Do
Dad's relationships with animals evolved as he grew as a person. I remember hearing stories of "mutt and Jeff," a dog and cat my parents had before I was born. The first pet I remember though was a female dog named Do (pronounced the same as doe, as in doe a deer). The story is that I couldn't say "Dog" just "do" so my dad named her Do. Do was one of my best friends for the time we had her. You can see some of Dad's notes on the photo below.
I remember playing outside and a badly injured dog showed up. I don't know what happened to it, but it had some bad wounds on its shoulder and side. Dad had taken to scaring off dogs from our yard and following up with a shot from his bow, so I was scared to tell him about this injured dog that had shown up. I remember him coming out, and instead of shooing it away, he felt immediately sorry for it. He went back inside and came back out with a mason jar full of liquid. I watched in amazement as the dog drank every drop and then after resting for a while, moved on.
We eventually moved on ourselves. We moved to Victoria and we weren't allowed to bring pets. Mom and Dad found a home for Do before we moved. I was about four years old. I still vividly remember being in Victoria and getting a phone call saying that Do had to be put down. She'd been caught and beat up by a dog pack. I remember clearly seeing Dad's young body sag, and then him telling me with a lot of sadness that my dog was going to die. He explained that she'd been "torn up" by other dogs and couldn't be saved. We were both very sad about that.
Doe/ Do II
We went a couple of years in Victoria without pets. To me this was eternity, to Dad it was a long time. We then moved to High Level Alberta and Dad went out and got Do II. Dad later told me that he'd heard about a litter of Shepard cross pups in town that needed a home. He went and had a look, and picked out another female dog for us. I woke up on a cold crisp morning, the first one in the house out of bed. I went into the kitchen and heard whining outside on the back deck. I opened the door and saw this little puppy in a cardboard box with a blanket inside. It never crossed my mind that this was our puppy. I thought it was lost, or maybe an angel had delivered it. I remember running into my parent's room and jumping on the bed, and saying with amazement that there was a puppy on our deck! Dad groggily beamed and told me it was OUR puppy.
Doe grew up to be an insanely tough dog. In our year out in the log house, Doe grew into our protector and a very efficient hunter. Rumour is that she was part wolf - when Dad picked her up the owner claimed she was 1/4 wolf. This may or may not have been true - up here in small-town-ville everyone claims their dog is part wolf... but Doe certainly acted part. She developed into pure muscle, which dad encouraged by making her run from the highway all the way to the log house every time we'd go in and out of town. Dad would yelp with amazement at how fast she could run and how we were never really able to leave her behind on the dirt road. I remember looking behind us and seeing her legs all a blur, and he muscles rippling up and down her chest, with her ears flat back as she ran like the wind.
She'd hunt deer and even attack porcupine, coming back with a mouth full of quills, which dad would dutifully pull out with pliers. Dad would proudly recount the "bear" story, when Doe relentlessly attacked a mother bear to protect him and my cousins. There was no messing with Doe.
One day someone came home with a special treat - Donuts! We sat outside on the small front landing eating, and Doe sat behind us keeping watch. My littlest sister Sophia took a bite and then relaxed her arm backwards behind her head. I remember this scene almost like it was filmed - the donut, in her hand, goes behind her and almost is put right in Doe's mouth. Doe gingerly takes a bite, likely thankful that her little human shared with her. When Sophia realized what happened, she burst into tears and wailed. Dad came storming out and gave Doe a huge beating. I remember feeling very upset and very sorry for Doe, who was pretty much innocent of any crime.
As I said Dad's relationship with animals seemed to closely mirror his own growth as a person. He would be both very loving and caring with our animals, and at other times incredibly harsh and abusive. In terms of punishment, he firmly believed at the time that animals and kids learned lessons through physical punishment only. He told me, seeing my sadness and feeling sorry for our dog, "that is the only way they learn." This would be hard for people who knew Dad later in life to imagine - as he grew he moved away from the physical aggression and punishment to the point where I never saw him strike a dog again.
We moved in to Two Mile, to a small 2.5 acre hobby farm in town. Doe, who had developed into a super tough bear-fighting dog, did not fit in. Unlike Do I, Do II didn't take any shit from the dog packs, handily defeating any of them that dared challenge her to a fight. I recall a time when she accompanied us to the bus stop, and the local pack tried to put her in line. At the end of the scrap, it was her bus stop.
She also started hunting sheep, and badly maimed two. My parents decided she needed to be put down. Dad cried hard, and so did I. It was a horrible, traumatic thing. Dad swore off dogs, again. We had a multi-year break after losing Do I, now we seemed destined for another break after the trauma of losing Do II so young.
Horses
When we bought the 2-Mile house - the first house my parents ever bought - it came with two horses "for free." One was Skeena - a crotchety old black Arabian mare, guessed to be around 20 or more years old. The other was Keetar, a part Appaloosa young gelding (meaning balls removed) who was a deathly-afraid-of-puddles gentle giant.
