R.I.P., Blackie
We first saw the signs four days ago. At first, striding toward the twin pines whose separation we walk through to continue the path which gains onto the bridge, we couldn't make out what it said, despite its large black lettering. The sign itself, about one-and-a-half by two-and-a-half feet, white, was wrapped around the left-hand trunk, secured by a string. It was shaped like a headstone. And in large black lettering the top line read: "Blackie"; second line "1987 - 1995"; third "R.I.P.". Therein lay a tale. We were saddened to hear of Blackie's death, but hardly surprised, given his age. Blackie being a medium-sized, long-haired black-and-white mutt of very good disposition and much loved by its owners.
Today, we noted, the signs were gone. Ken is like that. Wanting us and all the other trail buddies to know about his tremendous loss, but cognizant too that the ravine is to be respected and litter, however well intentioned, is not appreciated. Ken is the type of person who goes out on his walks (ah, past tense, that now) with a pocket full of peanuts, each of which he will find a home for, struck into some crevice of a tree, along the pathways.
We first met Ken and Blackie about twelve, perhaps fourteen years ago. Not long after we moved into this house of ours and discovered the wonders of the ravine. Oh, we knew the ravine was there for it was one of the many bonuses about relocating to this new home, but we hadn't explored its interior until after our move. When we first moved, when we first became acquainted with the ravine, it wasn't at all unusual to see pheasant, partridges, raccoons, rabbits and red foxes on our daily walks. All that are left now are the rabbits, seen occasionally, and the raccoons, seen even less often. The foxes were so bold they hardly heeded our presence. We would occasionally witness the mating ritual of a pair of grouse.
We once saw a huge snapping turtle in the creek, and wondered how on earth he managed his way there. We would occasionally, back then, see beavers and muskrats, although of course not together. In the spring we still sometimes see pairs of ducks in the creek in their brief stopovers. Great Blue Herons too will drop by on us. In the winter we've seen Great Grey Owls there. We still have bluejays, cardinals, chick-a-dees, robins aplenty, hairy and downy woodpeckers, along with their big cousins the Pileated; crows and sometimes ravensre. From time to time we see hawks prospecting overhead, and vultures. Porcupines are shy and we've only seen evidence they've left behind, of stripped winter branches.
That was then, this is now. Now, although the ravine is protected by law, housing density has increased on its perimeter, and its wild denizens have found it a far less appealing home than formerly. It's changed in other ways as well. We enjoyed, back then, the pleasure of meeting and appreciating a fair number of other dedicated raviners and dog lovers. They've fallen by the wayside. Dog partners grow old, decrepit, no longer able to make the steep hills and their person partners spare them the indignity of the effort, the pain of inability. And then they die.
Blackie was a very cosmopolitan dog. Very laid back, he was too. Ken, a former truck driver with the Canadian military, met his wife Hilda in Germany when he was still serving. Only Hilda wasn't his wife back in Germany; Ken had a legitimate wife, and several young children too. When we knew Ken he and Hilda were married, living about three miles or so from where we lived, and they had Blackie. Hilda would always bemoan Blackie's weight, she would swear she was going to stop giving him ice cream, he was getting too lazy. But it was mostly Ken who walked Blackie, and he was the one we saw most often. After Ken retired from the military he worried about what he was going to do, as he wasn't even fifty at the time. He soon found work as a courier, and that lasted a few years, but it wasn't his kind of work. Ultimately he was hired by the Red Cross and he soon became their top driver, delivering blood, for example, out to Cornwall or wherever it was needed. He was reliable.
So Blackie is gone. We suspect that Jack is also no longer on this earth. We haven't seen Harry in quite a long time, and the last few times we saw him walking Jack, that poor old dog just barely managed to move his short twisted legs under his big barrel body. Even so, if our Riley got a little too close to Jack, whom he adored, Jack would make every effort to position innocent little Riley just so...until we'd notic and whisk Riley away. Jack was like that. Like all beagles Jack wasn't allowed off leash. You'd never know where he would end up. Jack thought it was heaven anyway, hauling Harry, a former policeman, along on the other end of the leash, and treeing a squirrel. He was in his element. Mornings, Jack would heft himself astride Harry in bed, his weight like a stone, until Harry agreed to get up. Jack would moan and croon, wild to get out into the backyard, when he was certain a raccoon was rummaging around back there. Harry is quiet, and very sweet, not outgoing and rambunctious like Ken. Harry isn't the type of put up signs. His would be a silent grief. He would share it with Jack's other ardent admirer, his wife Mellissa, who would sometimes accompany us through the trails. She worked for CIDA and had occasional overseas assignments, when Harry and Jack would wait patiently for her return. Harry and she bought a fixer-upper cottage about four years ago, and that, no doubt, is what Harry is busy doing now, burying that large void with work.
Then I think of Barrie. A few weeks back Barry emailed that they'd put Della down. He'd told me months ago that was the plan, and I told him he really shouldn't. Barrie is in his mid-70s; three years ago he'd had an operation for prostate cancer. Prior to which Barrie would walk Della daily in the ravine. For a golden retriever with a past history of hip displasia (surgery helped) Della was doing all right. She was slow, but she was determined. Sometimes instead of Barrie, Suzanne would walk Della. They both loved that dog. But Suzanne is about twenty years younger than Barrie and she wants to do things, go places. She anticipates a trip abroad once or twice a year, and most week-ends she joins other women doing things like bicycling or hiking trails farther afield. Or golfing. Barrie was married, with twin boys when he first met Suzanne. He was actually her supervisor at work and, he told me, he encouraged Suzanne to look elsewhere for love, but she "chose" him, he said. He hasn't seen his sons in a decade, and has no intention of doing so, claiming all they want from him is money.
Barrie has become almost sedentary. This was a guy who loved the external trappings of the outdoor life, and he was always dressed to the nines. Barrie loved going to Bushtaka or Mountain Equipment for the latest gear, money no object. Together, he and Della, and just occasionally Suzanne too, would treat the rest of us shleppers to a glossy-lifestyle, active-seniors' foldout in real time. Suzanne has planned another trip, somewhere in France, I think, or Switzerland, for this coming fall. Barrie said, with his poor health and diminished strength he could no longer lift Della upstairs to bed, or into the car, so she was, in effect, sacrificed. Well, Barrie said she had arthritis, it was difficult for her to get around. Well, I said, Della is Della, she seems pretty happy to me.
Well, that's life. Or is it death?
posted by Pieface @ Monday, August 22, 2005
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