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| Our recently adopted friend, Pooh Bear, from the Muskoka SPCA |
The Pets, The Family, The House They Make a Home -
By Ted and Suzanne Currie
If you have had pets, continue to own and adore them, and have about a million anecdotes about your relationship with and about them, to the point of being able to write a book on the subject, I think you'll find this upcoming series of stories, at the very least, interesting with quite a number of parallels to your own experiences.
We, as a family, have never been partner to a dog or cat that hadn't first been the unfortunate victim, at some point in its life, of purposeful abandonment, voluntary or forced surrender, most often after a lengthy period of thoroughly neglectful ownership.
My first feline house-guest, arrived at my feet one day, while I was standing with a work colleague outside what was then known as the Bracebridge Herald-Gazette, of which I was editor. My reporter friend, Brant Scott and I, were just about to head to the local press club for a beverage, when a car came screeching around the corner, and we saw a passenger stretch their arm out the open window, and drop something to the roadway, narrowly being missed by the back wheels of the fleeing vehicle. After the dust and fur settled, we saw that the item tossed from the speeding car was a kitten, now road rashed and trying desperately to find a safe haven in its interpretation of where that might be, standing on hot tarmac.
Before Brant and could get to it, the kitten managed to trot right up to the toes of my boots, and nuzzled in between my feet to stretch the heartstrings tighter. It wasn't that unusual either, because it was thought by those wishing to abandon pets, dropping it off at the doorstep of a newspaper office would guarantee a story, and an eventual adoption by a reader(s), shocked by the circumstance of inhumane treatment of a little creature. Of course we did a story that next edition, but the adoption-issue never made it to the front page as such. By the end of that same day, it was living with me in my little apartment in the McGibbon House, on Manitoba Street, and it was named "Animal." It would become, next to writer Judith Brocklehurst's cat "Henry," (who was one of our paper's well read columnists), one of the best known felines in our community, via my weekly column "Cold Coffee," circa 1980-86.
Animal was fine after a few days, and the skin healed on the few scrapes, and seemed to like her new digs in the second floor apartment, that afforded me a writing room overlooking Bracebridge's Memorial Park. That wonderful little creature comfort, used to lay and purr at my feet when I sat at my portable Smith-Corona, looking out on the park through the four seasons. Truth be known, I was still recovering from a failed relationship with the girl I had planned to marry, and having shortly after begun a new writing gig for Muskoka Publications, having this bandy-legged wee beast at my side was a most precious comfort. I was lonely and had resigned myself to being a bachelor forever, and Animal and I would keep each other company for long and long. We even had several Christmases alone, and we both celebrated none the less with the traditional fare of watching Dickens' "Christmas Carol" on television, and savouring a small turkey and the best mashed potatoes and gravy an unskilled cook could provide. Animal healed my emotional wounds, of lost love, and made me feel needed again, when I required it the most. It accepted the responsibility of looking after me when I felt sorry for myself, or had too much fun at the press club. She would wait for me on the arm of the sofa, hoping I would have brought home some grub.
Admittedly, at twenty-something, I was not a role model as far as pet ownership. I was broke most of the time, and it was usually my mismanagement of funds that influenced our lesser quality provisions. When Suzanne and I started dating, I was eating potato chip sandwiches doused with oyster sauce, and Animal was eating the cheapest canned tuna on the store shelf. She deserved better. It was Suzanne, in earnest, who made up for the shortfall, after we were married, and she took control of the food budget. It wasn't long before we adopted a stray cat, we named "Tommy" that used to reside at nights, in the bag *Suzanne wouldn't let me bring into the house), that held my hockey equipment, and then "Fester," (the first) rescued as a kitten, trying to warm itself on a sewer grate on a cold winter night on Ontario Street in Bracebridge, near the former High School. She would have been killed in moments by a passing car, because with her dark coat and the slush on the road, she would have been almost impossible to see. I just happened to have heard her plaintive cries when I got out of the car, after arriving home from a hockey game. We would eventually move to our own newly purchased home, circa 1984, on Ontario Street, just below the High School, where our three adopted cats would reside happily for the years spent at that location.
