Part 4 In Support of the Muskoka SPCA

Pooh Bear and I share a moment in the studio of our shop

PART FOUR

A Series of Stories in Support of the Muskoka Animal Shelter

Some Curious Moments, at Birch Hollow, Courtesy the Pets in Our Lives

     We had just that sparkling, sunny, Saturday morning, in mid-spring, picked up our new dog Kramer, from the former shelter of the Ontario Society For The Prevention Of Cruelty to Animals, in Bracebridge. Only a few months earlier, we were so very happy with our first SPCA dog, Alf, truly a family-faithful pet if ever there was one. When I approached her, she'd roll over onto her back so that I would scratch her tummy. This was out of the ordinary. But this time, she persisted after the first several times, I had to step over her to get back and forth through our kitchen doorway. Usually, she'd do it once or twice a day, but if we let her know we had more urgent things to accomplish, she'd go back to sleep in a ball. This time was different.
     When I stopped on my fourth pass over top, I noticed something unusual on her stomach. It was a long red bump and if I didn't know better, she was beckoning me to examine the course of this swelling. It was hard and I couldn't believe we had missed it before, because she did something similar every day that we had enjoyed her company. The Veterinarian consulted, took one look, and turned to Suzanne and said it was a cancer spreading through her milk duct, and it was necessary to end her life before the suffering increased, which was inevitable. We all cried on and off for days.
     When we levelled off after a few months, we went to the Shelter and made a donation in Alf's name, but at the same time, I asked if they'd look out for another swell dog, because we Curries found out we couldn't live contently without a canine presence. The attendant asked if I would like to see a golden lab that had just been surrendered, and was about the same size and temparment. Well, that wasn't quite so, and when they brought "Simba" as it was called then, to meet and greet me, I immediately declined, sensing this was no dog to have around little kids and cats. One of the moments I would like to do-over in my life, was that one, in particular, because the attendant had leashed Simba for me to take it on a walk around the shelter property. I don't know what made me reject the poor creature, that began by nearly licking the skin off my hand, but I offered an apology to staff, and walked out the door with tears in my eyes. I was still absorbed by the memory of Alf, and how unfair it had been to lose such a great friend after only a few years in its company. In the process of self abortion, and self-pity more like it, I had been emotionally unkind to a dog that would later become the great protector of our family, nestled into the treed domain of the homestead we call Birch Hollow. Yes, we would phone back later that day to arrange for our whole family to come and visit Simba, soon to become Cosmo Kramer, a beautiful dog with a loyalty to match wee Alfred's faithfulness.
     When we got Kramer home that morning, son Robert wanted to take it into The Bog across the road from Birch Hollow, and with Andrew, (Suzanne went inside to get her food and water dish established), we trundled through the spring forest full of the sounds of rebirth, and the aroma of the lowland muck and water. We got to the jut-out of landscape that is about twelve to fifteen feet above the hollow of The Bog, where we used to bring Alf for an outing. Alf would sit on the knob of hillside, and satisfy its curiosity watching all the creatures big and small crossing through the lowland. There were always lots of squirrels flying through the tree-tops on the ridge above the hollow, and it wasn't uncommon to find deer ambling on the other side, grazing on whatever growth seemed appetizing at the time. When we arrived, there were, at most, several squirrels taking turns chasing each other, but all was pretty quiet. Robert stood very proudly on the hillside, admiring his beautiful dog, which at that point, was sitting nicely, almost in the same spot Alf had settled so many times during our relationship.
     We really didn't know too much about Simba - being the newly re-named Kramer, but we were about to find out. Without the slightest warning, a deer poked his head up from a quagmire of dry cat-tails, catching Kramer's attention. In a fraction of a second, the powerful medium sized dog took off in flight, bounding off the hillside, to chased down the deer; which by the way had already bolted toward the woodlot on the far side of The Bog. Rob was still hanging dutifully to the leash, and what that meant, having been positioned on the crest of a hill, one hell of a drag down through scraggly shrubs into the babbling creek below. Andrew and I had no chance to intervene to save the poor lad this nose dive into the drink, still mind-you, holding onto the leash. I thought he would have been serious injured, because of all the obstacles he had to surf over to get to the bottom. Outside of some scrapes, and bruises to his elbows and knees, and hurt pride, he was in pretty good shape. Kramer was tangled in vines and other growth in the basin, and couldn't really get past the creek to chase down the deer. There was one for the family album. Darn it! I didn't have a camera to capture the moment of rescue, untangling Robert from the shrubbery. Kramer was fine following the incident, but from that point we always kept a tight hold of the leash, and stayed away from the edge of hillside when roaming in Algonquin Park, and here at home in The Bog.
     Kramer was exceptionally well behaved in the old Portage Store aluminum canoe, we called the "Iron Water-horse," and there was an occasion, when out on Algonquin's Canoe Lake, initially having a picnic on Hayhurst Point (where there is a cairn in honor of artist Tom Thomson), when we absolutely required the dog to be more like Lassie, than the "bounder" we saw that first day at Birch Hollow. We got caught-up in a windstorm, out of a clear blue sky, that autumn afternoon, and it was Kramer, in the middle of the canoe, that kept both boys calm despite the fact waves were washing over the gunnels, and nearly tipping us in the precise location where Thomson was said to have drowned in July 1917. Kramer was perfectly still for that stormy crossing, and Robert felt comfort patting its back and head, and it nuzzled into the back of Andrew's neck, which relaxed them gently despite the dangers we were experiencing, that kept mom and pop paddling as if cascading down mountainside white-water. If Kramer had moved anxiously toward any side of the canoe, it might have been enough, with the wave action, of flipping us into the foaming water. Kramer seemed to know that it was her job to keep the boys calm, and by golly, that's just what happened. I think she was a big player in our well being that day, and we arrived safe and sound back at the Portage Store wet and exhausted, but well, alive. When the boys got out of the canoe, Kramer never left their side until we got back to the van, and they were safely secure in their seats. Her big brown eyes sparkled that day like I'd never seen of any dog, as if she understood how close we had come to a potentially fatal end to a family outing. I never forgot her gentleness and calm disposition on that day, when other dogs might have desired to exit the watercraft, to attempt swimming to shore. Not Kramer.
