Rare Picture and Documents from my Pal, Lamont’s Hardscrabble Youth

By Nate Thayer

March 8, 2015
My pal, Lamont, the renowned international peacemaker, Respected Thinker, and Hollywood-like heart-throb, had a little known hard-scrabble youth.
Recently unearthed rare documents and photos give new insight into Lamont’s early formative weeks in a foreign land which shaped his worldview prior to emerging as a significant power broker at the heart of power in Washington, D.C.

Lamont at the Santo Paco de Cantu at ejido Esteban cantu in Mexico

Here are some notes obtained from the inner power circle of the international canine smuggling ring which arranged for Lamont to sneak from the Mexican trash dump from whence he came and, recognizing his unique potential to make the planet a better place, gave him sanctuary, protected him, and, risking their own welfare for the greater good, smuggled him across international borders in 2012, and arranged his delivery to the belly of the beast of the Free World, where his talents were needed.

Then known as “Baby Thor” he was described as a “bold and funny little guy” while in Mexico

From the bottom of the barrel to the top of the hill
Lamont was born in a Mexican trash dump about April 4, 2012.

Underground operatives were patrolling the trash dump when they heard signs of life, whimpering coming from under piles of trash and plywood on that day and, Lamont, buried under the debris, was fished out.

“Oh Lamont! Stop!” Lamont displaying his schmoozing talents with the woman who ran the Taco stand outside the Santo Paco de Cantu animal rescue operation in Baja California, Mexico

The unsung heroes involved included trash dump scavengers in Mexico, a canine homeless shelter in Baja California, Pro Bono veterinarians, a Taco food cart proprietress, an American lesbian commune in Mexico, and an underground railroad of good Samaritans. The team of Coyotes led him by land over the Mexican border and smuggled him onto an American Airlines flight from San Diego to Washington Dulles International airport via Newark, New Jersey.

An international fundraising campaign was launched to finance smuggling Lamont across international borders and transport him to Washington. The money was raised through total strangers within ten minutes

This was all financed by a network of anonymous online co-conspirators who made sure there was sufficient cash for these heroes to accomplish their mission.
Lamont arrived in the cargo section at Dulles International Airport on June 2, 2012, where he was bundled into a dark Jeep Cherokee with civilian plates and delivered to his new base of operations, only feet from the corridors of power of the leader of the Free World, where he could keep a close eye on all sorts of people up to no good.
The rest is history.

The world has been a safer, happier place ever since.

Here are some of the highlights of the young mongrel’s heady earliest weeks.
This photo album is dedicated to Julia Genatossio, Lamont’s primary savior in Mexico, who said Lamont “gives hope to many waiting for homes back here in Cantu and Punta Banda that all things are possible.”
Lamont had a nom de guerre in his earliest days. In Mexico, at Santo Paco de Cantu at ejido Esteban cantu, they called him “Baby Thor” and described him as a “bold and funny little guy!” 

“This woman gives me warm milk and tortillas at night” — in Coronel Esteban Cantú, Baja California, Mexico.

“She let me sleep in her crowded camper with her two teen age daughters” — in Coronel Esteban Cantú, Baja California, Mexico.

“Whatever they have, they share with me. “Quiero besar a mi mujer bondadosa”

“This is Jessica , Lamont’s Doctor in Mexico.” In a coded message sent to me North of the Border in May, Lamont’s case officer said: “She can’t come with him Nate. Sorry. I can only do what I can do.”

From Mexico–Lamont is getting his passport!

And then it was time to say goodbye to his heroic network of Mexican based supporters in Coronel Esteban Cantú, Baja California, Mexico.

“Tome compañero de poco cuidado. (Take care little buddy.)”

“No te olvides de donde vienes. (Don’t forget where you come from.),” said another in Coronel Esteban Cantú, Baja California, Mexico.

“Que bueno, muy guapo!” in the words of a third in Baja California, Mexico.

