Our castrated future on a short leash

The sad directions of our civilization

People asked me about my profile picture. Why am I hiding behind it and why this one.
People who know me and how much I like dogs, are asking me why I don’t get another one. You, reading this, may be asking: what can this possibly have to do with politics?

The answer to the first question is simple: because this picture is prettier than any picture of me can ever be. The answer to the last question is: everything, but I have to start with the story of me and dogs before I can elaborate.

I always liked dogs and dogs always liked me. I only had a close relationship with four. Monte, pictured above was the last one. After he died, we made a resolute decision never to replace him. The other three were a German shepherd, a Boxer, and a Newfie. The one that matters to my point was Goli, the German Shepherd. He was the dog of a close friend who got the dog when he was 15 years old. He trained him to the point that the dog even got an official ‘trained police dog’ license. The friend left home when he was 19 leaving the dog to his parents who seriously neglected him to the point that the dog became unmanageable. He never left the appartement any longer than it was necessary for him to do his business. A few years later, when I was in an urgent need of a place to live, they offered me a room for a very reasonable price as long as I took care of Goli.
I can never let him off the leash I was told, because he will just run away, and we may not find him for days. I, of course, did not listen and he, of course, ran away. Eventually I always caught up with him or found him and punished him. He new the commands, he just didn’t obey. It took about a week, a few serious leash-beating into submission and a lot of focused attention and exercise for him to accept the new hierarchy. Once he accepted me as the top dog/master he had to obey, I was able to give him more freedom than he ever had before. His job was to follow a few simple rules and mine was to protect him and his freedom within the framework of those rules. I hope you can already see where I am going with this…..

Fast forward to 1993, when I was approached by a friend asking me whether I would be interested in getting a Rottweiler puppy. He knew some gypsies who were selling them. They clearly stole them and they clearly did so at a far too early age.

It is well known that dogs that are weaned too early have problems socializing with other dogs, while if they are weaned too late, they have difficulties to properly bond with humans. Eventually I said yes as I wanted something shared with the woman I was very seriously after at the time. It worked, we are still married, and she loved that dog even more than I did. When I offered him to her, she took a ‘dog expert’ friend of hers to help her decide. What made her decide yes, was her friend dismissively calling him a mutt.

Monte’s mother was obviously a Rottweiler, the father most likely a German Shepperd. He was named after Monte Walsh, because a friend was reading the novel when we were looking for a name.

We almost broke up while giving him a basic training. I had a hard time to impress on her the importance of strict rules. To heal means that his shoulder had to be right at my knees all the time. Two feet ahead is not heeling and eventually lead to being dragged around by your dog on a leash. For dogs, fuzzy rules mean no rules which will, eventually, make them unmanageable.
We never fed him from the table, but the last bite of anything we had was his. We never allowed him into our bed, but he was allowed to put his head on it. (We had a futon.)

We decided not to get him fixed. We wanted him with his personality intact. With his ‘dogness’ intact. We wanted a dog, not a toy. When R. Took him to the wet, he suggested to fix him. She asked why? He answered “because it will make him calmer, happier, easier to handle.” She ended the conversation with a simple question: “if it is so wonderful, why don’t YOU get fixed?” The vet was a Russian immigrant; he got the point.

A little side-story:

Eventually, Monte got fixed. Around the age of 9, he developed arthritis.
We took him to the Ontario Veterinary College in Guelph. We hoped for some advice at a reasonable price from a teaching hospital. They quoted us $700.- and billed for $1,700.-
After the original assessment of arthritis (which was obvious) with no cure, only maintenance medication, they (yes, two vets) were explaining to us why it would be essential to neuter him. If not, he could get cancer, dementia and his arthritis would get worse. Reluctantly, we agreed. As I was walking up and down in the hospital corridor, I accidentally saw through an open door our dog on the table surrounded by half a dozen people. Clearly, it was a demonstration on how to perform neutering. I realized that we were played.
I found out only a year after he died that they didn’t only play us, but they shamelessly lied too. Every single reason they gave us was a counterindication for the procedure. There is absolutely no good medical reason to castrate an older dog. Just talking about it still makes me very, very angry.
Before the procedure, we never had to measure his food, because he never ate more than what he needed. With his hormones out of balance we had to start rationing his food and he still got overweight, which clearly did not help his arthritis. Eventually he had a massive stroke (side-effect of the arthritis medication).

