Indy left yesterday after her four day stay at her personalized dog resort, she enjoyed daily walks as well as frolicking and zooming about the yard.
I did find out a good way to get her to bark, leave her outside in the cold.
Indy is the canine embodiment of FOMO. She never wants to miss out. She sprawls in hallways and doorways to make sure everyone has to go around her. Or, when she requires them, butts her head into someone’s forearm until enough attention and scritches have been delivered.
Her favourite activity though, is watching. A watchdog watched.
My mobile phone ‘knocks’ informing me of a text. ‘Indy and I will be over in about an hour.’ Huh? What have I forgotten now? Oh, right, my brother’s family are off on a pre-Spring Break ski vacation and Indy don’t shred.
I hope Indy hasn’t been to any pungent day spas. Indy shall be staying for about five days. Which is a good thing, since it means I get in a morning walk and possible a stop at my favourite cafe.
Since I am an unabashed glutton for potential punishment, Monday morning sees Indy and I off for our morning constitutional, so naturally I guide our trek towards (Horseman, Dogwalker) Fishroller’s Park. Indy does her Indy things, as she stops and sniffs and investigates all the known smells of the area. She has grown very comfortable at this Dodgy Doggy Abode. Indeed, her ride here, took an odd route and Indy did NOT enjoy the detour to Langley, but once she found herself on the back road and headed towards Grandma and Grandpa’s she perked right up, relaxed and poked her head out the window.
We pause for a photo opportunity to prove we did, indeed, go to Horseman’s Park.
G’morning Fate, what’s new with you?
I planned to loop the park in reverse of our normal path but let her off leash because she is an odd mutt that refuses to poop while on a lead. We cannot flip our route because I spy a couple with their dog, I give a nod to Fate as we head along our regular loop and Indy is off-leash.
What could possibly go wrong? What was that Fate, I didn’t hear you?
Fortunately, Fate takes mercy on my hubris as a large dog approaches us on leash, I clip Indy back in, which is wise, because this thick, hefty dog lunges towards my pooch to play. Both dogwalkers steer their beast away and along the trail. Then, sagely, I forget to unhook Indy until we are past the fish rolling area of the park and once we have moved past any options of riverside visits and side paths, I unhook her and permit her to wander free once more. At least until another dogwalker, with a rat-sized dog approaches, I grasp Indy by her collar and when I look up, the aged walker has scoop up her dog-rat in her arms to protect her precious rodent-canine from Indy, a quiet, cowardly, friendly dog. (Especially around salmon. Stupid mutt.)
That’s okay though, because as soon as the woman passes with a baleful, disapproving glance in our direction over her shoulder, I release Indy who bounds free to reconnect with the known and new sights and scents of Fishroller (but not today!) Park.
This unfortunate harness was worn by Indy on our extra odiferous walk to Horseman’s Park. It took 3 thorough bathes for Indy to stop reeking so much that she was allowed indoors.
No such luck for this dog accessory. Even incinerating it might have released a noxious cloud banned by the Geneva Conventions.
The Things at Grandma’s place generally get to run riot with space to room and rooms to ‘redecorate’. Pillow forts claiming most of a room was common, the bunk room became a place of hidden snacks and secret conversations. The Monster Under the Sink needed to be fed in the rec room, around games of Rolly Balls, when the Things were not tall enough to see over the felt of the pool table. Sidewalk chalk, Zombie, Horsey Owner, dance performances, many a visit to the river that flows through the backyard.
The fascinating observation is how these games are created, explored, enjoyed and then abandoned. The Things have grown up. To be clear, this primarily focuses on the four younger Things, Thing 1 was born an adult in mini-formatting. Partially due to there being a gap of enough years between her and Thing 2, she grew up around grandparents, aunts and uncles relatively alone, and partially due to her father having once been 4 going on 44. While the younger Things would have ‘the usual’ while clustered around the TV watching Paw Patrol or Wild Kratts, Thing 1 would eat with the adults at the table, having whatever we were having. For her ‘the usual’ was sandwiches or soup.
Throughout the long infestation of Things at Grandma and Grandpa’s house, one item enjoys continued attention for reasons that escape me.
A wheelchair.
One very old, rickety, wobbly wheelchair. During the most recent invasion, Thing 5 found the wheelchair and first played with it downstairs, but it quickly took up residence in the middle of the hallway when he wasn’t wheeling around in it. With five bonus bodies in the house, Thing 5 managed to find a way make things even more cluttered and clustered. Thing 5’s fascination with the wheelchair befuddles me. By the end of their stay, he could do stalled wheelies in it, a matter of pride because Thing 3 and Thing 1’s Plus 1 could both accomplish the same feat.
