DIY Counter-Dog Rounds

Some Lessons Are Meant To Hurt
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Will’s old farm dog, Dog, is gone now. He says, “I do miss her so.”

Before we proceed let’s get something straight — I’m crazy about dogs. However, every time I touch the subject of canines in print, I garner rabid accusations from urban-dwelling dog-o-philes. They accuse me of being Satan’s love monkey because I choose not to afford my personal canines such amenities as a 401K, daily steak fritters cooked to their liking and the right to vote in local plebiscites. I live in the rural Deep South. We do love our dogs and they love us. However, our hounds are not our children.

My trusty she-dog Dog passed away of natural causes at the ripe old age of 15 a few years back. Dog was both her name and her species and she was mighty fine company. However, apparently I was not the only one to harbor warm feelings for her.

We live way out in the middle of nowhere. I like my space. In fact, if I can’t pee in the front yard I’m not sure I’d want to live there. Our neighbors are similarly inclined. They don’t complain about the gunfire and I don’t gripe about the conservatively estimated 1,200 dogs they maintain in their personal stable.

These multiplicitous beasts tend to wander. Some of the randier of the lot would come poking around seeking an intimate liaison with my own personal she-hound.

Dog had been fixed, so I was not unduly burdened by this. I admire an attractive woman at least as much as the next guy. However, one day when my wife was out in the backyard painting — on canvas, not the house; she’s an artist, not a slave — a trio of these amorous rascals had the bad grace to circle around her growling. She kept her wits, carefully retreated inside and informed me of the exchange once I got home from work.

I am personally acquainted with three instances in our county wherein locals have been attacked by feral dogs. In one case a young woman was fairly badly mauled. Growling at my bride is a capital offense no matter your species. I write for gun magazines. Trust me when I tell you I have the tools to solve the problem. However, my wife is ever the soft-hearted soul and requested I conjure some less lethal solution. I rather enjoyed the challenge.


The Lee shotshell reloader costs $81 on Amazon and will let
you load your own shotgun shells with pretty much anything
you can stuff in a shell.

Will loaded his XK-9 counter-dog rounds with airsoft BBs (inset) and titrated the powder charge to sting without leaving a lasting mark.

Counter-Dog Rounds

The key to this kingdom is the basic Lee shotshell reloader. If you’ve not yet had the pleasure, Amazon will sell you one of these magnificent machines for a paltry $81. It is the best value in the shooting world. The device comes with a series of plastic bushings used to meter out both the powder and shot. Once you take its measure, this machine will turn your old once-fired shotshell hulls into spanking new rounds packed with pretty much anything you can stuff in there.

I bought the thing to load short rounds for my stubby scatterguns. I did a BATF Form 1 and built a splendid rendition of the side-by-side 12-bore handgun Mel Gibson wielded in Mad Max. This thing is cooler than penguin snot, but it kicks like Pelé in his prime. I loaded up underpowered rounds with BBs and used them to bag a dozen or more water moccasins around my rural farm back when the kids were young and played there. A proper charge underneath a thumb-sized load of GI-surplus flechettes is also a crowd-pleaser wherever two or more gun nerds gather. To address the dog menace I dialed it back a bit.


Will’s legal 12-gauge side-by-size “Mad Max” handgun. Over the
years the gun had been lethal to many water moccasins but it only
gave a stern warning to local canine interlopers.

Lock N Load

I charged the hulls with 6mm plastic airsoft BBs. They cost about nothing from Walmart and weigh about 3 grains apiece as opposed to 115 grains for typical hardball 9mm FMJ blasting bullet. I titrated the boost charge up until they would punch through paper but only just. The resulting rounds are recoilless.

These things won’t cycle any scattergun ever contrived by mankind. However, in my trusty Mad Max rig or a slide-action repeater, they run just fine. The next time my wife went out to paint, I tagged along with a lawn chair and my laptop. When these randy hounds came a-calling — like they owned the place — I gave them a dusting in the flanks with my spiffy home-rolled counter-dog rounds. They put me to their sterns with haste. Two more iterations and the word apparently got around. I haven’t had to break out my counter-dog ammo in a while now.

So, sit Phydeaux down in front of some imported gourmet foie gras and prepare to vent your spleen over my heartless treatment of the neighborhood hounds. There was no harm done and the mission got accomplished. I even got a gun article out of it. In the end, it seems a win for all involved.

Editor’s Note — If you’re going to complain about this story, don’t bother. The editor harbors similar views as the author regarding poorly behaved domestic animals of any variety.

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