So Many, 'Lost in Translation'

The meal is brought to the table. We regale in its sensory feast. Twenty minutes later, the food has been devoured and hunger has left us, temporarily. Such moments are a regular part of daily life. Unless we are the cook, much of what we have just eaten becomes 'lost in translation'.

The other day, I thought of all the cooks who toil in the kitchen, day after day, cooking healthy and lengthy meals, for family and friends. What takes mere minutes to eat: an egg salad or tuna sandwich on sourdough, a bowl of homemade soup, maybe a salad, with fruit compote, tiramisu or hot apple pie, may have taken hours to create only to be gulped down and forgotten. Sometimes, the time taken to make a multi course dinner for friends and family could equal the time spent painting a room, refinishing an antique, or landscaping the yard. Here, the 'labour' is a beautiful transformation that is appreciated, timelessly.

We quickly forget the intensive labour involved in a meal, unless, of course, we are the orchestrators of its lengthy creation. Last week, I spent countless hours, making cabbage rolls. (At times, it seemed like days). Ha. Ha. The rice had been cooked the previous day but not without addition of sauteed 'diced' celery, onions and 'minced' garlic. Diced mushrooms were included, a new twist to this family favourite. In the simmering water, the next morning, I began the task of separating, gingerly, the cabbage leaves from the core of this maligned vegetable called cabbage. (A paring knife was used to make cuts on three sides of the core while tongs removed a leaf from each layer of the cabbage, one by one). A carving fork held the cabbage in place while I deftly snipped here and there, loosening the leaves continuously until most had been separated. Into a bowl went the separated leaves for the task of making the coveted 'holubtsi'.

The thickened 'vein' of each cabbage leaf was removed before filling the leaf with the delicious rice mixture made the previous day. (These thickened ridges of the cabbage leaf are generally left inside the casserole dish to cook beneath the rolls as they protect them from drying out or being burnt on the corners, inside the ceramic casserole dish). (Ceramic rather than metal offers a deeper, more moist heat penetration making the cabbage rolls more tender and more flavourful, in shorter time.) As each layer of cabbage rolls was completed, tomato juice was poured over the top with more salt and pepper added for flavour, in a slow oven of 330, over 2-3 hours. (Diced tomatoes, or sauce is no longer used. Simplify, Simplify). Hours of production disappears, 'lost in translation', when family devours these delicious handmade rolls over the course of three meals. Oh. My. If I wanted well made healthy, delicious cabbage rolls someone had to make them. That person was me, if certain standards were to be met. Food does not create it itself.

As meals come and go, the greatest 'loss' of labour occurs over the holidays where women, traditionally, are the ones stuck in the kitchen even on the 'day'. Course after course appears to the ahs and cheers of the seated patrons. Some of the foods have been made the day before to be reheated in the oven, later the next day. Desserts are generally made ahead of time, frozen till they can be baked or assembled into their expected 'costumes', prior to the meal. The hours spent organizing the celebratory dietary event can be endless. (A book shelf could have been made in the time taken to create another meal masterpiece.) The cost of dining out (over 50% is labour ) might invariably equal the cost a week's worth of groceries and the food might not have been made with the exact standard of care. There is no escape from meal time drudgery.

We admire a new renovation or addition, a recently purchased piece of furniture, a new area rug. We revel in their beauty, time after time. Whether in our home or in the home of another, 'hand made' objects are on display, appreciated, over and over again, their timeless quality and beauty; understood. In the case of a meal, whether in the context of a celebration, a holiday or everyday lunch or dinner, the labour required bears a similar time element for its completion to those 'inedible' objects of our desire. But accolades are few and far between, remembered in a general context, only, over time.

Labour is real in whatever we 'do'. For those of us involved in the daily, mundane acts of food preparation and clean up, it is incumbent upon the rest of us to say, “What a great meal” punctuated with genuine enthusiasm at the beginning of each course. Even the simple words of fermentation, curing, pickling and sourdough, can denote hours, days, weeks, months or sometimes years of 'preparation' and 'labour' to bring these food masterpieces to their standout performances. Their costs reflect that dynamic. Foods such as yogurt, sauerkraut, cheese, artisan breads, wine and meats come to mind.

