Auto-Dog

Dear Internuts,

Another conversation with my brother Mantel Man; another story dredged up from the depths of his experience-rich life. I told him this morning that I wanted him to write this story up for me, and so, within hours, he did -- complete with photos, charts and arrows and a machine that goes BING! Sort of.

PLUS, he provided me with possible titles -- he's nothing if not thorough. The choices:

NEGATIVE NEEDLES, or

DOG DAY AFTERNOON, or

OF DOGS AND ICE CREAM, or

THOSE MAGNIFICENT MEN AND THEIR INTERCHANGEABLE MACHINES, or

“502 INTRUDER BALL, 4.2, NEGATIVE NEEDLES, CHOCOLATE PLEASE”

I suspect that half of those were meant to mess with my head. So of course, I had to choose my own title; not sharing Mantel Man's Navy background and fixated as I am upon scatological references, I have chosen to call his story

AUTO-DOG

by Mantel Man

(Photo stolen from this site)

This story isn’t exactly suitable for the dinner table, but it came from a conversation with my sister [that'd be Laurie], so don’t be surprised.

Ever heard the term “coiler”?

Me neither – until Laurie had occasion to allude to the general shape of a dog’s daily constitutional [that'd be dookie, for the coarse folks, like Laurie]. Oh well – we grew up on a farm and aren’t squeamish about such things.

Neither were the other pilots I used to fly with in the Navy. Aboard an aircraft carrier, soft-serve ice cream was known as “auto-dog.” Don’t worry, the unappetizing name had no ill effect on the flavor. When it’s 110 degrees and 100% humid in the Persian Gulf, you’ll eat almost anything cold.

[Laurie's note: Even THIS?!]

(Photo stolen from this site)

Like a lot of equipment on the venerable [that means "stinkin' old"] USS Independence, the auto-dog machine in the forward wardroom often broke down. Being a low-priority item, it usually sat for a long period each time before being repaired. Auto-dog was therefore a rare treat, especially after a long flight during a scorching day or a sweltering evening, capped by the most difficult maneuver a pilot can make: a carrier landing.

(Photo stolen from this site)

[The following paragraph made Laurie's brain contract and her sphincter tingle. Please read it because it's fascinating, in a tingly-sphincter sort of way, but understand that all you really need to know for the story to make sense is ACLS = Really Important Machine That Goes BING! And Is Supposed To Work At All Times. Carry on.]

One shipboard system that was a high priority, and therefore usually worked, was ACLS. The Automated Carrier Landing System* connected the auto-pilot of an aircraft on final approach to a very precise radar on the ship via electronic data link. The system was nicknamed “Needles,” after the crossed vertical and horizontal needles on a gauge in front of the pilot. In a Mode 1 instrument approach, the ACLS could actually fly the jet hands-off all the way to touchdown in case of terrible weather, but a much more common use was the Mode 2, in which the pilot used the system for guidance but flew manually. The approach controller would direct a pilot to “Say needles” after connecting the data link. The pilot would respond “On and on,” or “fly up and right,” or whatever his needles indicated he needed to do to be exactly on glide path and glide slope. If the approach controller saw the same on his own equipment, he would say, “Concur, continue Mode 2.” If the system was inoperative – either in the aircraft or on the ship – the pilot would reply, “Negative needles” and have to work harder to make a decent landing.

During my first cruise, we made an amusing observation: on the rare occasion
when the auto-dog machine was working, the ACLS usually wasn’t. Just a coincidence, perhaps? We joked that somehow these two dissimilar pieces of gear must share a lot of components, and that our technicians had to rob parts from one to get the other up and running. Landing on the ship was hazardous and difficult at best, and not having the ACLS made it even more of a challenge – but at least it meant we could usually look forward to a nice cold coiler at the dinner table.

(Photo stolen from this site)

*More ACLS info at this site [machine that goes BING! sold separately]

*     *     *     *     *

What do you all think -- is auto-dog anything like auto-pilot? I get them completely mixed up.

Thanks, Mantel Man, and I'm sorry if any of you Internuts were eating. Especially if it was squid ink soft-serve.

Comments

[MommyTime]

This was a fascinating story is a horrifying kind of way. And now I'm going to go have some ice cream. Not soft-serve, thankfully.

[Mental P Mama]

Now all I can think of is auto dog ice cream. And I feel so smart. I hope CBW is telling the truth;)

[JD at I Do Things]

I wish I could say I didn't know the term "coiler," but I'm afraid I did. Do. OK, I'll just say it. I have produced a coiler. What? It's not just dogs.

Funny story.

[Mantel Man]

I never thought of the analogy to the "machine that goes BING!" but I suppose it's quite appropriate. Brilliant!

I don't know about the tingling sphincters, but for rating the difficulty of night landings, we used an informal scale called "pucker factor."

Auto-pilot and auto-dog normally have nothing to do with each other, but let's just say that if the pucker factor was high enough on any given night, no auto-pilot was produced for a while afterward.

[Meg]

Fascinating! In a tingling-sphincter sort of way.

[Chesapeake Bay Woman]

Well, I started off wondering how you and your brother got on the topic of doggie do; then I quickly remembered that my friends and I have always theorized that every single conversation we ever have deteriorates (?or blossoms?) to bodily functions, food or sex, not necessarily in that order.

All that aside, it's obvious that humor and wit run in the family. Can Mantel Man come to Blog Fest? I promise I'll rent a soft serve machine.