The Sheepdogs

Russ Vaughn, the author of the poem "WaPo Weasles" has written an essay that elaborates on his thoughts behind his poem. In the essay, he makes mention of a poem he wrote a few years back - again, it is incredible. Take a look...then go read the essay.

Mr. Vaughn's statement, below, sums up my thoughts in a more articulate manner than I ever could have.

What the liberals fail to understand is that the Chiefs, the milbloggers and old soldiers like me all detect a fetid, lupine odor emanating from the shabby wool coat of the Washington Post. If there isn’t a wolf under that smelly rag, there damned sure is a critter sympathetic to ‘em and this time he seemed to be reveling in the wounding of our pups. To milbloggers and their readers, the Chiefs’ letter is recognized, just as it correctly is by the liberals, as a warning growl from the biggest dogs. But it is the difference in perceptions that evidences the validity of Grossman’s sheepdog thesis: while the liberals are baa, baaing in fear of losing their rights, the milbloggers welcome those growls, recognizing that the big dogs are showing their distinct displeasure with a tasteless representation of their wounded, a despicable depiction that has no other purpose than political gain for the liberal side. A further difference between sheepdogs and the flock they guard is the dogs know that even though they may occasionally growl at a suspect member of the flock, warning them back into communal safety, the dogs will never falter in their mission to defend the flock. The liberals in the flock are always fearful that the dogs will turn on them.

(h/t FbL)

The Sheepdogs
Russ Vaughn

Most humans truly are like sheep
Wanting nothing more than peace to keep

To graze, grow fat and raise their young,
Sweet taste of clover on the tongue.

Their lives serene upon Life's farm,
They sense no threat nor fear no harm.

On verdant meadows, they forage free
With naught to fear, with naught to flee.

They pay their sheepdogs little heed
For there is no threat; there is no need.

To the flock, sheepdog's are mysteries,
Roaming watchful round the peripheries.

These fang-toothed creatures bark, they roar
With the fetid reek of the carnivore,

Too like the wolf of legends told,
To be amongst our docile fold.

Who needs sheepdogs? What good are they?"
They have no use, not in this day.

Lock them away, out of our sight
We have no need of their fierce might.

But sudden in their midst a beast
Has come to kill, has come to feast

The wolves attack; they give no warning
Upon that calm September morning

They slash and kill with frenzied glee
Their passive helpless enemy

Who had no clue the wolves were there
Far roaming from their Eastern lair.

Then from the carnage, from the rout,
Comes the cry, "Turn the sheepdogs out!"

Thus is our nature but too our plight
To keep our dogs on leashes tight

And live a life of illusive bliss
Hearing not the beast, his growl, his hiss.

Until he has us by the throat,
We pay no heed; we take no note.

Not until he strikes us at our core
Will we unleash the Dogs of War

Only having felt the wolf pack's wrath
Do we loose the sheepdogs on its path.

And the wolves will learn what we've shown before;
We love our sheep, we Dogs of War.
Russ Vaughn
2d Bn, 327th Parachute Infantry Regiment
101st Airborne Division
Vietnam 65-66


- hfs

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