Without the critical attention paid to the complex, but more often, monotonous rituals of food preparation, health can be affected. Let us appreciate, if not revere, those who work tirelessly, on our health behalf, to put meals on the table and health in our lives. Appreciate those meals, 'lost in translation'. 'Take-in' never tasted so good but 'cost' so little!

Moments to Remember

As we entered the shoe repair shop, the excitement began to show. (We had been customers for years). Our boys, in grades 3, 5 and 6, at the time, were here to buy 'new' skates. They were cheaper in this second hand shop. Retail shopping for skates did not make sense at this stage of their development. Second hand was fiscally responsible for our family.

We had moved to the country, decades ago, a pond included. It was reasonable to expect that outdoor skating would become a new reality for our family and friends. (Momsey does not skate though attempts were made many times). As I watched the trio being served I was reminded of their helpful, caring ways. They deserved the best we could offer; though, sometimes, second best was good enough. Money foolishly spent now would not be available later when it mattered the most. Skating and swimming were about year round fitness, fun and health. Their costs were more akin to an life insurance policy towards children's future well-being and safety.

I stood near one wall, inside the shop, waiting as each boy tried on his 'new' pair of skates. Dad stood near, supervising the fit for each son. Their dad was a phenomenal skater and had been working towards a career in professional hockey, years earlier, before an ankle injury forced a change in plans. As our oldest walked towards me, a 'new pair', in hand, he seemed quiet. As I looked down at John's new skates I noticed its profound ragged look, akin to an object in direct contact with a grizzly bear. Second hand had been taken to a new level. Yet not one complaint from the boy with the voice who made us laugh. The light colored fabric covering the these skate boots was almost indiscernible from any material I had known. All that remained was a barely-held-together pair of skates. Our son had accepted what had been offered him, in the spirit of the buying moment. Change was in the air.

'John' was never one to complain, none of them were, always ready to help out and take care of his 'buds', his 9 and 7 year old younger brothers and our pet family. In accepting a 'beyond repair' pair of skates without any fuss, John had demonstrated clearly the early lessons of financial security, integrity and frugality only too well. I asked him to return to the line-up for another try at the skate carousel. Dad understood. He had not been looking, concentrating more on fit than fashion. John's kindness, caring, enthusiastic nature with all things pet and family, deserved more, in this exciting buying moment.

Buying new skates is not always possible for families. The freezing cold winter season was short, in some years and the opportunities to skate, not always possible. Used had been a part of our family's philosophy. Why waste money when the future held untold financial dilemmas and decisions, especially with two large dogs and three boys to care for?  

 

When there were three pairs of feet to consider, buying new, for seasonal equipment, rarely made sense. Young boys tendency to grow quickly, in the early years, made buying new recreational footwear a challenge to accept. Wasting money on new could be an unwise decision. New skates would have to wait till they were older.

We strove for the qualities of caring, kindness and compassion in our boys and encouraged their self-expression and reliance, in daily life. Life was never about things, they knew. But in this particular instance, it was going to be. A newer pair of skates, 'intact' and 'showroom ready', left the store with its newest owner,  excited that clearer minds had prevailed.

 

A moment in character building had been on display that day. Moving to the country gave us an ice rink in winter, with predictable surface fractures, requiring maintenance with shovels and manpower. Skating was now more about fun and less about practice. It was now becoming a social event. Equipment had to reflect that.

We left the store, never to forget the story of the well-worn pair of skates. The young boy who could have been demanding, was not. The young boy who could have asked for more, did not. The young boy who could have been disappointed, was not.  The smile on his face said it all. For all his patience and acceptance of what had been given him, he demonstrated courage. His grand smile was all the reward we needed.

"It's Not Easy Being You".

As I stroked the little head of our newest family member, a 7-month-old rescue beagle/hound, as he slowly fell asleep, I was suddenly overwhelmed by what little 'Emerson' had endured before we got him. He had endured much. Many rescues do!

