hand and the rock in the other and I was about to move the dog by tossing the rock, just to get it at a different angle so I could end this thing, once and for all, when the owner of the dog appeared – the lazy bastard who couldn’t be bothered to do anything about the dog when it was all just fun and games of his dog chasing a woman around her property – but, the fun was over now. He came out and got the dog – which, to his credit took more balls than I would ever have guessed he had. “I’m not going to be bitten by your dog,” I told him. He had no control over the thing, though, and it got away from him and started running back toward me. He called it off, grabbed it by its collar and said to me, “Sorry!” I told him sorry wasn’t enough and he’d better keep the dog away from here.

I heard the dog bark once after that, then I think they must have sent it somewhere. For a week or so, I worried it would come back. A couple of days after this event, I was digging out the gulch between our properties and I saw the guy. He shot me a look of absolute fright – I’d swear that every one of his split-ends were standing straight up in the air for just a second. I had my hands full with the shovel, but I gave him that friendly country nod, where the tip of your cap bobs up and down once. But, he just looked at me horrified. A few days later a trailer that looked like it belonged to Clark Griswold’s cousin Eddie showed up. I think they moved into it! They moved their things out shortly afterward.

So, I have concluded that guns are not just peacemakers – because it’s been very peaceful here, once again, since they left and now Little Otchok has eaten the last of this season’s corn, cabbage and nuts and is sleeping safely under his rock – but, they are communication devices.

It is impossible for women to communicate with men without them in many cases. Furthermore, once communication has taken place, the message is very well received and appropriate action is taken by the men, where no action or adverse actions (threats of rape, for instance) had been taking place previously.

I could not communicate with the guy by simply warning him that the forest is a dangerous place for domesticated dogs. The sheriff’s deputy could not communicate with him, either. But, the mere sight of his dog about to become landfill, which he must have been able to miraculously see out of his window for the first time, for some reason, made communication possible where it had failed every time before. In that instant, he seemed to understand for the first time that it is not acceptable to harass and terrorize women by means of a weaponized canine, which is what this dog was. It was an instrument of harassment and terror for me and for all the animals, the groundhog, the birds, the squirrels, the turtles, and all the other little critters who live on my property and under my protection.

This whole ridiculous scenario ended a few weeks ago, but I thought about it, again, when I read this article here:

The good Christian man in the story was out on a customary Saturday walk with his granddaughter and their “therapy” dog, which they, also, refer to as a service dog. The story tells us that the granddaughter is a cancer patient and this is her dog. I would call it a pet. They call it a “therapy” dog. Okay. So, why are they letting it just run wild and cross property lines, which apparently it did.  A man they called a bow hunter said it agressed on him (dogs do this to strangers sometimes, even when they don’t do it to people they know) and he shot it. This happened in Wagoner County, Oklahoma. The man said he feared being bitten and so he shot it, which he would have the right to do in my county (and many others) even if not on his own property and as long as the victim is not trespassing. Since there are no other witnesses, apparently, we have to take the hunter’s word that the dog was acting aggressively. We know from the Christian grandfather’s story that they did, in fact, allow the dog to run loose and apparently out of sight, so they don’t know what the dog did, nor do they know what their dog does at any time when they are not there to control the animal. This good Christian didn’t want to call the cops – probably because he knows he doesn’t have a case, at all! – so instead he went to the media and now the hunter, although unnamed, is being threatened with doxxing by the loving liberals over at Rawstory. These are loving liberals who have been busy all over the place doxxing white women who don’t like being treated abusively by clerks and commenting on all the “racist” white “whores” who may or may not have voted for Trump and how all of us deserve whatever happens to us as a result of this sex predator being in office.

I’m trying to imagine what would have happened if surfer boy’s girlfriend had a camera while I was trying to defend myself and my Little Otchok against their vicious dog because it seems to me that these people really hate white women and really love dogs!

Similar things to the above news story have happened in my county when clueless folks see a tree and say, “Look Margaret, a tree – quick turn the dog loose and let it run around!” This is what I imagine must go through these people’s minds who come to a rural area and then let their valuable pet or well-trained service dog (har! har!) run around loose in the county – where people keep chickens and such! It is not unusual to hear a shotgun blast somewhere down the way as I did when all this nonsense was going on and dogs were running all over the damn place a few weeks ago. (I think they were in heat because, as I said, I can smell them very strongly at such times and this smell accumulates in certain areas on my property like a gas.) I haven’t seen the huge, black beast that I think was the target since then. I can only guess it had been threatening the neighbor’s chickens. If you like your dog, if you have any respect for other people, other animals, other people’s property, then don’t let your dog loose in the country. Certainly, don’t let it out of your sight because you have absolutely no way of knowing what your beloved pet does when you are not around to control it. There is always a first time when a dog bites someone that has never bitten anyone before. For instance, this little 4-year old girl lost her life when a pet dog that had supposedly “never harmed a child before” attacked her only five minutes after its previous owner dropped it off to be the new family pet. “There was no warning,” the article says.

That’s exactly what good Christian Grandpa did, let the dog off its leash and out of his sight, and now he’s blaming the person who had to defend himself from it – not a pleasant thing in any way and I know because I have just gone through something similar, it’s not fun to fear or to worry about the consequences of having to defend yourself – while painting himself as the poor victim who doesn’t want to report the man. (As I said, the man probably did not break any laws. He has a right to defend himself from a dog that’s behaving aggressively.) He’s going to “turn the other cheek” by informing the media and subjecting the would-be dog bite-victim to the new McCarthyism of liberal, anti-gun, anti-human rights mobs on the internet who will hunt down the person who doesn’t like being threatened with dog bite and dox him. They’ll go after him, his wife if he’s got one, his job, whatever he’s got. How Christian of grandpa!

