Part 3 In Support of the Muskoka SPCA

Pooh Bear and Muffin enjoy a walk through a pile of leaves.

PART THREE

A Series In Support of the Muskoka Animal Shelter

The Matter of the Snatched Bacon at Birch Hollow

     This online series of stories, was written, following the successful adoption of our newest house-mate, a cute little pup named "Pooh Bear," from the Muskoka Animal Shelter, of the Ontario Society For The Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. It reinforced our support for the good work by the Shelter staff and volunteers, to help homeless pets that have often come from unfortunate living circumstances, and otherwise abused by those who were supposed to protect and nurture them. We have adopted five dogs from the Shelter since it was established in the mid 1980's, and our family life has been profoundly impacted and enriched by each of our cherished pets. As well, there have been dozens of curious and humourous tales, inspired by these same pets, along with the compliance of our resident cats, also rescued after being abandoned in our neighborhood.
     Take for example the "stolen bacon caper," that transpired one Sunday morning breakfast. Suzanne was preparing the stove-top for our usual bacon and egg breakfast, in the company of our cat, a foundling, named Fester. (It would be considered Fester the First, because we had a second one with the same name). Alf, a lab / terrier cross, with a little Blue Tick Hound thrown in for contrast, was laying on the floor, seemingly uninterested in the affairs of the cook, working between fridge and stove. Alf was a wonderful family pet, and guarded our children as if they were her pups, and with the exception of always laying in the middle of doorways, forcing us to step over, or around, we never had a problem with her behaviour. She had been surrendered to the OSPCA Bracebridge Shelter, because her owner, a senior citizen simply couldn't look after it any longer. She was a powerful dog, and wasn't trained to walk with a leash. We adopted her when she was seven years old. It was hard to change her habits and decided that it was better to leave re-training alone, unless she decided to start eating the furniture and, or, biting me.
     If food was involved, Alf would check it out if you happened to be looking elsewhere. She would beg at dinner, because it is what she was used to with her former owner. If you looked up from your plate, she'd quickly look away, as if fearing she would be reprimanded for mooching. Well, that never happened, except in the case of the snatch bacon. Here's how it went down!
     Suzanne was directing Andrew and Robert, still pretty young then, to sit up at the dining room table, and get ready to eat breakfast. She was yelling at me to turn down the television, and march in the same direction, toward the table, to properly position the lads. All I heard was a little yelp and the lengthened version of reprimand, that made us all aware that "A...l....f," had done something beyond normal protocol of kitchen slumbering. From a laying-down, curled position, looking like a Norman Rockwell subject, Alf apparently, from the discussion later, had kept one eye on Suzanne's transfer of a cluster of bacon strips, from the fridge to the frying pan, a short dip and twist in action and reaction. Directing us at the table, and transferring the bacon from the package to the heated pan, she let the suspended bacon slip below the acceptable line, at least according to Alf's view of the situation.
     Apparently there was a rule in her previous household, that dictated the distance from the floor, that was the acceptable salvage and recovery zone as far as this pet was concerned. It's not like Suzanne to let the bacon come close to the floor, but the fact that it would have hit Alf on the tip of her moist nose, made it a matter of acceptable gain, on her part, and regrettable loss on Suzanne's. When Suzanne tried to lift the bacon into the pan, the action, like fly fishing in the rapids of a sparkling creek, was too much to take for Alf, who snatched the strips, and within seconds, had consumed the whole cluster, which represented at least five thick pieces. When Suzanne looked down to see what had just happened, Alf was sitting with grease on her lips, and her tongue taking full advantage of the residue. She was sure Alf was smiling at her, with twinkling eyes at the big score of bacon. She basically inhaled the meat, and the misadventure on Suzanne's part, was a reminder of what the dog considered acceptable salvage domain, and it would come to result in the future loss of hot dogs swung too low, various sandwiches, donuts and even licorice sticks. We didn't have the heart to chastise this beautiful dog, because this is how she survived in a prior relationship, where she wasn't fed in a bowl as such; but given scraps from the dinners the elderly woman had enjoyed.
     With each of our other two large dogs, Kramer and Bosko, similar incidents occurred, much to the cook's chagrin. Like Alf's penchant for grabbing food items that were lowered below the magic line, between the floor and counter-top, Kramer and Bosko were opportunists, that would wait patiently for any misadventure, or sudden household circumstance, to satisfy their appetites, whether it was a baked treat held too low, by Andrew or Robert, or another strip of bacon that somehow cross the threshold, meaning to them, it was acceptable to snatch and gobble.