The little guy had been tried on for size, twice, returned, eventually, then sold to our son who found this precious little gem, online. (A puppy is neither a solution nor a cure for anything.) Emerson had been 'accosted' often, by others of his species, during his second audition. He was not one of them. He was a perfect fit, however, for the single life of a former owner of a rescue cat who had passed away, suddenly, from a congenital defect, years earlier.

Our son had been away on business, travelling with his brother, when the tragic news arrived, in the wee hours of the morning, that his beloved rescue kitty had to be euthanized. His sudden paralysis forced us all to face the reality that we were about to lose a special kitty we all loved. The tears rolled out. In a family of dog lovers, that was something. 'Tommy' was surrounded by those who loved him as he left us much too early in life. He had given us everything. He was a unique sort of kid. We miss him today, still.

The time had arrived to find another companion, one that could easily and safely travel with our son. At this stage of life, that was a must. Travelling with his newest rescue, an adorable one at that, he remarked, made the trips enjoyable. Whenever emergency care was needed, family was there. It does take a village, after all. Mr. Wiggles wondered 'out loud' who this little mate was? Could he keep up with him? With a new unneutered male encroaching on his terrain, Mr Wiggles was on guard for life and liberty. He simply did not understand. He was a puppy once. (Still is, I might add). 

Emerson was now in 'canine' country, inside and out. But he was with extended family, he slowly began to realize. The 'words' came easily for him. There was no hierarchy here only people who cared about each others' welfare. As he lay on his bed yesterday evening, his first weekend stay since that week long visit a few weeks ago, I suddenly envisioned a vulnerable little puppy who had suffered much, with little notice, from those previously in charge. He had been passed around from pillar to post. He'd had no say in the matter. Animals never do. But for now, he was all mine this weekend. Had Emerson wondered, as he began to fall asleep, if he would remain with these 'nice people'? He was ours, no matter what. We took pet ownership very seriously. (Five rescue animals now formed the nucleus of our love 'affair'.) The cage was moved so as to give him more 'privacy' in a room where two retrievers slept, toys abounded with fresh water, nearby. He was number one!

The little beagle danced as I made his first meal. His 'dad' had bought him the best: freeze-dried turkey with sardines, mixed in with Origen dry puppy food. With simple gestures encouraging him to sit and stay, Emerson had passed the first test of many: sitting quietly for 2 seconds before devouring his food. As time passed he began to sit longer knowing he would be fed sooner, if he listened. Such a sweet boy! 

 

Outdoor fun was an exhilarating time for Emerson, the little puppy. As he carried his short squeaky outdoor stick,  my Mr. Wiggles stole the moment trying to acquire this newest toy. And so they ran and ran. But the king of running and carrying all things, the Wiggler, could not keep up. As the moment began to escalate to a fever pitch, it was time for one of us to grab a dog, the easiest one to catch. (thank goodness for harnesses) Mr. Wiggles was escorted inside for a temporary respite from the excitement of the afternoon. Sally, our patient, could not yet join them. Earlier this year, she could outrun them both. But not today. 'Tomorrow', she would show them how a marathon should be run. She was a professional, after all, a true gold medalist.

Our little Emerson is learning quickly. During the nighttime hours, he 'squeaks', in rapid succession, to be let out for those personal times. He returns to his soft, freshly laundered bed to resume his sleep. As morning arrives, he awakens and waits to be let out when it is his turn. Then breakfast happens. He is becoming perfect.

Here at the house of Momsey, Emerson gets extra food. He is a growing puppy. His caloric demands are quite basic: Lots of exercise, outside. Food is given inside. He loves to run, jump and look skyward. He moves to the absurd much like our Wiggler, only faster. A bear hug, here and there, renews his faith in his newest family. He knows they love him. He knows they care. He'll be staying.

After eating a snack of homemade sweet potato fries,  sliced cukes, apple slices, strawberries and specially formulated meals, Emerson knows 'she' is the best restaurant in town. ... "Go to sleep, my little one. It's not easy being you. I know. But soon, it will be, because, here, you matter, are understood, noticed and wrapped in love. "That is all any of us want, my precious little pup"

The Amazing World of Canine 'Higher' Education!