Lamont puts on his game face in Mexico preparing for the covert trip

On May 30, I wrote:
“Meet Lamont. My new owner, recently rescued from a dumpster in Mexico. His passport is being arranged as we speak. Please welcome America’s newest refugee ( It is easier if you aren’t human to get citizenship).  Lamont will be arriving from Mexico, via San Diego, Boston, Newark…it doesn’t matter…. he will be here Tuesday,” I wrote in my diary, clearly a bit goofy and smitten.

On June 5, after a car ride from the airport, I reported the mission was successful and Lamont was in Washington.

“Lamont, 10 weeks old of all puppy mutt, has arrived in DC via a dumpster in Mexico by United Airlines cargo. Within 15 minutes he has growled at much bigger dog, ransacked the garbage, and peed on the rug. He is now asleep on the couch. This may be a (pleasant) challenge.”

Hours later, I filed a sitrep update:
“The 10 week old mutt, Lamont, who arrived at DC’s Dulles airport in cargo via a dumpster in Mexico under 3 hours ago, has so far:
1. Twice ransacked the garbage can
2. twice peed on the rug
3. tipped over my water bottle
4. retrieved a piece of charcoal from the fireplace and paraded it around
5. chewed on my telephone charger cord and
6. mistaken my computer mouse for a play toy.
This is between 3 short deep sleep naps on the couch. It is well past my bedtime. So I searched YouTube for dog sounds looking for something that might sooth him. This was a mistake. Within 2 seconds of playing dog sniffing sounds, Lamont went on full alert growled and began barking and attacked my computer. This could get quite interesting quickly.”
By the next day, Lamont had pretty well seized control of my halls of power and made clear who was in charge of whom.

Lamont signalling his displeasure with resisting his every want and desire

On June 7, I filed this internal report:
“Hhmm. Lamont just sauntered up to me with his food bowl in his mouth and with a rather cheeky expression dropped it at my feet, sat and is looking up at me. If he could, I suspect he would fold his arms across his chest, tap one foot, and roll his eyes impatiently. This is the same dog who minutes ago contended he didn’t understand me when I said “NO” when he tried to pee on the rug, and earlier tipped over the trash.”

Lamont with his signature “What?!? What did I do?!” look

The following day, June 8, his attitude had not changed:
“This morning, after the mutt stole one of my flip-flops, he forced me to run out the door wearing only one flip-flop, threatening to poop inside unless I followed orders immediately. Hobbling down the street being led on a leash while wearing one shoe was somehow not deeply humiliating.
I felt like a kept man.
But, regarding this food bowl at the feet shtick, I think I may have been had.”

A few days later, my notes record the following:
“Shortly before 0530, contentedly reposed in bed this Saturday morning, Lamont snuggled up closer and starts prolonged whimpering in my ear. Alright, if I am going to send clear signals in this house training business, I figured I have to follow through. So I reluctantly got out of bed, got sorta dressed, and took Lamont out for a (short) walk.
He rather quickly had a long pee shortly thereafter pooping.
Subordinating my dignity, I cooed in an embarrassingly loud voice in public “Good boy! What a good boy!” while patting him on the back as he did his business. He shot me what was a slightly annoyed look, but, after he finished up, he smiled and wiggled, seemingly only happy that he had made me happy, and together we sauntered back in the house in under ten minutes.
Alright, this house training stuff seems to be working out quite well so far.
Once inside, I repair to my own bathroom for my own morning constitutional with a copy of the New Yorker. Lamont trots in, all wiggly and glowing in how pleased I am with him, and, with me sitting on the throne two feet away, promptly squats and, looks me in the eye, and poops–AGAIN.
“Lamont!!” I snarl, flailing my arms.
He fakes a startled, hurt look.
Lamont had quickly sussed out probably the only time all day I am incapacitated to get up and whack him.
He shuffles out, glances over his shoulder, and looks at me as if saying “Jeesh. You are sending me mixed signals! You just said what a good boy I was and now you are upset. Make up your mind. I am only a dog.”
Yeah, Right. I swear I heard him snicker as he trotted out to wait for his breakfast.
This is all before 0600 hours.
It is like playing chess with a canine grand master champion from the biblical Book of Revelations.
I have to come up with a refined strategy.
So far my odds don’t look promising.”