Around this time, I became one of the directors of the fledgling Muskoka Animal Shelter, affiliated with the Ontario Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, on the urging of directors Brian and Judith Brocklehurst, and on my first meeting at the new shelter on old Highway 11, which in essence was a revamped portable school-room, I had adopted one of the early guests; our first dog, named "Alf," (Animal Life Form) which back then was the namesake of the popular television character "Alf" the Alien Life Form.
As a family we adopted a golden lab cross, named "Kramer" in respect to Seinfeld's character "Cosmo Kramer," and then a Shepherd-cross named "Bosco," in-kind to "Officer Boscorelli" (unsure of spelling), from our favorite show, "Third Watch." The fourth dog in the Currie family, was a sweet little goober named "Muffin," adopted from the Muskoka SPCA by son Robert, and the fifth, just this past week, a little white treasure known as "Pooh Bear." "Muffin," is the only one of our dogs past and present not to have a media opposite. She more than makes up for it, by being the popular "studio dog," at our antique and music shop here in Gravenhurst.
The point here? We love dogs and cats? Sure. I've been writing stories about our pet friends since the early 1980's, published in many newspapers and magazines over the years, but there's more to it than just the typical pet-owner confessional wrapped in sentiment and nostalgia of what can only be considered the obvious joys of the relationship with furry friends, and then, ultimately, the sorrows when one painfully departs, the other as is the ultimate case of love-lost but memory fulfilled. This past week we adopted a weary little soul, named Pooh Bear, from the Muskoka Shelter, and we have been smitten ever since. The wee dog has had some health issues but nothing that can't be dealt with over time, and improved upon for its general welfare. It has adapted to our household without a fuss, and partnered with Muffin here in the studio as if they had known each other forever. The two white faces at the door are, at least to us, and a majority of our visitors every day, a welcoming duo who love to be the centre of attention.
Here's the real purpose of this series of short stories, all very real by the way, about our longstanding relationship with dogs and cats, and the kind and caring folks of the Muskoka shelter. We have for decades, benefitted from the services of the SPCA, and have seen their benevolent work up close, having participated in several rescues ourselves after traffic accidents involving the pets of others. We know well the thousands of successful adoptions that have been facilitated by this shelter and the staff and volunteers that keep it operational, and we attend their annual fundraising yard sale to show our support. And get some good stuff in the bargain. But what we would like to do, in support of the shelter's efforts, is offer these few stories from a family that has very much benefitted from our adopted pets, and had our social-cultural values enriched because of the company we keep at Birch Hollow, our own little Gravenhurst sanctuary.
Over the next few days, in advance of the Christmas season, when benevolence hits a peak, I will present a few stories, mostly humourous, generated by our memorable relationship with our array of adopted cats and dogs, that have in every way, been part of our family chronicle. It is our hope that readers may find a few material or financial resources to donate to the Muskoka SPCA, to help the shelter meet its growing obligations to help find homes for abandoned and surrendered pets. Maybe you have some time to donate, as a volunteer; or wish instead, to provide some needed supplies and pet food (please call to enquire what is most desired), in order to help balance shelter shortfalls. Possibly you have some room in your life, and at your place of residence, to adopt one of the homeless pets, hoping for better futures than the past prevailed upon them, as a matter of individual misfortune. Adoption is a glorious experience, and the little creature we just brought home, with its crooked wee grin, has just now landed on my lap, placing her front paw on the space bar of this laptop. I guess she wants me to sign off for the day, to extend some patting to her furrowed brow.
Please join me tomorrow, on this facebook page, for more on the contribution a pet can make to any household, given half a chance. I'll give you the reasons why we have invested in pets for all these years, and always earned dividends. The warmest kind of dividends.
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