As I looked towards the spot where Sally, our 8 year old retriever had just released her bladder's 'puddle', Mr. Wiggles and Mall Cop, the males in the group, had arrived, moved into position, to 'wrap it up'. They marked her spot, each covering the scent of what she had just deposited to keep 'others' at bay. Then little Ella arrived to add to the 'discussion' and 'punctuate' the spot. Seeing was believing!

Unusual animal behaviour had occurred. The act of bodily elimination is a daily occurrence in all animal kingdoms. With a male dog, it was common to see him protect his female companion by covering her scent with his to keep 'others' at bay. What made today's event so unique was Ella's interpretation of her older brothers' protective behaviour. He was always doing it, moving from tree, to grass then back again, to protect his domain. Mr. Wiggles had followed suit. He was a male after all. Occasionally, a 'collision' between Mr. Wiggles and Mall Cop's head was on course. But both males managed to go their separate ways. Soon the unexpected began to happen. Ella began to play follow the leader, lifting her hind leg, in accordance with male house rules, masking the scent of her male counterparts. It was odd behaviour even for odd Momsey to witness late in the life of little Ella..

Ella had learned to behave like a male and did what males do when other females are around, marking territory, covering the scent of the female. Who's scent was she covering, I wondered? Ella's actions were a remarkable feat of learning. I had never witnessed such misdirected allegiance to behaviour not ingrained in the female. Our little Ella, a 17 pounds, 4 year old dynamo, was acting like an 'interim' male, thanks to the teachings of her brother, Mall Cop, alias the professor. I recounted the event to her parents. They had seen it, too. In over 40 years of raising male and female pairs of retrievers, I had never seen such a feat of learning. Ella was an A student. I was in awe of her plastic burgeoning brain.

The adult female mini schnauzer had learned a behaviour unbeknownst to all of us. (The brain is this incredible plastic organ, command central, always changing, always 'learning'). In the mind of Ella, she was simply following her brother's lead. Her 'mom' told stories of Ella performing this 'masking' act, often, with her male sibling, during walks in the neighbourhood where other dogs lurked. I'd noticed this behaviour only while dog sitting the four of them. Ella was an interesting subject, always encouraging her brother, Mall Cop, the professor, to move or else. (I think he worried about what the 'or else' would mean. So he invariably moved to the absurd). I watched in wonder at these two. But then I watch in wonder at all of them including Tiggy, our miracle cat. I was observing and learning much from our furry four-legged teachers.

Dogs give us so much while telling us their story. I watch and learn and now know that an inert male canine trait can be taught, unknowingly, to a close canine sibling. Learning can occur in the absence of pen, paper or textbook. Let that be a lesson to the educational community. The young child comes to mind. We must allow the unconventional to be included in the curriculum in order for conventional learning to occur. Ella was now a most unique canine subject.

Recently, our middle son, the 'healer', adopted a rescue, a 6 month-old beagle. ('Adam' chose this precious rescue pup in spite of a long awaited business trip, to San Diego, planned months earlier). Family is now caring for this newest member during his absence. Dogs will surprise you when you least expect it. With a new puppy, in an excitable state of mind, around other more mature dogs, not of his species, our little 'Emerson' is learning quickly in his precocious puppy world. Mr. Wiggles is not far behind. After watching me place a rubber 'lady bug ' partly through the enameled wire top of the puppy cage, little Emerson began to pull it through. (Was someone else watching me, too?). I left for the kitchen, a few feet away, when something caught my attention. I returned to the cage to find our Wiggler's plush teddy, on top of the cage, partially through, next to the rubber lady bug, left by me, moments ago. Without missing a beat and behind my back, our wiggler had been studying me, followed my lead by placing his favourite teddy he'd been carrying, on top of the cage, near its center, in the hopes that Emerson would have another 'object of play' to pull through, in a new puppy game of brain stimulation. Emerson had learned a simple lesson taught by a member of his canine species. So had Mr. Wiggles! (Me, too!) (Little Emerson is given plenty of supervised outside time, with numerous squeaky balls of different shapes and sizes, to 'exercise' his 'freedom').

