Kootenay Crust – By Ian Cobb

Op-Ed Commentary

The old dog next door can struggle to stand when a sudden wind blows. I’ve seen it fall on the back deck it inhabits when let outside. It bolts back to its feet with a straining grimace, obvious dog pride kicking in. “Did anyone see that mess?”

I did. Sitting at my computer next door, I’ve grown used to the old dog being let in and out through the course of a day. It is aware of me watching it; it feels my eyes.

It barks at me when I go outside but I am sure it cannot see me. Reminds me of a blind old dog I met in Salerno, Italy last June. We had a tiny deck that barely held two chairs overlooking a port container facility. The creak and clang and various industrial kerrang created lots of sound for an old blind dog’s ears to zero in on what was where.

When I stepped onto our deck five feet adjacent hers, her head would cock to the side and it would stiffen. So would I; run silent. The old dog would lie down then lift its head cocked again, hoping to catch me unaware.

An old dog has to do what an old dog has to do. The Salerno dog was a ‘working dog,’ a multi mix of some kind.

The old dog next door looks like it may be a border collie/Australian shepherd mix. In its fading strength and feeble balance I see a dog that lived a good life.

His humans lovingly tend to him. Just now they moved his bed from the shady corner of the deck to the middle where a welcome late winter sun beams. The old dog stomps an endless circle on his bed, weaving and creaking, before flumping down with a wheeze.

His ears fight through the steady breeze and sighs of the branches above, striving to meet a lifelong standard of working dog ethos. Tired and wiped out; it naps in the sun. Dreaming of animals to herd; sticks to chase; intruders to bark at and hopefully nip; and walks to be had.

The old dog next door reminds me of Tikka, one of the most amazing dogs I ever had the honour to know and I grew up in a dog kennel. True.

My mother was one of Canada’s pre-eminent Welsh Corgi breeders; even recognized by the Queen back in the 1970s. She also opted to breed beagles thanks to the popularity of Snoopy at the time. Along with that my parents also boarded dogs and during the peak of their doggy dabblings there was around 100 dogs in the kennel.

Only two dogs were allowed to live in the house. Crispin was the Corgi stud with whom my mother won some major Canadian and American dog show hardware and Tikka, a malamute, husky and German shepherd cross.

She was the property guard dog and well trained by my mother and sister. All one had to do to encourage her to attack someone was to snap your fingers once and she’d charge forward. Two snaps of the finger would stop her in her tracks. Add with her looking like a wolf she made for a terrifying moment if one trespassed onto the property. She was also great at keeping other dogs away from the property; a constant task due to the volume of attractants in the kennel.

Tikka was a constant companion – the peacekeeper when I took batches of dogs for daily walks across our back fields. If one corgi grew snotty with another, she’d engulf its head in her mouth and pee and vinegar would disappear.

Most remarkable of all about Tikka was the fact she was severely hobbled by injury when only about three or four years of age. While attempting to leap a fence she became entangled in wire and her back right leg was torn up. She walked with a noticeable limp the rest of her life, which was extremely long.

Perhaps it was the well water or clean air of the Red River Valley, but most likely the love and care my mother provided for her dogs, as numerous pooches lived into their 20s, including Tikka.

When my parents retired they travelled extensively and my brother, sister and I would take turns looking after dogs and the property when they were gone.

On one such occasion my sister and I found Tikka knocking on heaven’s door. She could barely stand and when she managed to, would lose control of her bowels. You could see the panic on her face. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to do that!”

The old dog, who was pushing into her 21^st year, had been like that for some time and we made the hard decision to relieve her of pain and indignity.

A vet came out to the property and administered the pentobarbital or whatever he used. She was so frail; a distant echo of the grand dog she once was. Rather than drift away, Tikka began to yelp and kick her legs. She fought the shot in a way I had never seen or witnessed since. It was a horrible scene. Even the vet burst into tears.

That old dog could barely stand and when she did she was in pain and would soon topple over. But she did not want to die.

I seem to recall snapping my finger once when she started fighting the shot; a reflex.

So it is with honourable memory when I look out my window and see my neighbour’s old dog swaying weakly on its feet.

Old dogs, like old people, don’t want to admit they are old and struggle against inevitability. I creak when I don’t want to and groan without knowing it nowadays.

All the highlights and lowlights of the previous decades visit without invitation, like sudden gusts of wind, but through pain and awkwardness I rise and look around, hoping no one saw that mess.

– Ian Cobb is editor and owner of e-KNOW

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