As I recall Dad had no experience with horses but that didn't stop him from trying to connect with them from time to time. Mom and us kids got riding lessons - but Dad decided to show us how it was done and ended up upside down in the saddle :) As he would say - the stuff of legends!
Dad tacked up the horse himself, and then took Keetar for a ride in the park across the road. He didn't cinch the saddle properly, and the saddle (with dad in it, feet locked in the stirrups) rotated slowly from on top of the horse to underneath the horse. I think Dad said something like "woa woa woa!" as he slowly rotated. Keetar, the gentle giant, stopped moving shortly after Dad ended up upside-down under his belly, but dad still managed to fall and break a rib. We marvelled afterward how great Keetar was, and how hilarious Dad was - showing us how it was done!!
Dad would always save money wherever he could. With the horses, this meant that we'd get our own hay right off the field. This was at least a twice-a-year chore. I remember being amazed when dad - so strong - could throw a bail of hay from the back of the truck in to the top of the barn, where I would hoist it in and stack it. I tried this recently and I could hardly pick up a bail let alone throw it!!
The horse chores landed on me, as the oldest child. I got to feed them every morning and check them every afternoon on my way home from the bus stop. Dad would sometimes stake the horses in our yard to let them eat our grass. I also remember him administering ointment to them when one of the horses tangled with barbed wire.
Skeena was a smart old horse and dad was amazed that she figured out how to open the barn door with her lips and raid the bin of oats. She'd decided on retirement and didn't appreciate being ridden or generally being told what to do. Despite her attitude though she was social, attached to Keetar and attached to our home. When we put her to pasture for a summer, she was so upset that she went on a hunger strike and we had to go get her and bring her home.
Keetar was basically a big dog, and Dad used to laugh at his antics. Keetar broke BOTH our front AND back decks trying to get into our house! He thought he had the same rights as our dogs and cats, but he was way too big to even make it through the door. That didn't stop him from trying! Dad was forced to fix up our decks and replace some broken rotten planks after Keetar walked up them and broke the steps.
One day I remember Dad waking me up in the morning. "Put on your clothes, hurry" he said to me seriously "you're not going to school today." I immediately knew something was wrong. "it's the horses." We rushed out of the house and he gathered up some shovels. I don't remember what he said on our walk, but I remember he briefly put his arm on my shoulder. We walked over to the park, where he'd tethered Keetar and Skeena the day before in some long grass and then left them overnight. He'd brought Keetar back but Skeena was missing.
He'd found her stuck in a hole. A massive, huge, deep hole. It was perplexing - you couldn't even see her, but could hear her breathing. She was completely obscured in the tall grass. Her whole front end and half her neck were below ground level. Her hind end was mostly above ground, but one of her back legs was trapped down with her front end and we couldn't see it. Her head was laying jaw-down on the ground. As some point Dad cried, and didn't really know what to do. I remember kneeling down by Skeena's head and running my hands over her - she was wet. Sweaty. Cold. I ran home, got a bucket of water and remember her drinking it all. We put blankets over her and tried to warm her up. But it was all too late.
We fought hard for hours - we dug like madmen with the hand shovels, and gave her a path out of the deep hole - which it turns out, had been dug a year before by a volunteer for two new outhouses, but it wasn't marked or advertised. Word spread like wildfire in our small town and soon a small army of helpers showed up, including one with a backhoe. We tried to lift her out, but she'd had enough and with a last sigh the life went out of her eyes and she was gone.
Dad had a hard time with this, he blamed her death on himself. We buried Skeena in her hole in the park. Not long after we gave Keetar away and didn't have horses again. Having horses had a big impact on us kids though - and my sisters especially fell in love with them and dreamed of horse-centered careers.
Pussy Willow
Dad was never a cat person, but he made an exception a couple times. The first exception that I remember was Pussy Willow, a fluffy, easy going, super sweet gray coloured male cat. Dad was working on building a deck for my uncle Matt next door. Us kids would play around the construction site. At this time in our lives, we were discouraged from encouraging stray animals as my parents did NOT want any extra animals.
One day a kitten showed up while we were playing, more dead than alive. It quietly perched on some lumber and watched as all eight of us kids played around outside. We noticed the strange, obviously stray kitten but dutifully ignored it and abstained from encouraging it by giving it any attention. When we were done playing - which took hours - we headed back home to our house, and the kitten followed us. I remember the kitten being quite silent - no meowing or anything. He followed us as far as the horse fence nearest our house, climbed up a fence post, and then sat there. He sat for hours. With my conscience eating me I checked through the back window as dusk was settling in - and the kitten was still there. I decided to tell dad, and hoped he would solve the problem.
I still remember Dad's reaction - I expected him to be harsh, to scare it off or something - but he immediately melted when he went out and saw the kitten. By his recounting, the kitten seemed to have barely enough energy to sit up straight. He was skin and bones, and his long fur was matted in spots. He gathered it up in his big strong hands, and brought the kitten in and started nursing it back to good health. We named the cat Pussy Willow because he was fluffy and gray. He ended up being the most gentle, loving, tolerant cat we ever had. Dad was amazed at how he let Dad clean out his very infected ears, and how he would let dad do anything he needed to do. It was like Pussy Willow knew he'd been rescued from certain death and he was just thrilled to be alive - and was going to love us as much as possible.
