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Lone Dog Barking

Lone Dog Barking

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Lone Dog Barking

149 pagine
1 ora
Feb 6, 2012


Have you ever felt like a “lone dog barking,” unheeded in your persistent concern, despised for making such yapping noises about it, perhaps felt foolish for fussing for “no damn reason?”
Based on a true story, real people and actual events, Lone Dog Barking confirms such feelings for us, and with shocking vindication too.
Lone Dog Barking is set in tiny, isolated Tonopah, Nevada near the U.S. nuclear weapons test site during the Korean Conflict and the buildup of the Cold War with the Soviet Union.
The protagonist, a misnamed, displaced Cherokee tribe-of-one, and murderer put on trial, sparks his part in the quenching of nuclear smoke signals from superpowers around the globe.
This unique facet of American history has not been told until now.

What was it like growing up under the hundreds of mushroom clouds at the dawning of the nuclear age?
A pack of five young boys bear witness to these events.
In one decade alone leading up to the Cuban Missile Crisis with Russia, 339 nuclear weapons detonate above ground at the Nevada test site. That’s one every 10.7 days, on average! These are given the banal term “events” as if they are mere tic marks on a calendar, but in reality they are the thundering heartbeat of a nuclear superpower as Mutually Assured Destruction looms ever larger and closer to reality.

The Atomic Energy Commission (AEC) swears that in their vision of the future we’ll never again need electrical power meters. General Curtis LeMay has a powerful vision of having his own personal Air Force, SAC, the Strategic Air Command, with which to “Nuke all them Russkies.”

This unique era finds Senator Kefauver banning and burning kids’ comic books and Senator Joe McCarthy looking for communists under everyone’s bed, while Joe Conforte, Il Senatore, of the fabled Mustang Ranch, scrambles to stuff as many whores as possible into beds near the nuclear weapons test site.

These were, indeed, strange days.
Culture too explodes all around our real life characters: America falls in love with the Corvette; Les Paul and Mary Ford sing Chanson d’Amor into the Top 40; and Brigitte Bardot fills out that "Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polkadot Bikini.” Playboy Magazine takes birth to show us nearly naked girls, never mind the literary pretension. Thankfully, Mad Magazine pops up like a jack-in-the-box to poke fun at everyone’s grim and dreary seriousness. That swivel-hipped white boy, Elvis, steals rock & roll, but Fats Domino, Little Richard and The Coasters wail onward, unstoppable.

Feb 6, 2012

Informazioni sull'autore

Raf grew up in Tonopah, Nevada and knew first hand all the characters mentioned in his book, Lone Dog Barking. Being a young single parent at age 20, formal education took a back seat to full-time work and parenting. He was fortunate to attract a handful of wonderful mentors in the scientific community. Although he remains a college dropout, he holds 14 patents in the field of analytical atomic spectrometry and has published in peer-reviewed scientific journals with acclaim for his Feature Article in Applied Spectroscopy on Inductively Coupled Plasma analysis of biologic material. Raf has been an invited lecturer world-wide. Raf’s business experience includes co-founding Lab Support (ASGN NASDAQ), one of the first and leading scientific personnel companies. His experience also includes being an owner-agent in Hollywood, “discovering” actor Shia LaBeouf at the ripe old age of ten.

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Anteprima del libro

Lone Dog Barking - Raf Leon Dahlquist



I want to give Pat O’Neil first crack at telling his story in his own words and way, in the following preface, just as he typed it out for the Parole Board at the Nevada State Penitentiary. Pat stood trial by his small community for his retribution murder of a murderer for an earlier murder.


Pat O’Neil, aka Lone Dog Barking: in his own words

Back to top

~ ~ ~


We’re on a mission

Night has come to its darkest.

Ramon sits on a bare and filthy bed atop a black angle iron bed frame. He’s naked except for his briefs. No sheets cover the urine and blood stained mattress. He has a scratchy wool brown army surplus blanket wadded up nearby. Rumpled clothing piles up in the corner of the room. Layers of wallpaper have been torn off a large patch at the back of the bed.

So, what are you guys up to this early? asks Ramon.

His older brother, Junior, shushes everyone again.

Joaquin told us about this bull down at Henderson’s corral, Gio begins.

Joey and Jimmy interrupt each other. ... said to get there early in the morning if we want to watch him do it. That bull, he was sniffin and lickin this cow’s ass, and then his big pink dick comes stickin way outa his belly … and he jumped up on her back standin on his hind legs… humpin and squirtin thick white piss all over…

Puta! Ramon exclaims. Wish I could go with ya.

Outside a silent spike flash of light breaks open the darkness, crowding in through the window, flooding Ramon’s bedroom.

Everyone drops to the floor, planning his own escape route.

The cops!

The luminosity outside builds to noonday brightness. After several seconds it shudders back down from ultra-blue-white to yellow-orange, red and back to pre-dawn darkness.

It’s not MacEnerny seeking us out with his cop spotlight on his sneaky black ’49 Ford.

Everyone confirms A-Bomb aloud in near unison and relief that it wasn’t Mac.

Jinks! You all owe me a Coke. No backs! Jimmy blurts.

Cut it out! Joey chides. That’s girl shit anyway.

I don’t care. You owe me! Luna hisses.