I was astonished but not surprised. Engagement had inspired learning. Little Emerson, the 6 month old beagle, had begun his apprenticeship program. In the world of canine behaviour, anything was possible. With Ella, Mall Cop, Emerson and Mr. Wiggles, I now realize, the games have just begun.

His 'Toy' Du Jour

I awoke to the waving of his toy from the Wiggler. Months of sleeping on the sofa preventing our canine patient 'Sally' from jumping onto it, has made my life seem funny at times. Our wiggler is an easy guy to live with his easy come hither look. As my husband moved about, that early Monday morning, 'John' suddenly realized that Mr. Wiggles was awake earlier than usual, with the latest 'toy du jour', he remarked. I laughed. Mr. Wiggles is our morning cup of caffeine-laden coffee.

Today, it was Reggie, the rhino, adorning my air space, as I lay on the sofa readying myself for another leash walking day with my 'patient'. On previous 'visits', our pink retriever had offered his squeaky silicon ball with its easy grip handle as his special gift to those near. Then there is Rudolph, the tiny reindeer and numerous other 'fluffy' characters to have and to hold, all over the place. The louder the squeak, the better, he thinks. The turbo soccer ball is ready for outdoor play whenever he stops eating grass. (I chase him for that). The rubber melodic indoor doughnut pleases us all as he walks and walks for all to see and admire. He squeaks it hoping the photographer is on site for that perfect moment. He aims to please, after all.

We admire Mr. Wiggler's skill for all carrying things. No pet predecessor has had this profound need to carry, squeeze and give. The monster ball red ball, with an attached handle, is his most cherished toy, used outside, as he attempts to pickup the turbo soccer ball, too. Mr. Wiggles is an all-purpose performer. With three red balls, in diminishing sizes, our wiggler has a number of aerobatic outdoor stunts to perform.

I take pictures, all the time, for personal use only. It is an addiction where my pets are concerned. They do funny things. With a human grandchild in my world, now, pictures with our wiggler are beginning to mount. Children and dogs, oh so predictable and natural, but also a dangerous kind of thing, too. Supervision is an all day thing. We must teach these new humans, even from the age of 6 months, how to pet gently and softly and be ever so kind with the animals in our midst.

Our wiggler has no time to talk as he must get ready to carry his noisy silicon 'water bottle', his favourite, today. He is a forever sort of entertainer, always finding the appropriate toy for every occasion. He has the squeaky indoor worm for his amusement, while outdoors, he has yet another all-weather version, a silicon worm toy for holding and for previous training to walk with me. He holds on to one end; I, the other. And so we walked, walked and walked. Repetition is the name of a dog's training life game. With deer antlers-a-plenty, he chews till it is time to find that perfect soft toy to squeak. When visitors arrive, he runs to get either the worm, the water bottle, the donkey or the red doughnut. He is one busy boy. Comedy is his talent though he does not see it that way. Gifting is his job.

In the dining room, I see that our canine visitor has been here. What toy has he left behind? Is it a deer antler today or the huge silicon orange-coloured football with a handle attached? Each toy has its own unique characteristics and he hopes his selection will please his human family. It always does. He adores his walks through the kitchen to this special eating place. Sometimes, he has scrambled eggs, there, this superfood of superfoods. He is in motion ready to please and carry.

So many toys and so little space. He runs hither and thither, hoping for attention. He always gets it. He needs it. He's quiet and oh so patient. He waits. Cradling something is a must for him. Never saw anything like it. He's a one in a million. When he is especially lovable, he will jump on sofa to meddle in my face, staring at me with that mature look of adoration. I love it so. Am I on vacation? Must be,'cause I think I am. I haven't noticed the difference. What is a vacation but a place or a moment in time where good things happen. It is a frame of mind. Living with 'them' is like being on vacation though I haven't been on a 'real one' for years. No time to dither. Time to carry, one more time.