This was displayed over the Yuletime season as around games of pool (which all the Things took part in, as well as some parents) the wheelchair found its way out into the entrance hall where between shots on the felt of the pool table, one of the young men would be sat working on their wheelies.
After taking the picture above, when Thing 5 asked, “Uncle Byron, have you seen the wheelchair?” I replied, yes. I had moved it to prove a point. I told him it was tucked away, he found it in short order, but I informed him as he got ready for bed that night, that if he left it abandoned somewhere in the middle of a thoroughfare in this suddenly high traffic house, I would hide it Far Better, as the first time was a Learning Moment.
Thing 5 responds best to threats.
That night, the wheelchair was folded up and rolled into a position behind one of the couches where it was properly out of the way. As I was informed, “You just have to give me the right motivation, Uncle Byron.” Got it. Threats in the future!
During a previous Christmas dinner, as I went downstairs to check on the turkey (doesn’t everyone have two stoves in their place, one of which needs to be at least 40 years old with some… quirks,) Things 2-5 had the wheelchair at the top of the stairs, preparing to race up and down the hallway around the kitchen, I imagine. I shipped the lot of them back downstairs and the relative coolness and open space there. I did not even permit them to get out an argument. There were 12-14 people packed in the house for the holiday on that night, there was NOT room for the wheelchair to clatter and bump its way around the upstairs.
The best moment of Thing 5’s wheelchair excursion was when he asked, “Does anyone want ice cream?” Father and cousin declined, Uncle Byron requested ice cream from Thing 5. Not just because I enjoy ice cream, I do, but because I know the mind of Thing 5. “Watch! I will get ice cream without using my legs!” This… this is way I instantly said yes to his offer. Sure enough, Thing 5 rolled the wheelchair to the freezer, pulled out the cartons of ice cream, wheeled over to the counter and then got out the ice cream scoop from the drawer. So far, so easy. Now for the show. Displaying an amazing feat of upper body strength after only a few days in a wheelchair, Thing 5 levered up to get the bowls out of the cabinets affixed to the wall over the counter. He did it by sheer will and upper body power, manfully balancing on one hand and arm while fetching the porcelain bowls with the other… All the while Father and Cousin and Uncle Byron giggled with laughter as Thing 5 was clearly standing on his feet to perform this feat.
I can forgive Thing 5 for shorting me on the ice cream. It was well worth it.
It just goes to show that even with all the new technologies and distractions, encouraging the youth to use their creative sides often leads to down unexpected pathways. Hopefully wide enough and smooth enough for able bodied Things to roll along in an archaic wheelchair.
I refuse to accept any responsibility for incident. I briefly touched on it on Friday with a picture and micro story about it. Call it a teaser.
As the chaos swirled around my tranquil little place on the river after descending in an unexpected fury of a flurry of a hurry, the visitors continued about their lives and I tried to avoid the morning carnage. As my sister-in-law headed out the door with her niece and a kid or two in tow, I heard an over the shoulder suggestion of “Can you take Indy for a walk this morning?” Foolishly, I agreed.
Not really so foolishly. I find having the responsibility of a dog forces me to be a bit more active. Nothing crazy like the amount of lacrosse Things 3 and 5 are committed to, but a good, brisk morning walk with a dog does get my legs some appreciated exercise. A good 45 minute walk seems in order, so Indy and I head back to Horsemans (Dogwalker) Park, there is another, longer loop that in retrospect I sincerely wish I’d taken, but then I would not have this story to share.
I studied writing at university and now have been scribbling on my blog on, then off, then on again for nearly 15 years. Rereading Dogwalker Park gives a healthy dose of unintentional foreshadowing. Which is both the best and worst type of storytelling because it suggests that something referred to a previous story or chapter resonates and can be called back to add some depth or character development.
Indy show zero character development in this tale.
Bad dog!
The trip to the park starts without anything of note. Humble Roots is not yet open, but in the back of my mind I plan to take Indy there for a visit. The staff at the restaurant like my brother’s pooch. Indy loves the attention. She definitely have abandonment issues.
We reach the entrance to the park and I let her off leash. This place is nearly deserted. There is a solitary walker doing the opposite loop around the trail, the guy reaches out to pet Indy, but until she knows someone, she can be skittish. She shies away. The man shrugs and we exchange pleasantries. If we met him halfway around the loop on the backhalf of our walk, she likely would have bounded up and nudged him for a scratch. Fortunately for the walker, his perambulation only includes one walk.
Indy veers towards the river and I think nothing of it. In January there was a cold spell and we received a lot of snow. Nothing to worry about here. No chance of anything untowards happening to myself or Indy on this well trod path. Nope. None at all. Everything is idyllic! A wintery sun shines through the bare limbs of the deciduous trees, and the scent of a spring rebirth teases the chill air.
