Miracle or Mimicry

The day is warm and Lindsay is especially frisky. Her black coat gleams and she darts about with her tail wagging delightedly, her nose scraping the surface of the snow like a vacuum cleaner sucking up scent.

Suddenly she pauses and stands alert, eyes scanning the pathway ahead of us. Then as I approach, she gives herself a shake and prances off along the path until she vanishes into the distance. Seconds later she comes racing back, dancing excitedly around my feet. Come on slowpoke she's saying, lets get going.

I smile, ruefully.

It is hard to believe Lindsay is crippled with arthritis and wracked with severe pain.

Yet that was the diagnosis from our vet. Until a year ago Lindsay would limp painfully around the house and could often be found huddled in a back room whimpering in agony. For three years I could only take her for short walks around the block, Lindsay limping and whining all the way. It was painful to watch.

She was on a daily dose of aspirin to ease her suffering; but this barely seemed to take the edge off.

And then her arthritis went away. Vanished completely. In a single day.

Within a week of my arthritic mother moving into a retirement home.

Since my father's death, my mother had lived in a granny flat attached to our house. She cared for Lindsay through the day while we were at work. A very independent woman, she cared for the garden, cooked her own meals, had the dog for companion, and limped painfully about her apartment. Her arthritis is so bad she had had a knee replaced two years ago and may need surgery on the other. But at 89 there are other health issues that make that operation unlikely.

Had Lindsay been miraculously cured of her arthritis? Or had she been mimicking my mother's behaviour?

The March issue of National Geographic has an article on animal intelligence. The cover star is a boarder collie with a vocabulary of 300 words. Lindsay is an English Springer Spaniel and I have no idea how many words she understands. She's certainly the smartest dog we've ever owned. Knows all the family members by name. Never needs to be talked to in short commands, she's very comfortable with sentences. Although sometimes the simple word "NO" seems a challenge for her.

That our pets have minds and thoughts comes as no surprise to many of us who have spent most of our lives in the company of animals. What is surprising is that it has taken so long for this to gain scientific acceptance. Are we that insecure about our place in the universe that we can’t acknowledge what is right in front of us?

Lindsay plunges back along the trail toward me, her eyes sparkle and there's a smile on her face. I don't think she's a miracle dog. I think she's just trying to be part of the family. As the National Geographic article says, "A dog in a human pack needs to learn to adapt."

Anyway, have a look at this 30 second video clip of her and you decide:

HAPPY THANKSGIVING

As Americans are enjoying their Thanksgiving with family and friends, Canadians are trudging off to work as usual, our Thanksgiving having been over weeks ago and our bosses unreasonably expecting us to show up for work.

If you are celebrating Thanksgiving today, drive safely and have a joyous time!

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

My Wife, the Watkin's Man and the Dionne Quintuplets

Alright, so here is the sad story of my wife, the Watkins' man and the Dionne quintuplets.

My wife and I met at College, dated, became engaged and married on our graduation. We agreed we would live closest to whoever got the best job after College. As it turned out, that would be me; but little did we realize the best job offer would require us to move to the small town of Callendar in Northern Ontario. Population 1000. Both Linda and I had grown up in Toronto (population 3,000,000 and counting) and had never lived outside a major urban area. It was culture shock for us on a grand scale.

We brought a wonderful home overlooking Callendar Bay on Lake Nipissing, set back in the trees on two acres of land. It was located on a hill side just south of the bay and about a mile out of town. One thing we hadn't planned on was the lack of job opportunities for Linda in such a small area. While I was involved in exciting work, Linda was fairly isolated and alone, just her and Jenny, the dog we had in those days.

You may have heard of Callendar? For a brief moment in time it had actually been famous. World media had descended on the town. Major Hollywood stars could be found hobnobbing with the locals on the main street. In 1934, quintuplets had been born to a young rural farming couple, Elzire and Oliva Dionne, in Corbiel, a small homestead just outside Callendar. The complicated delivery was attended by two midwives and Dr. Dafoe. The odds against success were 57,000,000 to 1.

All five Dionne Quintuplets survived but were immediately made the wards of the provincial crown until they reached the age of 18. Across the road from their birthplace, the Dafoe Hospital and Nursery was built for the five girls and their caregivers to live in. Their parents could only visit by joining the thousands of people in the Observation Gallery who watched from meshed screens as the children played twice a day as part of "Quintland," a theme-park like atmosphere showcasing and selling Quintuplet merchandise.

Approximately 6,000 people per day visited the observation gallery to view the Dionne sisters. Close to three million people walked through the gallery between 1936 and 1943. In 1934, the quintuplets brought in about $1 million, and they attracted in total about $51 million of tourist revenue to Ontario. Quintland became Ontario's biggest tourist attraction of the era, at the time surpassing Niagara Falls.

Of course that was all decades before our arrival in town and Callander had drifted back to a sleepy anonymity. The only remaining connection to those heady times was the woman who ran our variety store who was the granddaughter of one of the quints midwives. She sold pictures of her grandmother with the quints to the tourists.

But back to my wife and the Watkins salesman.

One morning, after I had left for work, my wife was getting dressed when she heard a knocking on the door. It took her a minute to finish dressing before she could answer.

And when she got to the door she found the local Watkins Product distributor peeing against the side of our house.

I guess he had figured no one was home because my wife had taken so long to answer. He looked acutely embarrassed but was obviously having trouble stopping what he was doing.

He said, "Watkins?" My wife said, "No thank you."

And that was the last time anyone came to our door selling Watkins products.

The Strange Case Of The Naked Woman In The Night

My dear friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, had retired from the avocation of private investigator that had brought him world renown, to raise bees in Kent; but had not retired from the mournful playing of melancholy tunes upon his infernal violin.

"But I fail to understand, Holmes, why you would wish to call it 'The Case of the Second Tent?", I sought to distract him from his labours upon that wretched instrument.

Holmes finished the musical phrase.

"My dear Watson," he replied, reluctantly setting the instrument aside, and reaching for the persian slipper in which he kept his pipe tobacco, "It is elementary. You have just heard the tale told to us by our friend, the Explorer. You know my methods. What would you choose to call it, 'The Strange Case Of The Naked Woman In The Night', no doubt."

"Well, as I recall the story, Holmes, that is its most salient feature. The Explorer and his wife were camping on the shores of Lake Huron close to the town of Goderich. They were fast asleep in their tent, when the Explorer was awakened by the sound of a young woman chattering excitedly about her evening spent with some young men she had met at a party. And while she recounted these adventures, she was proceeding to remove her clothes."



"Indeed, Watson. As a gentleman, and not wishing to frighten the young lady, the Explorer permitted her to continue with her undressing, unchallenged."

"Most admirable, I agree. However, Mrs. Explorer was not so gracious, and, having been awakened by the same chattering, demanded, in a loud voice, to know what the woman thought she was doing.

"This occasioned an even louder shriek from the nearly naked maiden, who quickly gathered up her discarded garments and fled the tent, kindly remembering to fasten the zipper up behind her."

Holmes was thoughtfully stuffing tobacco into his Meerschaum, "Those indeed are the facts of the case, Watson. However, if you recall, what happened next was most singular."

"Indeed, Holmes, after some discussion of the intrusion, the Explorer and his dear lady managed to return to sleep. Some hours later, the light of day just beginning to brighten the interior of the tent, the Explorer had the curious sensation of being watched. The peculiar notion was strong enough to rouse him from his sleep, certain that if he opened his eyes, he would find the face of another mere inches from his own.

"He then heard the sound of something sniffing and rummaging about in the tent. This event took place before Lindsay, that noble dog, had come to the Explorer household, so it wasn't she that the Explorer heard.

"Sensing the creature was now in the most further remove of the confined enclosure, he risked opening his eyes. And found himself staring at the nether end of a skunk. The creature's identity made obvious by the white stripe down its back."

