Recent revelations about the Secret Service losing texts from the day before the Jan. 6th insurrection and, indeed, on insurrection day itself, and the possibility that some of the protective detail might have been more er… protective of Trump’s Presidency than appropriate for a functioning Democracy, have added new context to Joe Biden’s rescue Shepherd Major’s taste for Secret Service flesh…


“President Biden’s dog, Major, was involved in a “minor” biting incident — so claimed the White House — but some angry Secret Service agents are calling BS…

… Here’s a Secret Service agent’s account of the incident that occurred in the resident’s quarters of the White House …”Without warning or provocation, Major barked loudly at [the agent] … and charged.” The agent was bitten in the leg.

Turns out Major bit the same agent twice, once causing damage to his clothing. And another agent came rushing to his fellow’s defense, describing the bite as “severe”.

But the kicker here is said Agent was reprimanded by his superiors for embellishing the official account of the incident.

“The agent in question was actually reprimanded by a superior for writing too graphic an account of the incidents. The superior wrote, “Please submit with the language that has been approved by [the legal office]. Unless you dispute anything in the verbiage that was presented to you, there shouldn’t be a need to embellish with additional details that aren’t required for approval.

There’s another email in which the superior calls the victim’s verbiage “inappropriate.”

I wonder if the agent with the flowery prose stylings is still on Joe’s detail?

Be all that as it may, many at Twitter think Major was just being a good boy, and should be given pats and treats …and maybe even rehabbed from his banishment in Delaware…



He’s got my vote.


Right on, Bill.

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    • My favorite comment…

      ‘Say what you will about Major Biden, but he’s still been a better first pet than Lindsey Graham.’

  1. I have learned over my years on this earth to trust my (and my dog’s) instincts about people. There are some people that I got the impression the second that I met them to never turn my back on them or they might knife me in it…turns out that 99.99% of the time that instinct (and my dog’s) were correct!

  2. Look folks, no one should allow a dog to bite anyone, not even SS personnel. A dog that gets away with biting people continues to do so and in most, if not all, places in the U.S. that behavior gets the animal euthanized. The behavior needs to be, and I’m sure has, trained out of Major. And no, Major does not deserve medals or even a treat for such behavior and the humans in charge of Major ALSO need training.

    I love dogs more than most people but if I had one that even lunged, growled, or did the barking out of control thing for or to a human, the dog would be in training ASAP. I am partial to pitties and mine do not go for walks around humans unless and until they can be trusted not to act with the slightest bit of aggression. Haven’t had a problem yet and it’s been decades. While I don’t think, but don’t know, anyone exhibited threatening behavior to Major, my dogs are never threatened so aggressive behavior isn’t likely in the first place.

    Those of us who own pitties always fight breed bans and demand that bad behavior be punished (in fact responsible dog owners know the humans are to blame in the first place). It’s tough to eliminate breed bans when bad behavior gets a pass.

  3. Bill Murray has it pretty well nailed. Dogs quickly learn who their humans (or hoomins as we are called in some circles) are, and will even often add in some of their humans’ friends as people to look after. And if a dog doesn’t like some other person near/around their human(s) that dog will let it be known. Sometimes in subtle ways but some evoke enough protective instinct in the dog that the doggie will growl, bare teeth and yes even bite. How dogs are so perceptive is a much longer issue to get in to or debate. I do have a great story though.

    Way back when I was growing up we had a couple of dogs, one of whom didn’t get spayed in time and wound up delivering a litter of puppies. One in particular was early on about as ugly as a dog can be. NOT the pick of the litter by any stretch of the imagination. For a long time as a pupply his fur closely resembled a worn out, rolled in the dirt tennis ball! He would develop a quite distinctive auburn coat as he grew up but he was a classic “Heinze 57” doggie. When you think of the term “mutt”, Ruff would be a poster boy. Most of the puppies were easy to find homes for but Ruff, being as homely looking as he was when they were old enough to give away took more time. During that extra time I got really attached to him, and my friends really like him too. But a home was found. When they came to our house to pick him up I grabbed him and ran down into the basement, not wanting to give him up. Mom came and talked to me and I was fighting back tears so she had a talk with that couple and in the end, to my dad’s strong displeasure (when he found out late that night) Ruff stayed and became part of the family.

    Dad did NOT like Ruff. Not one bit. Ruff was a few years old when one day he disappeared. I rode all over the place on my bike as did my friends, drove around with mom in the car and even dad grudgingly drove me around in his car on a Saturday for a while – I still suspect for show. Dad travelled all over southern IL as part of his job for the state (Dept. of Transportation – he specialized in land acquisition) and I believe he took Ruff with him one morning when he was headed many counties away and dumped him in some other town. I was heartbroken to say the least. Then, after almost a month one night I heard yelling and screaming so loud I woke up – and back in those days it took a LOT to rouse me once I’d gone to sleep. The next thing I knew my bedroom door flew open and a filthy smelly little mutt was on my chest licking my face. It was Ruff! Wherever he’d been he found his way home! The only person that wasn’t happy was dad I might add.