     One evening I came home from an out of town hockey game, in which I had suited-up as netminder, to find Suzanne on the sofa with Kramer at her side. Kramer wasn't allowed on the sofa, by Suzanne's rule, but something was wrong with this picture other than the dog being where I normally sat. An hour earlier Suzanne had received a phone call from her father, Norman, to let her know that Aunt Ada had been found deceased alone in her house. As soon as she got off the phone and let the news sink in, Kramer seemed to know what she was feeling, and immediately jumped up on the sofa, and laid her head on Suzanne's leg. For the next hour, with tears in her eyes, she patted Kramer's head, feeling some kindly relief from what had been terrible news about her aunt. Kramer seemed to know when one of us needed a pet to lean on, for emotional comfort, and it happened numerous times in the next few years when other calamities set upon us when least prepared.
     Kramer slept beside Suzanne for most of her life spent in our household, and she'd bite her leg gently, if there was a compromise to that section of bedstead. I've always thought Kramer knew when Suzanne was having a bad dream, or nightmare, such that she'd wake her up with a bark and light bite to her calf. Kramer had endured a tough early life, and was slow to embrace its new realities at Birch Hollow, and admittedly, it took a year or so before we were, as they say, on the same page in terms of household and on-leach conduct. Nothing serious but we came to understood that its early deprivation of wide open spaces, being confined to a basement, denied it the socialization most pets get as part of a normal pet-human relationship. For one thing, it didn't get along with other dogs, but it would sleep side by side our cats. And it would have been dangerous for any one to break into our house at any time of the day, especially if we were at home. It was a fierce protector and house guests were carefully introduced to Kramer, and never too fast for all to adjust to the particular circumstance. It was, on our part, the job at hand, to keep the dog from being put in a situation where it had to react in defence-mode, perceiving for example, a visitor meant us harm. We always felt safe in the house with Kramer, that although not a big dog, was powerful and could make a bone disappear quickly with its powerful jaws. Did we ever worry about the boys being bitten by their pet. Well, we never let either lad have unsupervised contact with any of our dogs in those years, fearing that they might have taken liberties in handling, compromising Kramer's sense of well-being. That's just being a responsible parent and pet owner at the same time.
     On warm summer and autumn nights, when it was uncomfortably hot indoors, I used to sleep out on our covered verandah with Kramer at my feet, and several times the dog reared-up when we had someone trespassing through our sideyard. She couldn't get off the deck because of the railing, but the interlopers soon scampered off into the forest, fearing the dog was loose. I got particularly close to Kramer during its residency at Birch Hollow, and although we didn't always see eye to eye, as they say, we made it work and all went on its merry way, until its health gradually began to decline, robbing us of a much longer relationship.
     I still pine about the day I rejected it, at the Bracebridge shelter, when all it wanted was a little trot around the property to get some fresh air, and benefit from a wee bit of affection from me. We tried to make it up to Kramer over the years, and I really like to think we did just that, times three. Do you know, there have been at least three occasions in the past few years, when I have been rubbed on the back of my leg, while standing at the kitchen counter, in the exact same fashion, and place on the floor, Kramer used to beg for food scraps in the good old days. Animal ghosts? Of course there are! We hear cats scratching the door frames in the same place and manner as our pets of once, long ago, and always address these incidents the same as we did when they were alive and running through our house. We call them by name, and ask them (in spirit form) to please stop ruining our woodwork. Then the scratching stops, but we might, before the evening is over, feel a cat rub against our shins, and look down expecting one of our present felines to be positioned below. Not so! Call us weirdos but spiritual interventions happen to us all the time, and rather than try to disprove them all, we just say hello to the spirit-creature we think it is, by its actions and the noise it creates. Just as it did in life.
     Thank you for joining today's little story about pets we've owned, all by the way, having been either adopted from the Humane Society's Bracebridge Shelter, or found abandoned in and around our neighborhood of Gravenhurst. We have had a wonderfully enriched household thanks to their contribution of affection. If you would like to donate your services as a volunteer at the Shelter, please give them a call. If you wish to donate pet supplies and or money to help them out, you can also phone the Shelter to find out what is most urgently required. And remember, if you have a little room at your place of residence, a warm place in your heart, possibly you would consider adopting one of the beautiful pets currently in need of housing, temporarily residing at the Bracebridge Shelter.
     We did just that, in the past week, by adopting a wonderful little dog named "Pooh Bear," a surrendered-pet, and we are delighted by her warm presence at Birch Hollow. She is now a good friend of our other resident, Muffin the dog, which belongs to son Robert, and well, four cats that had been abandoned in our neighborhood. All are getting along fine. Please join me tomorrow on this same site, for Part Five of this seven part series, in support of the efforts of the OSPCA generally, the Muskoka Shelter specifically.