     There was an occasion we were having our supper in front of the television, to watch that year's Super Bowl, when I had a run-in with Fester the cat, making a miscalculated jump up the arm of my chair. We were having a magnificent roast beef feast, and as I like a lot of gravy on my mashed potatoes, it was a mountain of great edible beauty. Yorkshire pudding too, and the carrots and beans were perfectly placed on the plate to make a most splendid culinary work of art. But because of a misplaced paw, Fester had hit the corner of the tray sitting on my lap, tipping it up, and sending everything, plate and utensils onto Kramer's head. Kramer always begged at the corner of my chair, and what the heck, I was a sucker for her big brown eyes. It was quite a scene. The dog eating what was falling down from its head, and Fester licking the gravy off its fur, while tears welled up in my eyes at this lost feast. And yes, the boys laughed, and laughed and laughed. I missed two touchdowns, and a forty yard field goal, cleaning myself off, although Fester and Kramer also made sure that I was clear of food as well. The good news was that Suzanne had over-cooked that Super Bowl dinner, so I got seconds as my first. Alls well that ends well. From that point, both dog and cat visited with me each meal, to follow-up on the big bonus meal that football Sunday.
     Bosko was a food vacuum, and seeing as the boys habits at the dinner table usually involved lost items, or food purposely disposed off into Bosko's mouth, our adopted dog gained weight at an alarming rate. Until that is, we began to more carefully police its intake, and keep the bacon strips and hot dogs at a safer distance from her mouth. She had also been surrendered by an elderly owner, who couldn't keep up with her demands. She was a powerful dog, of Shepherd and Collie mix, and had a big appetite. It was a hugely protective dog, and we knew how dangerous it would be for anyone to enter our house without our approval, and careful introduction. Bosko had not been abused, except for the fact it had been isolated in a basement for long periods of time, so its social qualities with house guests weren't up to snuff. Otherwise it was gentle and loved to be close to us, probably due to the fact it had spent years of its life in isolation.
     Bosko also scored a couple of strips of bacon from one of the boys, who had been helping Suzanne prepare breakfast. Same rules of salvage applied, I suppose, as had been exercised by both Alf and Kramer. We figured that eating less bacon was good for our health, so we didn't get too upset about the loss. Today, however, both our dogs, small in stature, have a height disadvantage over the other three, meaning the bacon has to be suspended a lot lower to be physically considered free-for-the-grabbing. They've both benefitted from my weaknesses, and poor eating habits, although it can be said with considerable evidence, both dogs have been better trained to dine at their respective bowls, than from the corner of the table or my chair. Both these dogs have had unfortunate circumstances in the past, as relates to food availability, and Muffin survived pretty much on pizza crusts and peanut butter in a previous living arrangement, which was pretty much a puppy mill. Pooh Bear eats like a horse, and has in short order, regained some of her weight, which has in turn, improved her energy. And she bites me less when I try to feed her treats by hand. When we brought her home, it was more than a week, before she actually seemed caught-up in food intake, and stopped leaping and snapping at treats offered to her. We have a lot fewer food snatching incidents with these pets, and for our health in our elder years, we don't eat bacon much anymore. But those food misadventures are well documented in our family chronicle, here at Birch Hollow, where many similar situations made us mad with laughter, and resolved to give these critters a break in life, from what they had endured previously of neglect and cruelty. To see them thriving, healthy and full of energy, in light of what they had come from, as far as disadvantage, and ever so occasionally getting away with a household theft of food, is just another amusing anecdote in our long relationship with adopted pets, that have enriched our lives beyond what I can describe easily here and now.
     I was displaced earlier, from our music studio, because of incoming lessons, and with my laptop, I decided to bring along Pooh Bear for company in the family truckster, where I often work as I once did as a reporter on the beat. Bear is laying here, occasionally passing wind, looking out the window whenever a passerby comes along with a leashed dog, licking its paws now and again, and sighing so peacefully while sinking down onto her outstretched paws, that I begin to nod off myself, hands still on the keyboard. It's time to quit for the day, amidst this joyful creature comfort, that has been my cherished writer's lucky charm for so many writing jags.
     Please consider making a donation to the Muskoka Animal Shelter of cash or badly need pet supplies. Please contact the Shelter to find out what materials are most needed. If you have some extra room in your place of residence, maybe you would also consider adopting one of the pets currently needing accommodation; and a loving owner. If you have some time to volunteer, I'm sure they would like the good company at the Bracebridge Shelter.
     Join me tomorrow for Part Four of this series of stories, written in support of the Muskoka SPCA generally, for their benevolence for all these years; and the way they have so kindly placed pets and clients together to enhance the lives of all parties. We know this for fact, and we are a family richer because of this enduring relationship.