Monte was an alpha dog. Not mean, but very territorial and protective. I could hug someone he didn’t know, but not my wife, whom he was very protective of. He got into fights, but not to hurt, just to get submission. We wrestled a lot, he and I, and he loved it. He had a structured existence in a pack, as a dog should have.

I could go on talking about our dog and our adventures with him, share hundreds of pictures and stories, but I need to move on to my points. Here are just three more pictures:

What prompted this post was a comment in an interview with Helen Andrews about “The Great Feminization” making the point that the most feminized profession in America today is veterinary medicine. Although the numbers may be debatable, and can be qualified, what is not, is that the profession went through the most radical change since the 1960s, when the profession was 98% male while today it is 80% female.

When we decided not to have another dog, we had only two considerations: We wanted a little more freedom to travel; but the decisive point was our deep dislike of the cultural attitudes that come with pet ownership.
At some point I left taking our dog to the vet to my wife. When I was asked at a visit whether I am his ‘daddy’ I had a hard time NOT to ask: “Do I really look like a dog-f*cker to you? HE IS MY DOG!!! I am his master, owner, and pack leader.”
NOT his ‘daddy’.

We live in a world where all pets are supposed to be fixed and controlled.
Dogs are not supposed to bark, to jump, never to growl, or – God forbid – fight to establish hierarchy.
Pets are supposed to be toys and accessories. Very often child replacements.
This is very sad in itself, but our real problem was the fact that this attitude was already prevalent at the time and did get us into some conflicts.
We decided not to have a dog to avoid potential collisions with idiots.
We decided NOT to have a dog in a feminized world.
We decided not to expose ourselves to the constant reminders of how mal-treated animals are. I consider keeping them constantly on a leash cruelty.

Any time I meet a dog (with some rare exceptions) I have conflicting emotions. I sympathize with the dogs and resent the way they are handled. But even my sympathy has limits. Castrated dogs are not really dogs any more.
I mentioned that our dog was a fighter. One of the many problems with fixed dogs is that they do not understand social ranking. Not only do they not know how to fight, they don’t know how to submit. The balls of males of any species are an essential part of their identity.

Then the metaphor dawned on me: this is the direction of our whole civilization: castrated compliance; compelled niceness, no competition, no structure, no hierarchy, just stuck in the mud sheepishness.

Thanks to our feminized societies that is the world dogs are living in.
Thanks to our feminized societies, this is the world that we are living in.

AI is driving us toward consensus-based mediocrity.
Cancel culture and censorship is the leash on allowable opinion.
We are still permitted to have balls, but to survive in our woke societies, we are expected to behave as if we didn’t have any.

We are living in a grand experiment, defying the laws of nature. Much like the communists did, without much success.
The “you will own nothing and you will be happy” future envisioned Klaus Schwab is stillborn attempt aiming toward the same goal.
Socialism is a castrated economy on an ideological leash.

“Everything you think of as wokeness involves prioritizing the feminine over the masculine: empathy over rationality, safety over risk, cohesion over competition.”

Gender roles evolved for a reason, to help the survival chances of the species.
We cannot disregard them without endangering our very existence.
Feminized and castrated societies have no future.
The one thing I’m pretty sure about is that they will not go out with a bang.

I don’t know whether we can be saved, whether there is a way to right the sinking ship. In theory, it should be easy, in practice, there is far too much bitch-power out there to make any meaningful change possible.
I don’t know whether the gender strategies can find a harmonious coexistence. Do you? What will happen if they don’t?

Watch the video and read the article before answering the question.

The article:
The Great Feminization | Compact

But wait! There is more:

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