New Business Venture for 2014 – dogs of war

November 13, 2013

I feel restless. I am not entirely comfortable with the idea that my business model is solely dependent on palm oil. Sure I can buy more land, but I am not totally at ease with the idea of pilling on more debt – I’ve never ever been comfortable with the idea of borrowing.

As for my new bird nest business. It’s still in the gestation period – it will take a while before it all comes around.

Besides there are too many snakes on the plane! Too may evil businessmen who feel that I have imperialistic tendencies – fuck them lah!

I need to diversify aggressively into a new field. Lately, I have been researching the idea of breeding and training guard dogs for security work specifically for palm oil plantation settings.

I am confident based on my own extensive field trials with my own dogs this is doable… breed and train dogs of war.

If there is anyone out there who has field experience in the armed or security services and who loves dogs please drop me a line. I would like to collaborate.


“I believe to get consistent good results. It is very importantly to train realistically. And to do so as often as possible.

That is why my gardener who is a tribesman has the second job of trying to kill me everyday.

For instance, it is not unusual for him to hide for hours in cupboards or drawers (as he can dislocate his bones to fit in) for hours on end or to breathe through a hollow reed while he lies beneath the surface pond waiting to ambush me or even to secret himself in the many palm trees on my lands to try to ambush me.

I realise this is quite an odd and curious way to live one’s life – with assassins regularly jumping out of a hole or ceiling trying to strangle or stab me.

Neither is it uncommon for visitors to see me wrestling with my gardener whenever he ambushes me whenever they have been invited to tea.

On one such occasion a well heeled plantation lady insisted that I must be a mad man to decide to live such a lifestyle. As she had a shock of her life when my gardener suddenly pounced on me from a great height. As he had painted himself the same color as the ceiling and was waiting to spring a trap on me from high up.

This plantation lady was so shocked, she promptly departed and even told me sternly, she would tell everyone that I am a deranged person.

Some years later when I chanced on this same woman again on one of the many serpentine plantation roads that criss cross estates. I noticed her driver had foolishly taken a very dangerous route riven with brigands. I decided to followed this stupid woman on my mountain bike with my doberman.

Sure enough, when the driven alighted to open one of the many stour gates that usually divided one parcel of land from another – a group of men emerged from the thicket armed to the teeth. I could tell she was in danger, so I creep to a high position and gave a hand command to my dog to attack, while I stayed hidden with my bow trained on the leader of the bandits.

Though I was outnumbered six to one, they didn’t stand a chance – I was invisible and had taken a commanding position overlooking the scene – since both I and my dog had trained countless times for this type of scenario, we were very surefooted and confident – even if it got nasty, I had no doubts they all could be neutralized with surgical precision.

Those fucks scooted off faster than rabbits before a poisonous cobra.

When I finally emerged. The plantation madam gasped as my face was painted in camouflage – it took a while for her to recognise me after I had enquired whether she was well and would she like me to escort her for the remainder of the journey. I recommended a much longer, but safer route.

The following week, she sent me a letter thanking me profusely and apologising for her misplaced impression. She went on to add that she would from now onwards retract what she said to others concerning my “madness.” – I told her she was most kind and thoughtful.”

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