Indy dashes off towards the river and I don’t give it a thought. She recognizes the smells and revels in the known and new olfactory sensations. This is ground she has trod before, and might again. (Although, after today, that chance drops precipitously.) I glance at the sluggish water as I meander through the trails, moving in the opposite direction of the river flow. Indy bounds past me, intent on another of her scent hunts. My nose crinkles at some pungent stench but I move on and leave it in my wake.
Nothing much of note happens on our loop around Dogwalkers Park. Indy does her Indy explorer things. I continue a steady, ground-eating gait as I need to submit a bid later today. Nothing immediately pressing.
Things start to go wrong when I clip the leash back on and I take a proper look at Indy. There is a distinctive wet matting of her fur around her shoulders and chest. Accompanying the wet look is a distinctive rotting stench.
This… is not good.
As we retrace our steps back home, the miasmatic smell emanating from behind this mongrel beast nearly causes me to gag and this is while outside in the cool morning air. We skip Humble Roots as by this point I have realized Indy and I are headed directly home and I am seriously contemplating luring her into the river in the hopes of the water rinsing off her stained smell.
At home, I inform my sister in law of the good and the bad. The good, it was an enjoyable walk. The bad, Indy must have rolled and thoroughly coated and stained her fur in a dead chum salmon carcass. A fish that died at least four months ago and has been growing more and more fetid and rotted over the course of a season.
Indy suffers through two complete showers and shake-offs, my sister-in-law wisely wears plastic disposable gloves. It barely helps. She spends the day in Puppy Purgatory on the sundeck off the house and whines pitiably when everyone but my brother eat lunch. Closing the drapes only means we avoid the puppy dog eyes of baleful hurt canine feelings, she still wines incessantly.
Much later, Indy gains a trial house access, but, the two showers are not sufficient. If she so much as tries to get off her time-out carpet, I scold her back into place. My sister-in-law has gone noseblind to the reek, until she leaves for a few minutes and returns and concedes. Indy needs another, proper shower. I had considered taking her to Pawparazzi, but would have felt guilty having her first introduction to the local dog grooming business to be Long Dead Zombie Stink dog.
My best guess is that Indy must have planned to go out lady’s night at the Kennel Klub and she wanted to put her best stenched perfume forward to attract all the dogs in the house.
She definitely ended up in the dog house for this stunt.
After dinner, after a half-hearted debate, the parents head off to Bosleys in Pitt Meadows where there are proper dog washing stalls. Indy and her family return about an hour later and while I would not go so far as to say Indy was smelling fresh as new cut grass, she also no longer reeked of Long Dead Fish Corpse.
She was permitted not only to sleep indoors, but sleep in her preferred spot which is right outside the doors of the bedrooms at the end of the hallway.
All in all, an unforgettably regettable walk at Horsemans… Dogwalkers… Fishroller Park.
It is 7am and I am awake. Not because I have an early work start but because I have five extra people in the house. My parents are off on a South Pacific Cruise, the pictures suggest that luxury suits them.
So why I am up now? And why has the house double in inhabitants?
I will never be a morning person, but at least the coffee has dripped through. It helps. A bit.
***
Our story begins two days ago. Enjoying a relatively quiet weekend with my folks away, when my brother calls me to update me on the impending, soon-to-be descending chaos. My sister-in-law’s niece has been planning a year abroad in Canada for some time now. Nothing new there. What is new is that my brother’s family had prepared to put her up for a while until she gets her bearings in BC and figures out how to spend her work visa. It also was a way to convince the niece’s mother to permit her youngest to go overseas to a colony.
Great! I loved my year in Edinburgh, and I feel that travel is a great way to grow as a human.
While Pitt Meadows (as that family is called for… geographical reasons) expects an extended family visitor, they do NOT expect her to be appearing on Monday! Which she is. Normally this would cause a rush of excitement at the place, but it amplified as Tuesday the group from Pitt Meadows have decided to start renovating their place, which means, they fully half-thought of taking up residence her while the workers did the destruction part of the remodel.
The importee gets a night there, and then arrives at 9am the next morning with her aunt and I am having an unintended lie-in. Oops! They take Indy for a walk, while I stumble through a morning that I never catch up with until late afternoon. I skip breakfast, but coffee is a suitable substitute. I manage to be functional and charming enough to greet the trio, my sister-in-law, her niece and Indy. It takes some juggling but beds are assigned.
I head off to teach some English to a new Canadian, to some success I hope.