It is night time now. Time to relax and slow down. Not so, with our wiggler. He is too happy to sleep. Where is Reggie? The rhino is under the bench where the squeaky football is lying. Things to carry, things to find, things to offer to us. The toy du jour is wiggler's happy frame of mind, a place we visit when he is near. Little does he know or understand that he is the gift, our precious toy du jour, each and every day.

The Executive Power of a Baby

He sat in my lap looking up at me, smiling, as he put his little hands into his mouth. He was a polite 6-month-old, this miniature human who happened to be my grandchild. We seemed to have an eye for each other. In the 75-percentile for height and weight, he was strong and alert in a body built by his mommy, 'Lucy', the editor of the Momsey blog, now on maternity leave. (Meals were cooked by daddy.)

His parents work from home. Everything my grandson needs is there, this never-ending full-service department of 'nursing' care, diaper changes, hugs and kisses, nap and play time, to outdoor walks, vitamin D and earthing. In good weather, this gift of earthing is an ever present right of passage for him. His parents insist on it. He needs what Mother Nature has to offer, that calming, soothing walk upon the earth that helps build and renew a new human while keeping the older versions strong. Standing barefoot in the grass is a healing, spiritual moment for him. I see the difference. He looks down at his toes, firmly grasping the greenery of the lawn. As time passes, he begins to realize the awesome power he has over these caring people called parents, grandparents, aunt and uncles. His energized focus will soon be felt.

He began using the jolly jumper, a few months ago, that incredible body building tool that helps redefine what a baby can do. His feet are strong; his hands, so powerful. His view of the world, now in an upright position, is becoming a happy exciting place, a new world of fun for him. With legs in motion, little Eddy begins to jump, while slowly moving in circular motion. He is on this infant 'trampoline', loving every minute of it. He is at the gym. Calling his name causes him to move towards the voice he hears. After a few moments, he facial muscles begin to contort. Time for a change. Words are not here, yet. Rolling out the blanket for a kicking good time, on his back, begins another phase in his development towards independence. He is moving in all directions. He is on a mission. In restaurants, he is passed around the table like the main dish he is. He needs action. All want to touch and hug this incredible brand new being. We are compelled to gravitate towards him. He is an innocent, too.

'Edwardo' is full of delight and energy; his eye focus, incredible, for one so young. He has a body built of strength by mother's milk, created from an envious diet of super foods. Soon after a long 40-hour labour, devoid of medication, the birth event arrived, taking its toll on his diminutive, exhausted mother. She did not waiver. Her pain threshold is beyond anything in my vast repertoire of experience. The Momsey editor is strong for her newborn. She is focused on her diet, eschewing sugar and most fruits because of it. Her energies are devoted to their creation, a bright little boy intent on learning all about the world around him. She is teaching him sign language; dad, other things. Momsey is a new grandmother but with a purpose in mind. Eddy's other grandmother takes him for walks and adores him so.

Technology has no part in this baby's play. Simple things dwell in his simple world. His burgeoning, plastic brain will handle anything from the future. No need to rush progress. (The human mind is the greatest computer in the world, anyway, according to Einstein, the greatest human computer from the last century). Eddy's parents will see to that. It is his human qualities that are being nurtured, now. They are first on the to-do-list. Order is very critical. He is a remarkable little baby who will be home schooled. At 6 months of age, he has begun learning how to pet the cat and 'interact' with Mr. Wiggles who loves him so. Mom is present to supervise. There are two ways. He is learning the right way.

From the beginning, Momsey began to sing “Tea For Two” to him. A lullaby was not forthcoming, only that song from the golden age of Hollywood, a song made famous by Doris Day, the talented triple threat of the 50's. My little boy likes it, smiles at me whenever he hears me sing it softly in his ear. Its catchy tune with silly lyrics makes us smile. But watch out Edward, your musical history is about to begin, with mom and dad, grandpa, too, a former classical pianist. (Momsey is just a silly singer). Your talented parents, both gifted musicians, are here to guide you. But “Tea for Two” will always be our song. 

