A reporter talks about...well, nothing really. But a nice little story anyway.
Very dark, very eerie, very alone, very much in a war zone, albeit in a forward operating base that does have pretty tight security out front, but less on the sides and rear.
That's when a pack of wild dogs came after me, barking and snapping and generally being feral.
When I say a pack, I mean two. Fairly small dogs, actually. But still.
I scrambled up on a Humvee, cutting the nellymuffins out of my shin, and surveyed my options. Then I told the two little mutts to "Get the bleep out of my bleeping way or I'd bleep their bleep," in my deepest voice, hopped down, and went on, eventually finding the hovel we call home.