    I was a teen by then and quite protective of Ruff and dad would complain about what a worthless dog he was but I and my friends loved him. Fast forward a few years. About a month after I turned 18 was when my mom was diagnosed with lung cancer. This was the fall of 1975 and back then it was pretty much a death sentence and in fact she’d be dead in three months. Still, there were some treatments and she spent time in a hospital out of town getting her chest cooked with radiation treatments which of course weakened the hell out of her. The evening she got back home our local “never got together with them” relatives he had in town, uncle Frank (the actual blood relative) and his wife aunt “Jerry” came over. Mom of course had stopped smoking, but aunt Jerry not only insisted on sitting right next to my mom smoking like a chimney but blowing exhaled smoke in her face causing mom to cough. Mom was trying to be polite (our family such as it was happened to be really fucked up and I think she held out hope at least uncle Frank who seemed like he had some decency in him might look in on me some when she was gone. But his wife was a real asshole and I suspect a lot of the reason we barely had anything to do with them during my life.

    Ruff had been outside doing whatever when they arrived but came home while they were still there and my sister let him in. He (as he always did ran straight to me – I happened to be sitting on the other couch in our rather large living room. It was only after he was on my lap he surveyed the room and took a long look at my aunt and uncle. Watching aunt Jerry once again blow smoke in mom’s face and mom’s reaction I felt Ruff stir on my lap and his hackles were literally up! During the next minute he began softly growling. I whispered to him to keep calm and put my hand on his back to keep him in place.

    Aunt Jerry was bitching about there not having been any ashtrays and having to dump her cigarette ashes in her glass of water, and that she wanted something to drink. She looked right at me and I rather insolently said she knew where the kitchen was. Boy was she pissed but she got up and started making her way back there, through our dining room which was also a very large room. It was at that point that Ruff JUMPED off my lap, ran after her and caught up with her as she was passing the dining table.

    And bit her in the back of her leg!

    Just the one bite but deep enough to draw blood. Ruff then turned right around and ran back to me and jumped back on my lap! Needless to say aunt Jerry freaked the fuck out. She came at us and I stood up with Ruff in my arms and gave her the same look I’d give to teammates on the basketball court when needed – the “Captain” look that would get instant obedience and she cussed and scowled and demanded calling the police to take Ruff and have him checked for rabies, which at least back then would have meant killing him and examining his brain. I turned his collar and showed her he’d gotten his ANNUAL shot just a couple of months before and that he didn’t have rabies so shut up. Poor uncle Frank was trying to hold a hankie to her calf to keep her from bleeing too much. But as soon as my sister came back from the bathroom with some band aids and they were applied they were out of there. Good riddance. I don’t recall seeing either of them ever again. There were a shitload of people at her funeral despite all that snow so it’s possible they were there somewhere but with so much snow on the ground I doubt it.

    But here’s the good part and why I wrote the big windup. Remember dad? My parent’s marriage had fallen apart over ten years before. Most days/nights he came home late at night to sleep and was up and out of the house by seven in the morning and often earlier if he had to travel a long distance that day. He’d kill time in the evenings at this or that local watering hole drinking beer after beer but that too is a different set of stories.

    He did come home earlier that night though to see how mom was doing now that she was back home. And of course asked if anyone had been by to see her. When told who’d come by last his face darkened to say the least. He turned and walked into his bedroom which was at the front of the house off the living room and sat down on his bed in a clear funk. Then my sister went in and told him what had happened. He jumped up and came back into the room and looked at mom, looked at me (Ruff had gone back outside again) and asked if that had really happened. We were all laughing by then and he finally believed us. He kept repeating over and over how he couldn’t believe how smart Ruff was, and asking WHERE he was. Well, Ruff came back to the door shortly afterwards and announced himself and was let back in. Dad was back in his room and stripped to his underwear and ready to hit the sack but he called out to Ruff to come in – in as warm and friendly a tone as I’d ever heard from him.

    Ruff was confused as hell and kept looking over at me and through the opening into dad’s room and I got up and started walking that way and motioned to Ruff towards dad. Dad was actually patting the bed beside him and telling Ruff to jump up there with him! After enough “Good dog” statements Ruff tentatively jumped up and damned if dad didn’t give him the full treatment – not just petting but scratching behind the ears and reaching under to rub his chest! He was Ruff’s biggest fan (after me of course) after that! When Ruff got run over by a car he was as upset as I was.

    The point of the story though is that as has been pointed out dogs are damned perceptive. And PROTECTIVE. If I were the Bidens there wouldn’t be a single member of the Secret Service, or any other WH staffer that carried over from the Trump years that couldn’t pass the “Major test.” Many years later, after I was divorced and would delve into the dating world there were a few women who seemed great (and a couple were quite stunning) that my “boys” flat out didn’t like. And that was that. I never failed anyone’s dog test during those days btw. But if I had the means to properly care for a furry friend again I’d trust my dog more than any person!


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