Edited to add this note: There is a very different version of this story here,, in which the grandpa and granddaughter were not outside taking a customary Saturday walk, rather the girl was inside the house getting ready to go to school (on a Saturday? No, a Tuesday, according to this version of the story), grandpa was sitting on the front porch all at around 7:30 a.m., and the dog was in the woods  behind their house alone – barking. There’s something not at all right about grandpa’s story. Why would a valuable “therapy dog” be allowed out into the woods alone?

Because similar things go on around here, I thought I’d look up some things about the county where this occurred. It is frequently the case that dogs, either singly or in a pack, will attack women, children, and the elderly. Dogs pick on smaller humans most of the time or someone who is in a wheel chair and trying to roll out to get their mail out of a rural mailbox. Often the targets are women and I really believe dogs are called “man’s best friend” and not “woman’s best friend” for a reason.

According to this article,, a woman in this same exact county, Wagoner County, was attacked and killed by dogs just last year. She was 67-years old and the dogs were in a pack, they attacked, ripping off her clothes and eventually rendering her unidentifiable due to their extensive mauling. The article seems to suggest that they were domesticated dogs and not some sort of wild dogs (such as wolves or coyotes). According to this article,, they were three pitbulls and a Rotweiler. The sheriff says they are looking for the dogs’ owners to file charges, if possible.

What if the woman had shot the dogs? What if the owners then claimed they were the victims? Then, they don’t report the “crime” (because self-defense is not a crime in the county), but they go to the media and whine until a mob of dog-loving, white woman-hating liberals then dox the woman. That’s basically, the story about the Christian Grandpa, but with a different ending to the possible dog bite/attack because the person confronted by the dog killed it before it could bite.

The previous article, also, says that loose dogs are a long-standing problem in the county. Their county, like mine, doesn’t have an agency to deal with the problem. Frankly, even if they did have such an agency, it usually is not dealt with. It’s better to skip the animal control agency and simply remedy the problem. Dogs are not gods.

Truly, here is some irony – or maybe stupidity, I don’t know. But, according to the article, the woman had offered to feed the same vicious animals who ended up killing her. As I said, I am not a fan of dogs anymore than I am a fan of men for the same reason: I know their nature. It reminds me of how women so often help or try to help dangerous men who end up killing them. Clearly, this something we should all stop doing for our own sakes!

Since I had problems with the neighbor’s dog and I had the sense of the dog being “weaponized” against me, I looked that up, as well. It is not uncommon for people to use or even to train dogs, especially particular box-headed breeds, to function as weapons. In my case, I really felt harassed, especially since I knew that the guy knew the dog was menacing me and my property, including Little Otchok (and I should point out that while he is a wild animal and my friend, in these parts, he is, also, regarded as food along with the squirrels. So, in a way he’s like livestock, too, and has similar status here like anything else edible that might grow wild on a person’s own property. As I said, this is a poor, rural county. Food has priority over mongrels running wild here!) The problem of weaponized dogs has been especially prevalent in places where firearms are prohibited. For instance, there is this interesting BBC article,, about gangs training dogs to be used as weapons in the commission of rape and robbery in England! Here in the U.S., in cities and states where guns are prohibited (despite the Constitution) and in places where there are a lot of restrictions on gun-ownership (dittos), there are more often cases of neighbors using dogs to harass, intimidate and even kill their (almost always female) neighbors. This is what I think surfer boy was doing – I think he was enjoying his harassment of me by proxy. He wasn’t directly harassing me and I’ve been very harassed before by previous male tenants in that house – one tried to burglarize me (actually got inside and I had to run him off! – he never came back after that and I never had anymore trouble with him directly because I effectively communicated) and is up now for burglarizing another home while the couple (a man and a woman) were home and he was bearing a weapon; and in another long series of events I’ve been threatened with rape and death by men in that house. Surfer boy threatened me, too, but he used the dog to do his dirty work. Then people will defend this and say, “It’s not really the dog’s fault.” “It’s just a dog doing what dogs do!” “How can you blame a dumb animal?!”

To wrap it up, I don’t think too much of Christian Grandpa and his legions of doxxing liberals who are just like him. It’s too bad the sick little girl’s dog is dead, but it’s grandpa’s fault for letting this supposedly valuable dog run loose and out of his sight in a poor, rural county with a long-running history of dog attacks, including, at least, one recent fatality. It is quite probable that the dog tried to bite the guy or acted aggressively toward him, but there’s no way to know for sure. Furthermore, under the law, it probably doesn’t matter. This good Christian grandpa is probably going to end up making the guy with the bow’s life a living hell with the help of liberals who have nothing else to do but dox people and, if this guy has a white wife or daughter, that’s who they’ll go after first. People – including white women – have the right to defend themselves by whatever means, which is another reason the Democrats lost the presidential election. Oh, and if we white whores don’t vote for their candidates, we get what we deserve, according to the loving liberals. Such nice people they are calling us all racist whores, bimbos, bitches and cunts! Gee, I just can’t imagine why they can’t get more white women to support them.


This article discusses what happens to victims, the trauma dog bite/attack victims experience, and the difficulty of getting legal action or compensation. It discusses the uselessness of agencies like animal control: It’s interesting that much like victims of rape, dog bite victims – even those of us who were babes in arms at the time – are blamed for the attack. The dog owner cries and the victim has to live with the scars, the fear – and the dog! I was attacked by my grandmother’s dog, which should have immediately been put down. For years, she would pretend not to understand why I didn’t like her dog and every other stupid dog she ever had. She was a dog lover who loved dogs more than humans, especially me.

This site discusses how people use dogs to legally harass and terrorize others: