A Mini-tour of St. John's, Newfoundland Yesterday

We get quite a few cruise ships in our wonderful harbour here in St. John's. Yesterday it was the Insignia. So I toddled down to the harbour front to have a gawp.

There was a lot of traffic down there so I couldn't get far enough away to get a good shot of the whole ship so I decided to go to the south side of the harbour, which is always devoid of tourists and vehicles and crammed with boats of all kinds, fishing, service and coast guard.

So I took another shot of the ship across the harbour.

It's always lovely over there, I saw this gull sitting on a pole surveying the scene. You might have to embiggen to spot him but he caught my fancy.

I love the houses climbing the cliffs surrounding the entrance to the harbour.

I then took myself off up Signal Hill, which was crowded with busloads off the cruise ship and I overheard some conversations. Apparently this cruise line speccializes in off the beaten track cruises and their enraptured comments about St. John's were pleasing,

I stopped to talk to a woman who had six dogs and I fell in love with all of them.

I am old so no one gives a tosser when I am listening to conversations, I have the advantage of being invisible. So I was sitting on a wall behind two thirty-ish men who were holding hands, standing extremely close to each other, pretending to be catching the spectacular view but their undercurrent was electrifying. Summary: they were on the cruise, had met the night before on the deck at midnight, were married (to unsuspecting women?) and were planning another midnight sojourn once more when the ship sailed later on, meanwhile they had to get back to their wives who were left browsing in the tourist shop. As they were whispering intensely I took this photo of a fishing boat heading out to the open ocean. I am always struck by the forty shades of blue we have out here.

And I pondered on the secret lives of others.
 

30 days - Day 27

Daughter and I've been talking puppies, she's definitely going to add to her menagerie of one - Sam the cat - and I? I had the thought that Ansa might train a puppy. To ready me for the big When. No longer an If in my brain.

It's hard being apart from her at night but I am delighted she adapted so quickly to being downstairs all the time. Not so much her human companion in the adaptation department. I moved her main bed and waterbowl downstairs. The bedroom floor looks stark without her bits. And herself. Who would jump on my bed in the morning and wait for me to wake up, not moving a whisker. And put me to sleep at night by stretching out her whole body, back to back on the bed. I called that "Cuddlebunz" as we do with our own special words with our animals.

Her jumping is hit or miss now, but you should see her bound around the meadow in Puppy-Days-Are Here-Again mode. Breathtaking. And a great appetite. So no, she's not sick, she's just old.

Like her mama.

30 Days - Day 22

Don't I wish I could afford this!

Ansa fell down the stairs yesterday. All of it. She's done partial slidings before, both forwards and backwards. This time she slipped on the very top step and then slithered all the way down. She limped for a while but was up for a 2k walk later on in the day. Me? Upset? You don't know the half of it.

I thought: yeah, that's it. I blocked off the stairs as she runs up and down it a lot during the day. She has to supervise all my doings in the upper floor because of the secret door. You know, the one hidden behind the bath that allows me an escape to a wonderful dogless existence for all eternity if she's not watching me carefully.

So last night I dreaded going to bed thinking: I can't bear crying, if she cries, I'll try and carry her upstairs or sleep on the couch downstairs. But she didn't cry. She paced. And paced. And paced, her paws clicking on the wood floors. I left all the doors open (thank you Spring!)but didn't call down to her as we would both break down.

This morning I awoke to her pacing and a very lackadaisical greeting, completely unlike her. I get it. She thinks she's being punished. I don't know how long it'll be until she gets used to this new order of business.

I wish she'd understand it's for her own safety, the poor wee darling.

30 Days - Day 12

The Sunset Years.

Ansa, my dog is old. She's at the stage where one minute she astounds me with her agility and the next she's enfeebled.

I try and deal with situations as they come up. She's the most intelligent of all the dogs I've had. I've now taught her the meaning of "slow" and she comes down the stairs slowly, she's worked out a way of two paws together on each step. But up the stairs? The other night was scary as she only made it halfway up and I had to slide by her to push her the rest of the way. She's a heavy dog so she can't be carried.

She won't ever go ahead of me as I've trained her not to - even through a doorway. It's the only way to get a dog to trust its owner, they have to respect the lead position of "the pack leader" to obey commands consistently.

One time she'll bounce around the meadow like a puppy, next she can't make it on a jump to the back seat of the car. It would break your heart to see her try. She never gives up. I took a portable step stool out of the house as an assist but she completely ignores it and manoeuvres her way around it, thus making her leap more challenging. Funny but... *sigh*.

She finds it difficult to get up sometimes. So there are mats all over the house to help her. She often reminds me of Daughter's dog, Shamrock, who did the same thing: she'll lie down in the most awkward places now. The top of the stairs, outside a closed door, along the outside of the bathtub, on the mat in front of the kitchen sink. As she is getting quite deaf as well I wind up roaring at her to move before I pitch myself into a mess of twisted broken limbs.

She always walks without a leash, though I carry one with me. She's allowed a few feet ahead of me so I can watch her and has the command "stop" and "sit" down pat. Out on our walk this evening she was ahead as always and a truck was coming and I realized, to my horror, that, yeah, she's deaf, and can't hear me commanding her not to move until the truck passes. My heart was in my throat.

Leashless walks are now a thing of the past.

Sunset accommodations.

I need them too.

Ansa

We trek along together,
Seniors. She and I.
She loves the irises.
Always has.

Sticks her nose in.
Asks me to do the same.
I oblige. She is pleased.
She's trained me well.

See, she's easy to please.
I just have to get up.
And she's joyful.
Bounding to greet the day.

Every day is her birthday.
Mine too. When she's in it.
If only I were the kind of person
She thinks I am. Maybe.

Take a bow (wow)
My gorgeous girl.

For Ansa

Through the back door, Ansa, showing off her 5% husky heritage in the snow.

"She is your friend, your partner, your defender, your dog. You are her life, her love, her leader. She will be yours, faithful and true, to the last beat of her heart. You owe it to her to be worthy of such devotion."

- author unknown

Sometimes, you just have to laugh (and laugh)

My daughter arrived yesterday. She was on standby, so was bumped to a later flight and arrived in St. John's 5 hours later than originally scheduled. This does not faze on her at all, being well equipped with books at Toronto airport, and then having the good sense to be seated next to a travelling companion who became an instant friend. The journey flew, she told me, a 3 hour flight seeming like 30 minutes.

She was tired but exhilarated when she got here. We were overjoyed to see each other as it has been just over a year, the longest separation ever since she arrived in my world forty-mumble years ago. You can't shut us up when we get together. So we pile into my car. Ansa had been on tiptoe in the back seat, mention my daughter's name and she is alert, head to toe. She kept looking for Daughter's dog who has shared her space on more than a few occasions. Alas, not to be. Shamrock stayed behind in Toronto under the care of Grandgirl, who is now, OMG, old enough to handle the animals and, OMG cubed, old enough to stay by herself.

So we pull across the parking lot and whump-whump. Flat tire. Middle of the night. I call the CAA and we sat and waited for the roadside assistance, exhausted but laughing insanely. It just seemed kinda perfect, you know?

And PS, where else in the world would one leave an airport parking lot and the attendant extends a huge dog biscuit to the canine passenger? Newfoundland: we loves ya!

Walter & Dolly

Portrait of Dolly. February 2011

I was born under the sign of The Cat - Leo.

I would have told you I am not much of a cat lover being partial to dogs.

But there have been cats that I have loved and ones who have loved me.

There was the king himself, Walter (named for the actor Walter Matthau of the sideways lurch) who was more canine than feline and came walking with me and the dogs every night, just about causing car pileups as the four of us would navigate pedestrian crossings, Walter in the vanguard.

Walter's best friend was not one of our dogs but a dog two doors down by the name of Bear who was a German Shepherd. They would roll over and around and under each other on the lawn in complete ecstasy. Walter was a big boy. Jet black. From a long line of genuine barn cats. By big I mean he looked like a panther and weighed close to 30 lbs. The vet and I would put him on diets. On one of the more extreme diets (we were concerned about his blood sugars) I was shocked when he was gaining rather than losing weight.

Until my neighbours dropped in on me one night and said, "You've got to see this, you won't believe it!"

I trotted down to their place where I was led down to their basement. There was Walter with Bear lying beside him licking him. Walter was chowing down on Bear's food. Bear was fed in the basement and had managed to slide open the basement window, put his paw through the screen and let Walter in. Walter had been coming in every day to top himself up on Bear food.

After that, I gave up on Weight Watchers for Walter.

I loved Walter dearly and miss him to this day.

And I'm also partial to Dolly pictured above who has her favourite spot on the back of a chair in a friend's house. And participates in all the conversations. A gorgeous and gregarious girl.

TMI

And for those of you not fluent in brief-speak, TMI stands for "Too Much Information".

But how can one avoid it sometimes?

Case in point are the two dogs up there. One is Shamrock, my daughter's dog, one is Ansa, my dog. They have both enthusiastically greeted the stranger-dog you see in the water who is fetching floating sticks like a maniac and depositing them at my daughter's and granddaughter's feet to be thrown again.

Just prior to this picture being taken they had looked at each other in disbelief at the behaviour of stranger-dog and walked off together. With dignity.

Boy, do they look alike, eh? Everyone who sees them together is enchanted with them.

"Siblings?" they ask, certain of the reply.
"Well, no."
"Oh, mother and daughter then?"
"No, not related at all."
"Oh, come on now, they have to be!" (getting a little irritated at our stubborness).
"Well, they're about 5 years apart in age and were born 3,000km apart in different provinces and only see each other once or twice a year."
"Oh, well then." (sounding a little huffy, eying the dogs with suspicion now).

It gets a little weird. I think here's where a white lie would serve us all well.

"Sisters", we should say, "Same litter!".

TMI can be so exhausting. Not to mention defensive.

Why do dogs live so short a time?

I couldn't resist posting this lovely piece for dog lovers everywhere:

Being a veterinarian, I had been called to examine a ten-year-old Irish
Wolfhound named Belker. The dog's owners, Ron, his wife Lisa, and their
little boy Shane, were all very attached to Belker, and they
were hoping for a miracle.
I examined Belker and found he was dying of cancer. I told the family we
couldn't do anything for Belker, and offered to perform the euthanasia
procedure for the old dog in their home.
As we made arrangements, Ron and Lisa told me they thought it would be
good for six-year-old Shane to observe the procedure. They felt as though
Shane might learn something from the experience.
The next day, I felt the familiar catch in my throat as Belker's family
surrounded him.
Shane seemed so calm, petting the old dog for the last time, that I
wondered if he understood what was going on. Within a few minutes, Belker
slipped peacefully away.
The little boy seemed to accept Belker's transition without any difficulty
or confusion. We sat together for a while after Belker's Death, wondering
aloud about the sad fact that animal lives are Shorter than human
lives. Shane, who had been listening quietly, piped up, 'I know why.'
Startled, we all turned to him. What came out of his mouth next stunned
me. I'd never heard a more comforting explanation.
He said, 'People are born so that they can learn how to live a good Life
-- like loving everybody all the time and being nice, right?' The
Six-year-old continued, 'Well, dogs already know how to do that, so they
don't have to stay as long.'
Live simply.
Love generously.
Care deeply.
Speak kindly.
Remember, if a dog was the teacher you would learn things like:
When loved ones come home, always run to greet them.
Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joyride.
Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure ecstasy.
Take naps.
Stretch before rising.
Run, romp, and play daily.
Thrive on attention and let people touch you.
Avoid biting when a simple growl will do.
On warm days, stop to lie on your back on the grass.
On hot days, drink lots of water and lie under a shady tree.
When you're happy, dance around and wag your entire body.
Delight in the simple joy of a long walk.
Be loyal.
Never pretend to be something you're not.
If what you want lies buried, dig until you find it.
When someone is having a bad day, be silent, sit close by, and nuzzle them
gently.

And oh, don't I wish I was the kind of person my dog (above) thinks I am!

Rescue Dog Stories

Picture is of Holyrood, NL dressed in lupines taken by me, June of 2006
As we ride through Nova Scotia, I see a subtle change in Ansa, my canine companion. Her head lifts high, her ears follow, her snout finds the airvent of the glove compartment. She has smelled the ocean before I've seen it. We both whoop in glee. Well, hers is more of a tiny yip.
So barely landed late last night here on the Avalon, we decide in the glorious pink sunset of the late afternoon today to head down to one of our favourite spots, the boardwalk at Holyrood. It is built along the site of the old railway line that used to run out here from St. John's, right along the sea coast. What a trip it must have been by steam! One can almost hear the click of the wheels on the track and the faraway train whistle.
And we run into another dog, her favourite kind of all, a big blonde male. This one's a retriever and also a rescue.
It's funny that. How one rescue dog meets up with another rescue dog. And their companions trade stories. And share a spot of emotion.
Jake's owner shared his story first. He was pretty defeated when she acquired him over six months ago. She could see his ribs sticking through his matted spotty fur. His depression was palpable for his head hung low. She began grooming him and feeding him small meals three times a day but otherwise letting him assimilate at his own speed into her life.
A month later she looked up from reading the paper and found Jake had backed himself into the opposite corner of the living room and was on his back legs. Next thing he started to dance, waving his front paws at her and moving his back legs delicately. This went on for five minutes and then he stopped and lay down, snout between his front paws and just gazed at her, his dance of joy over.
Now she looked at him and said, "Jake dance". And he did, delighting both Ansa and myself.
As to Ansa, I have many stories and this is one: she was never fed anything but garbage and what she could scrounge when I got her. Her fur was dull and matted and her eyes remained focussed on the floor also. It took me a while to get her to take dog food. Quite a while. Our routine in the morning now is I let her outside and fix her breakfast. She comes in and heads right for the dog bowls, sniffs them, but does not eat and then no matter where I am in the house she will find me and thank me for the food. I have to say "You're welcome" before she trots off joyfully to demolish her breakfast. I have had a lot of dogs over the years but have never, ever been thanked for the food. It never fails to touch me or for that matter, anyone who witnesses this act of gratitude.
Jake's and Ansa's companions shared a happy tear as we watched our dogs frolic joyfully together on the shore.
And debated on who exactly was rescued here?