My assignment was designated as“Fort Gordon Game Warden / Dog Catcher”. Viscous wild dog populations were dangerously out of control there in 1967. Often they would attack a lone trooper. As a result, I ran a trap line consisting of 100 traps. My most productive bait was bobcat urine sprinkled over the jaws of a buried #2 steel trap. Also of note, before conclusions are drawn, and In my own defense, Fort Gordon had a strictly enforced, “zero tolerance leash law,” in place at the time.
On new years day, 1968, I was awakened early as my portable radio brought me to my senses, “HEADQUARTERS TO UNIT 18 ALPHA”! I responded, “this is unit 18 alpha”. “WHAT IS YOUR 20 “? My answer was , “Range Road, just passing Gibson road”. “WE HAVE A REPORT OF A WILD DOG RUNNING LOOSE IN THE FAMILY HOUSING AREA”. I answered as my eyelids slid shut, “10/4 unit 18 alpha in route, over and out”!
My younger brother, John, happened to be visiting with me during his school Christmas break. I had somehow bargained for a set of bunk beds, they were set up in the storage room adjoining my office. John rolled over and asked, “do we need to get up”, I answered, “no, that dog will be long gone before we can travel that far”. My eyeballs again sank below my eyelids for another another twenty minutes or so.
Then,once more, the radio crackled,“HEADQUARTERS TO UNIT 18 ALPHA, WHAT IS YOUR 20”, “Range road, just passing Vietnam Village road”, was my response. “WE HAVE ANOTHER REPORT OF A WILD DOG RUNNING LOOSE IN FAMILY HOUSING AND CHILDREN ARE IN THE IMMEDIATE AREA”. “10/4 Unit 18 Alpha in route, over and out”.
“Well John, we might as well get underway, that dammed dog is going to hang around awhile. Grabbing the dart gun, I loaded it up with a nicotine dose sufficient to quickly dispatch a 360 pound animal. We jumped in the Ford Bronco, blue lights spinning, we settled in for the twenty minute ride to the family housing area situated on the main post. On the way, we passed the swamp where only a few hours earlier we had worked the entire night trying to free my jeep and four tactical wreckers that were marred to the windshield in quicksand. A CH-47 Chinook helicopter was now cabled to and laboring to suck the vehicles from their watery graveyard, That is a whole other story to be told another day.
Resting against the opened door post with the seventy pound dog in my sights well within range, I took aim, as the dog stood up and advanced toward me, tail wagging. I stood down when I saw its collar. “John, that is no wild dog, I’ll just pick him up and drop him off at the Veterinary’s Office”. Someone will claim him. With that said, I reached for the dog’s collar. The dog sprang into action, barred his teeth and made a lung for my hand. Subconscious reaction jerked back my extended hand and one swift motion swung the other hand around, simultaneously pulling the trigger.
The howling animal ran out of sight under the living quarters. A very angry Sargent appeared and approached my brother, shouting, “did you shoot my dog”? John answered, “no”, “I think that guy over there did it ”! The Sargent then turned on me, “did you shoot my dog”? I said, “yes”, “but with a dart”. “The animal will go to sleep in a few minutes and I’ll go under and get him”. Understandably, at that close range, the entire dart penetrated the dog’s neck exiting behind its ear. John was wearing civilian clothes. I was in full uniform, wearing a badge and carrying a holstered 45 on my hip. Despite my position of authority the Sargent shouted, “I’m going to catch you out somewhere without that 45 and I am going to make you pay”. I called for backup and the Sargent was promptly arrested and held for a three day cooling off period.
All the while during the encounter, there was a woman hurling cans of dog food at me from the second floor balcony. As I dodged the flying cans she would yell, You shot my dog, now you eat his food”!
A dart, using the nicotine dose properly sized according to the animal’s weight, usually resulted in a chase for an injured animal that got away carrying a poison dart with it, or if captured, had to be put down. For that reason, I never saw a dog that weighed in at less than 360 pounds. Had you ever witnessed a mess hall torn apart by a pack of wild dogs, you would better understand my policy.
James M. Cripps
US Army 1967-1970
Game Warden
VA THE REDNECK WAY, YOU DON'T HAVE TO GO IT ALONE! 