In the darkness again, Junior pulls the switch chain on the bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling by a ratty worn electrical cord. Look here.

Eyes squint and adjust as the bulb swings wide arcs, animating strange exaggerated shadows of everyone’s body parts on the bedroom walls.

Ramon’s left wrist is hand-cuffed to the metal bedstead.

Show ‘em what ya got.


Junior draws back his fist as if to hit Ramon. Goddammit, show ‘em!

Ramon rolls over on his belly for us to see, but he drags his scruffy worn army surplus wool blanket back over himself. Junior tears it away from Ramon. Red, black and blue belt marks and loops cover his shoulders, back and legs. Some marks placed earlier are now turning green, yellow and purple.

Got the belt for smart mouthin’ Mom.

We remain silent.

And some more for going out the window.

More silence.

The old man cuffed him to the bed and took to whippin’ him with the vacuum cleaner cord.

The ground shock wave from the nuclear detonation arrives. The small bedroom takes a rattling lurch. Dust shakes down from the ceiling, falling through the glare of the bare light bulb.

Junior turns off the light for fear of discovery.

We feel like sneak-thieves in the night.

Gio carries a handful of well-worn comics which are now banned by the government. Embarrassed, not knowing the right thing to say, he hands this precious stack over to Ramon.

"Here’s those good Tales from the Crypt ones."


These were the best of the best. Scare the crap outa ya for days. Make ya afraid to go to sleep. This special collection of comics for Ramon was selected from our own individually treasured, but now illegal stash.


Ramon shines a dimming unsteady flashlight on the comics.

"All right! Great! Cuz I’m gonna be here for a few more days … for my own good," as he mocks his mother with thick sarcasm. Looking upward, Ramon places the flashlight tight behind his chin. Shining upward, it makes his head glow red like a burning skull from hell.

Phew! It stinks like shit in here! whispers Jimmy. He’s slim with a serene Buddha-moon face, straight black hair with a precise military trim.

So toss the pot, dummy, and quitcher bitchin, jibes Joey.

Jimmy grabs Ramon’s partially filled coffee can with one hand while holding his nose with the other. He retches several times on the way to the window but manages to toss the contents outside. After placing the emptied can back on the floor, he wipes his hands first on his Levis, and then, on his tee shirt.

S’matter Jimmy, get some on ya? asks Joey.

Fuck you, Joey! he replies, giving Joey the finger, and starts wiping his hands all over again.

We all grin and shake our heads.

Jimmy, put the can over here where I can reach it.

Oh, sorry. Using his foot, Jimmy edges the coffee can closer.

In the adjoining bedroom, Ramon’s old man starts coughing.

Shit! I’m gettin outa here, I got enough trouble at my house. Sure don’t need none at yours, too. Gio heads for the window. The others exit after him.

Hey, Junior! Water.

Junior reaches back to grab Ramon’s empty square glass milk bottle. Be right back.


Outside Joey scrapes his shoes in the dirt. Dammit Luna! Look where you throw that shit next time.

Fuck you Joey! Look out where you’re stepping.

The air blast from the A-bomb arrives with a "BaBoom" signature. Everyone ducks their heads in reflex.

Good one, mutters Joey as he continues to scrape his shoes in the dirt.

Eager to distance themselves from the Herrera household, Gio and Jimmy head down the alleyway. They wished they didn’t have to leave Ramon behind that morning. But they were real sure they’d done their good deed for that day.

Back to top

~ ~ ~


Alice, the bull and the cracker-assed gandy dancers

That magical blue-golden color begins to rise above the horizon in the eastern part of the sky.

Junior gives us a loud, hoarse whisper down the alleyway, Hey, wait up!

Junior and Joey catch up and we all lock arms around each other’s shoulders in our buddy line.


As we pass behind the Mizpah Hotel, us tough hombres sing a new song we recently heard. Joey’s oldest brother Zip knows all the words. We don’t. It doesn’t matter, we sing what we can.


Walking down Canal Street

Knocking on every door

Goddam son-of-a-bitch

Couldn’t find a whore.


We had no idea then that Canal Street was a boundary to Storeyville, once the legislated red light district of the New Orleans French Quarter prior to World War I.*

We always managed to recall the chorus:


It was rough and sore!

Goddam son-of-a-bitch

Never fuck a whore.


The boys cross the highway to Henderson’s corral. Lee Henderson also owns the Chevron gas station and the Mizpah Garage on the other side.

Jimmy breaks from the pack, running ahead in his stupid white sneakers.

He scrambles up the wide-swinging corral gate.

What the hell?

Junior accuses, Aww shit, Joey, you lied!

Not even one damn animal? wonders Joey.

Yeah, but they left all the horseflies here just for us. Gio waves his hands to chase them away from his face.

How come they like you so much, Gio? Jimmy asks.

Joey has the answer. Cuz he always talks so much shit outa his mouth. That’s why.

Get fucked, Joey.

Well, Ramon sure ain’t missin’ nothing, Junior comments, then sarcasm takes over. He’ll love hearing about this. We come to see the bull fuck the cow, and we see flies. He’ll laugh his ass off.

Yeah, tell him we saw flies doing it. That’s real exciting!

You dip shit!

Like vultures warming

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