Afterwards, I have swing by the grocery in order to pick up some milk, ice cream, fruit and vegetables, I pick up enough food that would last me a week, I hope it will make 2 days. Shopping for six is much different than shopping for 1.
Returning home with the staples, the house looks chaotic. Things 3 and 5 arrive and manage to settle right in by scattering their suitcases, sports gear and clothing all about the place. Indy resumes her preferred position of Sprawl Dog wherever she can be the most in the way. That dog loves attention. Demands it. And sheds as she enjoys her pets. It is not her fault and not her least attractive trait (that will be getting a stand-alone post soon enough.)
Thing 5 wuz here!
Last night I thought ahead and pulled a ham out of the freezer so everyone could have a welcoming, home-cooked meal. Ham, roasted potatoes and steamed vegetables make a fine first feast. Which it was. For 2/3rds of us. Thing 3 and her father have a lacrosse game at a local field. Thing 3 understandably doesn’t want to be weighed down with a heavy meal as she plays a heated rival. The rest of us tuck in and enjoy the food. Especially, I suspect, my brother and sister-in-law as usually despite working full time and raising a pair of very busy kids who play on multiple teams in a number of sports, they also have to make dinner more nights than not. Also, I know the layout of the kitchen better and it is more efficient for me to prepare the meals than anyone else.
I will say, cooking for one is difficult simply because lack of motivation, cooking for 2-3 is relatively straight forward and results in better food than solo chef Byron, cooking for six is a real challenge. Especially with a pair of active, growing young Things. Thing 5 devours vegetables first and finishes with the meat, while Thing 3 starts with the protein and completes dinner with the greens. I end up tucked at the head (or tail) of the table so I can be nearest to the kitchen and the oven.
After dinner (for most), finds me driving Thing 5 up to the field for a practice, because everyone else is already there watching Thing 3’s game. I cannot just drop them off, because knowing Thing 5, the chances of wandering off and ending up in some sort of mischief or other is high. For example; We park the pick-up truck and the following conversation unfolds, “Uncle Byron, should I take or leave my gear?” “Take it.” “Why?” “The bed it open and all your stuff could get stolen.” “Oh, right.” “Replacing all that gear would be costly and keep you off the field for a while.” “OOOOOH, Right.”
Thing 5 lugs the gear onto the field and is nearly home before me, due to having a nasty cold and being basically useless in practice.
I return home, Thing 3 and my brother eventually return and eat their home-microwaved meal. Then, bedtime. Jetlag claims one visitor at an acceptably late hour, Thing 5, then Thing 3 head into the bunk room. Brother and sister-in-law find their sleeping spots and Indy reclaims her place in the middle of the hallway outside of the bedroom doors.
I am last to bed at 11:30 (early for me) yet not the last awake at 7AM the next day, when the whole crazy scenario repeats itself anew.
Sometimes I hate being right. Chaos Personified hoped to be out of here by Thursday night, as soon as I heard the plan, I knew they would be staying until at least Friday. I was right.
Off to made dinner three.
I have always said I like a bit of chaos in my life… someone overserved me this round!
I rarely take pics of myself, I even more rarely post them online. I just have never had my picture taken, never really enjoyed how I look in photos and would rather take pictures of things that interest me or use my words to craft an image.
But that’s just me. I definitely do not fit into the selfie-obsessed culture of today.
However! I was talking to a new friend and took a short video off the sundeck and my mother asked me a question in the background that I answered. My friend asked me if that was really my mother. So I snapped a pic almost instantly and sent it to them.
Both mom and I really liked the picture.
Hence Byron (without his backpacks) with his mom in 2024.
Three generations of Kerr men doing what they do best, which is somehow be off kilter on camera.
Thing 5 is leaning to get out of the camera shot. My brother is leaning in to get into camera frame. Man has always loved a photo op. Grandpa is smiling goofily as we embark upon a game of Barking Kittens and he won the right to wear the Tower of Power (Kitten Krown).
I feel the photo tells the whole story. Other than I would win the game! Huzzah!!
I posted the first image yesterday, when lauding and bemoaning the improvement in weather people on the local news station. Gone are the days of the wacky weatherman or the bimbo blonde, replaced with informed and accurate meteorologists.
I was sitting at my desk doing some work when I glanced out the window to watch the falling snow and I noticed something curious. What appeared to be a bird perched on a ledge, where no ledge existed just outside my window.
I stood up to get a better angle and what I assumed was a bird, turned out to be the ear of a healthy looking deer, ambling about in the winter weather and taking refuge under the eaves of the house and maybe, just maybe, checking in on me to make sure the blueberry bushes will be tender to come the summer months.
Enjoy the season where ever you are. I know this deer is.
Byron and his backpacks 