"And from this, Watson, we can deduce that when the inebriated nymph had fled their tent, she had failed to pull the zipper fully closed and had certainly not engaged the clasps that would have prevented such an entry." said Holmes, lighting his pipe with evident satisfaction.

"As usual Holmes, your skills at deduction astound me." I replied. "Of course, recalling Mrs. Explorer's reaction to the night's previous visitor, our dear friend held his breath and uttered the most fervent prayer, that Mrs. Explorer would not awaken and challenge this second visitor.

"In time his prayers were answered, for she remained quiet and the fragrant beast, having satisfied itself that no food was to be found within the tent, eventually left through the opening that had admitted it in the first place."

"Quite so, Watson" Homes was already disappearing in a haze of equally fragrant tobacco smoke, "And the Explorer then leaped to his feet and rushed to properly fasten the entry way to their temporary abode."

"And that is the story Holmes. It ends there, but why would you choose to call it "The Case of the Second Tent?"

"Elementary, my dear Watson, for what can we deduce would occasion even an inebriated young woman to enter a strange tent and remove her garments in the middle of the night. Do not forget she could not have known so fine a gentleman as the Explorer was the occupant. She could have been placing herself in the gravest of danger."

"Why Holmes, you are quite correct. Whatever could be the answer to this odd riddle?"

"Why, a second tent, Watson! A second tent! In the camp ground where Mr and Mrs Explorer chose to spend the night, there had to have been a second tent of the same style and manufacture as the Explorer's own. It is the only explanation that meets the facts of the case."

"Indeed, Holmes, once again you astound me. However, calling it "The Strange Case of the Naked Woman in the Night", will attract more readers to this blog, than the title you propose."

"Surely not, Watson, the readers of these missives are finer folk indeed. If they choose to read your account it will be despite your lurid title not because of it."

And with that, he reached once more for his fiddle.

Canadians In Love

I have to admit it, we Canadians are not known for romance. If someone were to ask you to name the most romantic people on earth, Canadians would not immediately come to mind. Might not even make it onto your list as a postscript.

"Nice people" yes we would be near the top of your list. "Polite", "clean", "nice neighbours", okay you got us.

If you're ever in a fight, a couple of our hockey players would be handy to have around. But women seldom dream of toothless lovers.

If you need comedians for the Hollywood grist mill, Jim Carey, Martin Short or Mike Myers will do just fine. They'd be fun to have at a party, but they're not romantic. Oh Hollywood did its best to make us romantic, with those singing Mounty/beautiful Indian maiden movies back in the thirties. But the Canadian Mounted Police don't dress in those red surge jackets any more, they don't ride horses and they sure don't sing. If you get stopped for a ticket in Alberta, they'll look like any other cop in North America. And the same old, same old isn't romantic.

That's what makes it so strange that the entire population of Canada should have fallen in love, deeply passionately in love. The stand in the freezing cold just for a glimpse, a taste of the ardour of your affection, kind of love. Romance on a grand scale.

With a chain of donut restaurants.

Cue Enya, dim the lights, we are about to name the object of our affection: Tim Hortons



Just listen to what Wikipeadia has to say:

"Tim Hortons Inc. is a coffee-and-doughnut fast food restaurant chain. Founded in Hamilton, Ontario, in 1964, the store rapidly expanded across Canada to become the country's largest quick-service food chain.

"Tim Hortons franchise stores are plentiful in Canadian cities and towns. As of July 1, 2007, there were 2,733 outlets in Canada, 345 outlets in the United States and one outlet just outside Kandahar, Afghanistan. Tim Hortons has supplanted McDonald's as Canada's largest food service operator; it has nearly twice as many Canadian outlets as McDonald's, and its system-wide sales surpassed those of McDonald's Canadian operations in 2002. The chain accounted for 22.6% of all fast food industry revenues in Canada in 2005. Tim Hortons commands 76% of the Canadian market for baked goods (based on the number of customers served) and holds 62% of the Canadian coffee market (compared to Starbucks, in the number two position, at 7%)."