Pussy Willow bonded with our uncle's dog. The dog would curl up on our porch, and he would curl up on top of the dog. Dad would laugh when my sisters dressed Pussy Willow up in doll clothes. He was so tolerant he would even purr as my littlest sister packed him around in a mesh sack. He was so easy going he didn't even scratch or bite when a visiting toddler decided to pick him up half by his balls and half by his tail. He was the best cat we ever had, and we got to enjoy him thanks to dad.
Dogs Don't Go to Heaven... Or do they?
We were raised to believe that we would go to heaven, so when we'd traumatically lose an animal that we deeply loved, I initially took some comfort that we'd see our pet again in heaven. I mentioned this to Dad after Doe died, and he sadly but very seriously told me that dogs definitely don't go to heaven.
As dad softened with animals and started changing to be more loving and gentle, he started to shift his stance and beliefs. We had a couple amazing dogs who ended in tragic ways. One was named Hero and another was Mompst. Dad took Hero's death really hard. Hero was a rescue dog, similar to Pussy Willow he found his way to us. Hero broke the moratorium on dogs by being a fantastic pet, one who brought some balance to our family for a while. Hero would gently look out for us kids and had so much personality he seemed part human. A couple quick examples are that he would take our hands gently in his mouth on walks, and he'd "hug" us when we cried or where having a hard time.
Dad blamed himself for Hero's death - Hero had been hit by a car and badly injured, and after a few days of bed-rest inside dad's harshness kicked in and he insisted that Hero sleep outside rather than inside. Hero froze to death that night. I remember Dad crying - hard - when he brought his body out, and loaded it up in the back of his truck. We held an impromptu funeral and memorial at the tailgate of our truck, attended by ourselves and some extended family. In his grief, dad declared - looking me in the eye - that dogs do go to heaven. I still remember the exchange - me saying something like "dogs don't go to heaven" and then dad looking me right in the eye and sadly but clearly saying "I don't believe that anymore. This dog is going to heaven."
Rescue Ranger Dad
Many years later, when dad was single parenting he came home with a kitten that he'd named RC. RC was short for "rez cat," because he'd rescued her from the reserve he was working on. He was on break when he noticed some kids throwing kittens up on tin roof and laughing as the kittens slid down. He chased off the kids but the kittens bolted too. He told his co-worker "if you get your hands on any of those kittens let me know, and I will take one."
RC was probably one of Dad's first full on rescue projects. Girl, Hero, and Pussy Willow had arrived somehow on our property. RC was the first animal that he went out and rescued. Later with Marny he'd stay active as an animal rescuer with both Roxy and Kale.
Hawks
Dad captured hawks a couple of times. I am not sure where he learned it, but he was really good at capturing wild animals using only his wool toque and/ or his shirt and/or jacket!
We once rescued a hawk that had been hit by a vehicle. Dad took off his toque and put it over the head (and most of the body) of the hawk to keep it calm (by covering it's eyes) and make it manageable. We then held it in the back seat while he drove. The hawk ended up recovering and we released it out in the wild. I've since used this technique a few times to rescue birds and it works well.
Our favorite hawk story though is the one where dad captured a hawk who was raiding our chicken coop. Dad was amazed this raptor had figured out how to get in the fully enclosed coop, and he dedicated a few hours to sleuthing to see how the hawk did it. He then ambushed the bird and leaped on it like a ninja. He threw his jacket on the hawk and scooped it up. I still don't know if I'd have the nerve for that! That was a big bird.
He then devised his 'lesson' for the hawk. He made a tether for its' leg. He tied a rope to the tether and staked it in the middle of our yard. The hawk tried flying away a few times, realized it was trapped, and then just sat down in the middle of our yard looking around.
My dad's favourite part is when our cat decided to stalk the hawk, probably thinking from a distance that it was a small bird. The cat got close, all of a sudden realized this was a big bird of prey, leapt in the air, spun around, and ran away as fast as he could.
Dad figured the hawk had enough and let it go after a couple of hours. I remember watching the hawk fly off.. and you know what? It never came back.
The end
It was fitting that dad died in the water with his dogs. He loved animals (and people!) whole heartedly and deeply. He went through a lot of hardship in his life and with animals - and suffered a lot of loss and trauma along the way. He always had to do the hardest stuff with our animals - the most emotionally difficult and bravest tasks. Toward the end he was nothing but love and patience with animals and it was a wonderful thing to see. Every time we'd see dad, a dog would pop out of his vehicle from somewhere. Knowing dad and his beliefs, he's in heaven, swimming, playing, and reunited with his dogs who went before him.
With much love and memories,
Jacob
Note - I will add more photos if/ when I find them.