You are an inquisitive boy, an adult, in some ways, too. You cry, when necessary, quickly, momentarily and politely. Your voice is always heard. There are no weekends off. "You choose these moments well, but then, mom and dad are always near.” No need for attention-getting. Attention is the name of mom and dad's all-hours parenting game. They hover, masterfully, acting much like a  family of birds, in the nest, in this golden period of attachment. For now, mom and dad work from home. It is a special time for all. Family is everything to them. There is no other world quite like it.

Not Wanted, Anymore

As I listened to the plaintiff cries of the 'puppy', after 'Sally's' re-dressing appointment, I asked the technician on duty about the latest patient of the day. Thinking it was a case of spaying or surgery of some kind, I was unprepared for yet another sad story. He was a rescue, a senior statesman, an unwanted. His medical history had become his albatross, as his 'owners' no longer wanted him, his age or health issues to 'bother' them any longer. He had been found 'lost' in the woods.

The world of canine abandonment is a busy, endless place. I remember the story of a couple who rescued a puppy from euthanasia, moments before it was to happen. Their Labrador retriever puppy lived to the ripe old age of 19 years, an incredible age for any dog. Then there were the endless stories of dog owners who wanted 'them' out of their lives simply because the canines no longer matched the colour of their home decor.

The web is awash in horrific videos and pictures of defenseless, innocent pets whose owners  callously deposited them outdoors to die. The outdoors proved to be their lucky escape for many of them. Witnesses abound there. Reasons to put animals to sleep are endless. Dogs and cats are called animals yet we are the humans. I do not understand! But abandonment is easy. When pet ownership becomes overwhelming, discarding the family pet, when help is just a phone call away, is never an excuse. ...

Dogs do not judge. Unlike cats, they do not hold a grudge, for long. They do not care about lifestyle. They simply exist to run, sleep, eat, play and do our bidding while making us smile and healthy along the way. They give us purpose and help socialize us, too. They are, most assuredly, a daily teaching tool, an escape to reality. They make us human!

Our first pet was an abandoned three-month-old retriever found wandering 'alone' in the biggest Toronto landmark called High Park. My brother and his lifeguard buddies who discovered this vulnerable beauty took turns caring for her each day until her owners could be found. No such luck. With no collar on her for identification, there seemed to be no way to find them. I was leaving Toronto for a teaching post, up north. It made sense for us to take her with us. We adopted her in a heartbeat. Her litter, months later, after a summer trip out west, created the double edge scenario of the two dog family. It made sense to us. It made sense to them, too. That was 46 years ago. Our canine journey had begun.

Becoming pet owners to Sheba, decades ago, was life altering. She presented us with a litter of 9, months later. (Spaying had been forgotten). Later into the school term, we were evicted from our rental unit because of our new family circumstance. We had decided to keep one of her litter, a son. Once the 8 puppies found forever homes, we moved to another city, for a new teaching post, renting another house but summarily evicted, again, when the adult children learned of the 'mother and son' furry couple who would be living in their mom's rental house. In less than 9 days we became reluctant homeowners, forced to buy a tiny abode with only two conditions. The house had to have a roof and 4 straight walls. School would begin soon and winter was just around the corner. The thought of ridding our lives of our pets never entered our minds. They were family and the better part of us.

He walked in as I was paying the bill. His little pet had been soiling the house. He wanted it euthanized. What was I hearing? An infection in a young animal deserved euthanasia? Tests would reveal the problem, he was told. But he did not care! He was in a hurry. The clinic declined his request to impose the death sentence upon an innocent. The man left. Jumping the queue to euthanasia, that horrible of all moments, says alot about who we are and the direction we are headed. 

Dogs bring us joy, unbridled laughter, sadness, too. They're our in-house therapists in a frenetic, seeming uncaring world. They help bring us together, help us re-focus and redefine who we are. Pity has no place in the dog kingdom. They do not know its meaning. Our pets force us to move in all kinds of weather while making us better at being human. We are their willing students: they, our teachers, everlasting. Abandonment is a callous solution.


Next: Momsey's Incredible Grandson!