Admiral's Log 3...
by Cowboy
~~~~~~~

A lot of ladies in my youth seemed to like the idea of going out with a guy in a uniform, any uniform. At the time I met Sar, I was in a position in the Navy that warranted my attention at particular offices within an hour's notice so I pretty much stayed in uniform unless I was sleeping. I was under the impression and obviously erroneously, that Sar was also impressed by my uniform. She disabused me of that notion real quick. The AURA of my authority didn't faze her in the least - still doesn't.

We were in summer whites at the time and I soon learned to carry a spare uniform in the car because Sar's chocolate or ice cream or anything else she was eating often found its way to my uniform blouse. Might have partly been my own fault - had a hard time keeping her at arm's length and loved tossing her up into the air when she wasn't expecting it - always got to hug her and kiss her when I caught her - definitely worth a stain or two. She couldn't read rank of course and one set of shoulder boards was pretty much the same as any other to her and the order of rank held no meaning for her. I had worked hard to achieve a degree of rank and was a full Commander at the time. I got put in my place when she introduced me as "major" to someone. The rank of major does not exist in the Navy. So much for my seniority and status as a naval officer. If you know a pompous stuffed shirt that needs taking down a peg or two...

Gonna impart a Sar/David incident. These two are more alike than different and although they try each other's patience, there's a love between them that is indisputable. What is always disputable is: which version of what happened actually happened.

A little background: We foster rescue dogs. Sar gets them back in shape physically, feeding them ACTUAL dog food supplemented with vitamins and her sure cure for anything that ails them - mainly, her homemade beef stew, stuffed shells, macaroni and cheese, and peanut butter cookies. All the dogs we've had thrived under her care. They seem to gravitate toward her and pretty much do as she says. Her personal dogs are a Rottweiler and a BullMastiff and their mission in life is to take care of her which they do remarkably well. She's trained them to vocal commands and hand signals and has trained/retrained and rehabilitated quite a few dogs - all large breeds. Hell yes! I'm damn proud of her.

So - over the holidays last year we acquired a pair of bloodhound pups - about 6 months old - cute but totally undisciplined. Add to that, the state shut down a kennel that was filthy and we also acquired a Saint Bernard, Newfoundland and English Mastiff. The 3 larger dogs had been grossly neglected and about half the weight they should have been. Sar renamed them and after a few weeks in her care, they were looking a lot healthier and were "converted" and ready for training.

She wanted to learn more about search and rescue because that's what the bloodhounds were going to be doing when they were older and here's what happened: David recommended that Sar learn from one of the new K-9 military trainers that had recently been transferred to our area. She agreed and the Marine Major showed up a few days later accompanied by David while I was at the base.

~~~~~~~~~

David's comments: He's a typical marine. Over 6 feet, over 200 lbs. muscles, cocky, sure of himself and "attitude" walking. He was wearing camo and tall boots and Sar was not impressed. He took one look at her - the birbantella was in her own uniform: jeans, sweater, sneakers, smile on her face. Her hair was in a ponytail and she looked like you could blow her over with a sneeze. Her Rott stood on her left and the BullMastiff on her right. The outdoor Rotts were behind her. The other dogs were wandering the enclosed training circle. I could see he took note of her size and as men often do when they meet Sar, underestimated her.

I've known the imp since she married Cowboy and moved out of her line of fire and watched and listened and tried not to laugh out loud.

Well, little lady, he says to her. I see you've got a lot of big bad dogs so why don't you just go in to the house and make us all a fresh pot of coffee and I'll start whipping them into shape for you. (or something to that effect.) Don't know about you but as far as I can tell the earth stopped rotating on its axis. No one warned me the Major had a death wish.

First rule of combat: Know your enemy.

I expected Sar to take his head off. I have seen her reduce bigger men than that guy to a puddle of begging forgiveness by softly casting aspersions about their intelligence quotient and their lack of breeding.

Sar smiled at the jerk and nodded. She'd go back into the kitchen and make a fresh pot of coffee. She wanted to know if she should be barefoot and pregnant when he came in - the poor sap didn't understand the reference. Her 2 dogs followed her.

2nd rule of combat: Never underestimate your enemy.

The Major decided to work with the 2 outside Rotts to see what they knew and called one to his side. The dog ignored him. He put a leash on the animal and ordered the dog to SIT. The dog lay down. He pulled the dog up into position and repeated the command. The dog mouthed the leash and took off across the yard. He had a similar disappointing episode with the other Rott. He turns to me and remarks that he has a lot of work to do.

Sar called out the door that the coffee was ready. When we came into the kitchen, she poured a big mug of steaming french roast for the unsuspecting fool and offered him a plate of warm brownies that smelled good. He accepted them and ate 3.

3rd rule of combat: Never take food from the enemy.

When we went back outdoors he explained to her that he'd write out a plan of training for her to follow. She laughed. While he watched, she called ALL her dogs - even the new ones - with a particular whistle and without saying another word, used hand gestures to put them through their paces. The Major had the grace to apologize. Sar's dogs know better than to take orders from anyone but her.

BTW, his apology was short as he had to make a run to the nearest head. I warned Cowboy that Sar was slowly poisoning an entire branch of the military.

~~~~~~~~~

Since David wrote part of this, I'm not off the hook for losing that bet so will write another log. David has agreed to help me - only took the two of us about a week to write this one!

Cowboy

~ End Part Three ~

| Go to Part Four |

Or, return to Stories by Cowboy

Or, Return to Spanking Fiction - Main Menu.