Have sweeter words ever been spoken? Can you not feel our hearts beating. Our soldiers in Afghanistan could not exist without Tim Hortons and our troops wrote enough pleading letters to the restaurant chain that they opened a store on our military base in Kandahar province.

And Tim Horton, the man for whom the entire chain is named, was a hockey player.

If you want to find romance in Canada, just go to any Tims and look for the line-up that stretches from the counter out the door into the cold frigid morning.

We are not afraid to suffer for our love.

Have pity on us, we're Canadians.

tagged

Uh, Oh. . . I've been tagged. Plant Buddy (http://wateronceaweek.blogspot.com/) tagged me and now it's my turn to tag YOU.

The tag says to post 8 Random Facts and/or Habits about myself and then choose 8 other people to tag.

Now you've been tagged by An Explorer http://anexplorers.blogspot.com/

After you put this link on your site, go and tag 8 other bloggers and have them link back to you.

There are benefits to this tagging game: You increase traffic to your site and meet new people.

This is my first tagging experience. . . So here goes:

1. I was born in England but came to Canada when I was three.

2. I have a Masters Degree in Social Work.

3. I hate snow in November. Snow should stay in its place, which is Christmas Day.

4. I've just started eating a healthier diet.

5. I have two daughters and four grandchildren.

6. Actually I had five grandchildren but one died of an unsuspected heart condition at 6 months.

7. I am a secret fan of the Pibgorn comic.

8. I once stood at the next urinal to Mickey Rooney.

When Things Go Right

Lindsay has a strong personality and distant relatives are always asking about her. So I posted the above video to YouTube last winter and titled it "Lindsay at Play". When I checked back, later that afternoon, it had had over a thousand hits! I was astonished.

Then I noticed its listing among "related videos" and discovered it was smack in the middle of ten videos about Lindsay Lohan. Not wanting our sweet dog in such company, my wife made me take it down. I recently reposted it with the subtitle, "How Lindsay Gets Burrs In Her Ears" and it gets no where near the attention.

I'm walking alone today, Lindsay accompanying me only in my thoughts. We are having family over for dinner tonight. However, my oldest daughter's son is allergic to dogs. His eyes swell, turn red and water painfully. So whenever they're coming over we have to board out Lindsay for the day and do a dramatic cleaning of the house. Both are difficult to do on week days when our employers actually expect us to turn up for work.

Fortunately for us, Nigel is only a couple of blocks away, is a former dog trainer for the Canadian Institute for the Blind, and loves to have Lindsay visit. He calls her "Monster" and Lindsay goes into paroxysms of delight when she sees him. So Lindsay will stay with him, out of the way for the evening.

I've been asked a couple of times about Lindsay's breed. Like Barack Obama she's a mutt. An English Springer Spaniel/English Setter mix. She is mostly Spaniel, but we don't give her the Spaniel cut and chose not to get her tail bobbed. As a result she has a beautiful tail, that, along with her ears, is a magnificent burr collector in the Fall.

We taught Lindsay to sit and lay-down and roll over; but most of what she knows she taught herself. She listens to us intently and it's astonishing the things she's picked up. When she was being irritable one evening, my wife got annoyed and told her, "Oh, Lindsay go to sleep!" And she did. We laughed, thinking it was just a coincidence; but no, Lindsay knew just what she was doing. And its become a handy little command to have in our tool kit.

Speaking of teaching dogs to "sit". When Lindsay was younger she was part of a dog walking group called Puppy Club. About twenty of us would gather with our dogs and take them for a run through the Rouge Valley on a Saturday morning. One woman was having problems with her dog and loudly and angrily ordered it to sit. Everyone of the twenty dogs promptly planted their bum on the pathway setting off a veritable earthquake of obedience. You probably felt the earth move where you live. Ubiquitous little command, that "Sit".

Anyway, thoughts of Lindsay as I finish my lonely walk. Lots more more to do before the family arrives. The weather forecast is for our first snow storm of the season tonight. Both our daughters live outside Toronto and won't drive if the weather is bad.

So I'm keeping my fingers crossed and looking forward to the day.