Lisa Loucks-Christenson White Wolf Creek

33 Years of Ritual Eyes: From Stitched Sparrows to Feather Bed Nooses

The 2005 Ford Explorer door hung open, humid June air mixing fresh breeze as I typed notes from the day's beat on Alpha Smart 3000—my notebooks stacked around me like sentinels. A grass seed-covered man appeared, sweat dripping through his camouflage, sliding from the Explorer's rear straight for my door. I was the target. He knew it. I knew it.

Dani vaulted the seat in one explosive leap—my Schutzhund champion, laying her body across my chest, teeth snapping fury at the man now inches from my face. He didn't flinch. He read her weight, drive, obedience perfectly. Handler eyes.

I'd volunteered once, maybe twice, as K-9 decoy for Olmsted County Sheriff's Office. Those bites changed me forever. I felt prey drive power—hit, bite, hold. Never forgot. Spotted his calm instantly.

Thirty-three years since first 1993 death threat, followed by break-in and dead sparrow hung in my studio window, eyes stitched shut, tethered to ceiling by twine. Twenty years from that 2006 Explorer ambush to now: 2/10/2026 pre-order night, noose #3 on my trail (first noose was rope, stuck in shed, hung last summer), waiting under melted snow by my shed. Feather bed. Surgical.

They attacked my writing. My dog. My life. Notebooks outlasted them all.
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33 Years of Ritual Eyes: From Stitched Sparrows to Feather Bed Nooses

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