Lamont plotting

Days later, the sit rep report recorded the following:
“An incident took place last night that forced me to the alarming realization that my new pal, Lamont, is destined to live an alternative sexual lifestyle.
Having retreated to my bedroom and turned on the air con to mitigate the stifling D.C. summer heat, I was reposed, prone on my back, wearing nothing but the clothes I was born in.
On my chest was my laptop, with which I was focused using to put the final touches on an article with a looming deadline.
My pal, Lamont, who has a highly developed, if quirky, talent for entertaining himself, was on the left corner of my field of vision focused on destroying an article of my clothing.
Lamont paused, apparently bored. He rested his head on his paws and stared at me.
“I thought your job is to entertain me. You are slacking,” he muttered to himself.
I was determined not to be distracted.
Lamont then refocused his attention.
His eyes narrowed.
He fixed his attention on a new object of fascination.
I paid cursory attention to what shortly would be my great regret.
Lamont crouched like a Jaguar, putting his full 2 ½ pounds of weight on his front paws.

His eyes suddenly widened and he launched himself airborne. Startled, I watched him disappear mid-air, my view blocked by the computer. Instantly, there were the sounds of him growling which were accompanied by my shrill yelp–all simultaneous with a sound of “Thwak!” as he landed on his prey: my very vulnerable manifestation of the gender I was assigned at birth.
I let out a loud objection registering my unmitigated disapproval. But I was pinned by the computer, unable to reach down and defend myself, and reduced to a mixture of sputtering sounds begging for pity.
Lamont has yet to properly identify the meaning of the tones in my voice, and misinterpreted my cries of terror as a signal to ratchet up the playfulness.
This misunderstanding was quickly corrected by a roundhouse reflexive defensive swat that sent Lamont airborne landing in the laundry basket across the room near the window.
Clueless, Lamont, although momentarily dazed, returned to the bed, wiggling for more fun.
A close inspection revealed no permanent damage.
Lamont and I had a serious talk. And Lamont apologized. We smooched and, curling up, his head resting on my shoulder, we both fell asleep.”

Lamont–while possessed by Satan

This was followed a few days later by this update in the Lamont File:
“I fear my dog, Lamont, is possessed by Satan.
Having just returned from a walk in the park on a hot and muggy Saturday, where Lamont appeared to think life was grand, we returned.
I reposed, prone, soaking in the air con and reading the New Yorker.
Out of corner of my left eye, by my side, lay Lamont, who appears to be a bit of an attention whore. He had his head resting on his paws staring at me.
This is when Satan seems to have taken control.
Lamont fixed his gaze, slowly arching his back and rising up as if he was a large jungle feline, into a full attack and pounce mode. Suddenly, his entire body jolted vertically a full foot in the air and then propelled itself forward seizing, disabling, and sucking the life out of the New Yorker, which was now the only thing protecting my face and eyes from his teeth and claws.
Lamont then emitted a high-pitched canine cackle, flipped over on his back against my head and neck, stared at me in the eyes and rolled his eyes up toward the back of his head, and then went stiff and mute.
Then he opened his eyes and looked at me as if all was normal. I swear I saw him wink.
I must remember to get pet insurance.”

Lamont monitoring my behavior, ready to reprimand me for any errors

Within a month, the charm, wit, and infectious good attitude towards life in general had me hooked:
“Today I Popped the Big Question.
Lamont was lying upside down, legs splayed skyward on my bed, displaying his very substantial, very impressive junk, (but that really wasn’t the reason why), napping, again.
‘Lamont, pal? Will you be my best friend for the rest of my life? And promise never to leave me? Plus, promise, to try at least, not to jump out the second story window again, and give me another heart attack?’
Lamont, momentarily startled, opened his eyes bigger–wider than the whole wide world–and he looked upwards, upside down at my smiling, bald head.
He then leapt up and gave me a high-pitched, prolonged smooch, and said: ‘Yes, Nate. I promise I will love you forever and ever.’
And then we snuggled and fell asleep, together.
Lamont didn’t even ask to consult a lawyer.”
The mutt had apparently installed a chip in my brain and he had seized control.
The rest is history…..