I think most farm boys growing up in the Okanagan Valley had a dog or two, I was no exception. The first dog I remember was a male black lab mix whose sire was a good fence jumper. Wally gave him a name which today is a politically incorrect name, but back then it was just a handle and wasn’t meant to slur or hurt anyone.
I somehow don’t think he died of old age, but probably got hit by a car and killed which happened to many of our cats and dogs.
The next dog was a terrier named Rafferty. He came to us as a gift from the Duggans in Oliver. Rafferty had boundless energy and loved playing in the tall grass, sniffing out all the critters. Unfortunately his end came in that grass when Wally was using the mechanical side mower which hadn’t any safety protection from the blades, and cut off poor Rafferty’s front legs.
In shock and grief Wally took the 12 gauge and put an end to Rafferty’s suffering.
We then got a spayed cocker spaniel named Penny. She too was a gift from someone in Vancouver. A city raised dog living in the country has some perils to endure.
Her first trial was with a skunk. Her second was with a porcupine, Wally pulled out the quills himself. Her third was with another skunk. We thought cocker spaniels were smart but Penny just couldn’t seem to learn. We lost her on the highway somewhere along the way.
We didn’t get another dog right away, for I think Wally wanted to take a break from the animal deaths. That was when I was at the age where I started bringing home kittens I found at school. Wally named the first one Anthracite. Once Anthracite was full grown he too became a highway victim.
On December 25 of that year, a neighbor had a german sheperd female who had given birth to a dozen pups, and would we like one when they were weaned?
Wally was interested, Auntie Kay was not so keen, but she had a plan for that pup. The day arrived and Wally and I went over to pick a pup. There were black ones and brown ones, for the sire was a collie the owners thought.
Wally and I agreed on a brown male and we took him home. Auntie Kay had decided that she no longer would tolerate a dog leaving hair in every room of the house, so she set up a barrier in the doorway of the kitchen preventing him from traveling to any other rooms. That worked well for when the barrier was removed he always stayed in the kitchen.
Wally called him Nickolas ( born December 25 ), Ferguson ( he just liked the name ), Gudlukson ( name of the female’s owner, and forgive me on the spelling ), Gallagher ( because of Gallagher Lake in the area ), and Shep ( for the mother was a german shepherd ).
Nick lived a full life. Every spring he left for two weeks to sow his oats. When he returned he was always torn up from fighting other males. Somehow he managed to avoid the cars on the highway.
At 14 years of age, he lay down under a peach tree one morning and stayed there all day and into the night. When Wally came out in the morning to do his chores, he found Nickolas still under the peach tree, he had died during the night. Wally buried him among the fruit trees.
The whole time we had our dogs, no one ever thought of neutering or spaying them, and least of all cleaning up after them! Of course they roamed the orchards and defecated there. Only when you stepped on it while walking through the orchard did you remember that dogs defecate.
Today, the dog that is not neutered nor spayed is an anomaly, and it is common to clean up the defecation of your dog, a practice performed in close living communities.
When I pruned trees in Red Deer, I bought a dog waste removal service called Poop N Scoop. The phone number was 309 POOP ( 7667 ).
I built the business from 11 customers to 47 customers in 4.5 years and sold it for $1000.00 more than I paid for it.
Upon taking over the business, I quickly learned to cleanup dog waste without any shame or embarrassment. People who don’t clean up after their dogs feel shame and embarrassment and think that the act of cleanup is all about them and how they feel. The shame and embarrassment goes away quickly once you do it several times. The community applauds you when you do the cleanup and cusses you out when you don’t.
Then you realize that being completely responsible for your pet isn’t so difficult after all. Some still object to depositing the poop bags where they belong, and throw them on somebody elses property.
As a businessman, I was proud of what I did. I advertised on my vehicle in letters so large you could see them at a glance. I also chose the color yellow and died my work clothes yellow, painted my shoes yellow, and was tempted to dye my hair yellow, but I chickened out on that point.
Since I’ve retired, I’ve chosen to walk the neighbor’s neutered dogs twice a week. The three of us walk 2.5 kilometers each time. Each of the two dogs poop up to four times during the outing; happily I clean it up. We return with tongues hanging out, except for me of course, but I do know that we have had a good long, worthwhile, and enjoyable walk.
The lives of dogs today are much safer than when I grew up. We lost too many pets to the highway, so I’m thankful that times have changed and we can enjoy our animals up to their last days.
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