Click images for desktop size: "Loup" Another dog is living with us.
Its a rescue dog and only here until they find it a new home. Means can't get too attached.
This little guys has had a life already - dog pound for two months then two weeks with someone who was going to cherish him forever.
Two weeks ain't a whole lot of cherishing.
Back in the '30's there was a criminal named “Farmer John” Mecurio. I only remember him now because he was the real one, the real guy who started a whole cliche.
Farmer John took down banks and payrolls, most of the time single handed. Now a days its hard to imagine what that meant.
His work was going into heavily guarded places and facing up to a half dozen or so armed men and walking out with the money and his skin. That he was big and tough enough to do this over and over again says something. He was 6'5“ and 265 according the the San Quentin records. You wouldn't forget that even today, back then when the average height was 5'7” he must have seemed a giant.
When they busted him they charged him with 52 banks jobs, 34 payroll jobs and sundry other crimes.
They liked to pile it on back then.
They called the guy Farmer. It was a popular nickname back then, for reasons I can't begin to understand. Farmer John was a dandy, dressed in the finest silks and shoes - man his size had to have all his clothes custom made or else wear overalls. He had one major weakness. It lead to his capture.
He'd robbed a payroll in Long Beach. To escape with the money he had to ram the shipping yard guard house barricade. He got through it but his car was riddled with sub machine gun fire. Even though John had some home rigged armour on the car a bullet got in and nicked his dog, a large German Shepherd.
With the traditional “Calling all cars” APB on the air they surrounded Farmer John's vehicle at an animal hospital about 3 blocks from the robbery.
Farmer John was there getting his German Shepherd treated. To the cops surprise he surrendered peacefully saying only, “Don't hurt my dog.”
One cop made a playful menacing gesture towards the dog and found out John was sincere. The handcuffed criminal jerked the cop off his feet and broke two of the cops ribs and his jaw before the other cops could pull him him free.

Click images for desktop size: "In Saturn's Shadow" by NASA The vet, a Dr Cary Leeson, told the papers that John had pulled in and said his dog had been shot in a hunting accident. The only thing that caused the vet any concern's was that John was not dressed for hunting. John was deeply and seriously worried for the dog's well being.
When the cops called for him to surrender John pulled out a big revolver and said, “I should take you hostage Doc. That wouldn't be right. My boy going to be okay?”
When the dog was treated and well was when John surrendered.
The newspaper boys played the story up big. Since then there have been hundreds of stories and movies about the hardened sociopathic hoodlum who still had a spark of love and decency in him, at least enough love to care for a dog.
Even Raymond Chandler wrote a short story about him, but in Chandler's story the crook gets gunned down but the dog survived.
I liked that.
It seems John had always had dogs. He had his big Shepherd with him because it was his plan to head straight to Mexico for a little R&R. He didn't take a floosie. He took his puppy.
I liked that too.
That a man big enough, tough enough to take the world and shake it by the scruff of its neck, a man who inspired a myth, even if he was not mythological, that he existed is enough for me.
I couldn't hang out with the guy. What would we do? Play fetch with our dogs and smile. And if complained that I was having a hard time coming up with the rent he'd offer to take me along on a $50,000 bank job at the 3rd National? something easy to break me in . . .

So I'm glad I'm a foster parent to a dog.

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