Whatever He Says

"Glad-eyes," that's what he has, Molson, this friend of mine with golden hair and lolling tongue. We run from the house into the evening air, his nails tap-tap-tap-tapping lightly on the pavement as my feet thud-thud beside him. He dances with exuberant joy at being "out." Jumping high, he catches his red leash in his mouth and tugs me along; pulling it as if he is playing a joke, pretending that it is he taking me for the walk, which is probably true. He is so HAPPY and he communicates that with every fibre of his being and glance of his glad eyes. The first rush of excitement settles and he trots forward with focus, pacing his trot perfectly to my stride. He is a gentleman of a dog, disciplined and well bred. He reads the ground with his nose, as avidly as my father used to read the newspaper, and leaves messages behind for others who will follow. He looks as if he is about very serious business. I don't hurry him; it seems a small thing to wait whe...

I wrote this seven years ago and Molson has aged since that long ago walk on a sweltering August day. This will be his last Christmas unless there is some special dispensation for the most faithful of dogs. It was so good to read this, and remember "then." And the message of the story still rings true. August was hot and steamy. Sweat trickled and tickled down spines and hair clung droopily to heads. I explained to some English guests with a craving for bracing “fresh air,” that flinging open the windows would not help at all. After a few days here they believed me. I got into the habit of taking late evening walks with Molson, our golden retriever. Normally he bolts from the house like an arrow from a bow, but even he moved slowly on those sweltering August evenings, with the fields surrounding our village buzzing and humming with the rhythmic pulse of insect life, and the intoxicating scent of summer blooms hanging in the still air. With my senses drenched in summer...

By Belinda It's Friday--my favourite evening of the week. I got home from work and Paul had a movie waiting! We watched  Oorlogswinter  (Winter in Wartime,) a Dutch film with English subtitles. I had really wanted to see it when it was in the theatres but missed it. It was a lovely surprise to find that Paul had rented it. The movie did an excellent job of portraying the complexities of relationships within a family and a community in wartime Holland and the young star Martijn Lakemeier, gave a compelling performance. After the movie it was time to take Molson for a walk; we both needed to stretch our legs. As I bent down to tie my shoe laces, I tried to avoid Molson's wet kisses of gratitude. Then we were off into the warm summer evening. I had ear buds in, listening to a book on CD as we walked down our street. But hearing a plaintive wail, I took them out to listen. Bagpipes! At the next but one house to ours, someone was practising the bagpipes in the gar...

By Belinda We were on the last leg of our walk around the village one evening last week. We were climbing the hill that joins our road, almost home. Down the hill on the end of a lead, held onto by a woman being dragged along, came the big Great Dane that lives in the only house on the side of the hill. She was a slightly built woman, with short, brown curly hair and she was dressed in jeans and a t shirt. I was relieved that he was on a lead. He's scared me more than once, bounding loose across the road. I made a light hearted comment meant to be friendly. "Is that a dog or a horse?" But as the words left my lips, to my horror, I could see that the dog was clearly in charge and the lead was not holding him back at all. Dragging the woman behind him, he was making a beeline for Molson, and snarling as he got closer. It happened so suddenly and he, twice the height of Molson, was biting and snapping at the top of Molson's head, as he snarled back in defen...

Tonight was my third Christmas party of the season--our writers group pot luck . Bonnie had made a 2010 Christmas anthology of our writings, which we called The Christmas Quilt. My story was one I posted here in August. After dinner, we gathered in the living room to read out loud, stories that we had brought with us. I had not brought one, but Susan asked me to read the story of mine that was in the anthology. I'm so glad she asked , because when I first read it to the group, just after I wrote it, I read it with a sadness and poignancy that tugged at my heart and those of the listeners. Tonight I read it as a prayer that had been answered and it sounded completely different! I have found Christmas. My heart is at peace; I am not stressed; I am enjoying each and every celebration and every card I open. So, I share it here again--to give you a taste of a summer so recently past while we shiver in the snow--and to say that God is so faithful and true. *****...

By Belinda We were in for the night. It was Friday and we landed happily on the shores of the weekend. Friday evenings always feel like the start of something good. Relaxation seeped into body and soul as I heated our supper in the microwave--lasagne left over from cell group the night before--no work at all. "I got some movies," called Paul from the den. "Perfect!" I shouted back above the whir of the microwave. We settled down in from of the tv with our suppers on trays and watched Letters to Juliet  with the beautiful Lynn Redgrave. It was the perfect Friday night movie--so romantic! Brenda was out so we brought Molson upstairs, and he curled up between us, content to be with part of his "pack." When the movie ended at about 9.00, though, he was unusually restless. We'd all had a busy day and he hadn't had a walk, but now we took pity on him. We had bought reflective vests for walking at night a while ago, but hadn't tried them ...

By Belinda The thought beckoned like a mirage in the desert throughout a day in the kitchen pie baking. It would be my reward for working hard for several hours--a trip to introduce Molson to a place he had never been and I had only heard of--the dog park in the nearby town of Bradford.   By the time I finished baking, the sky was gray and glowering and it was later in the day than I'd intended, but Molson hopped happily into the back seat of my faithful old Honda Civic with his red leash attached--always an omen of good times ahead. A chill wind with icy drizzle did not deter me. I just hoped I could find the famed park. I drove north along highway 11, scanning the side of the road for signs as my windshield wipers slapped from side to side and turned down a side street, worried that I'd gone too far. A red van seemed to be following me. I turned off at the nearest intersection intending on turning around, and the van pulled up beside me, the driver insid...

By Belinda I had watched the evening fading fast from my kitchen window, while making a macaroni and cheese casserole for Friday's supper. It was almost dark when Molson and I left the house, me for a walk and he for a sniff. If our walk was interval training, it would be intervals of walking punctuated by standing still. But he gives me the impression that he reads the village by nose like I read a great book with my eyes. Dragging him away from an intense sniff would be like turning a page at a critical point in a story. Can't do it. While we walked beneath a canopy of stars and I craned my neck, trying not to topple over backwards looking at them, I thought about the writers group meeting last night. From all directions we converged on Bonnie's house: Claire, fresh in from Montreal where she has been for 11 weeks, caring for a sick daughter; Bonnie just back from Cuba; Melody and Marilyn from Alliston; Brenda, Veena and Julie from Innisfil; Sue and Vi from Schomber...

By Belinda You can never know what adventures await in the village of Bond Head! Yesterday evening, Molson and I set out for our walk, and we were on our way home when I noticed a sign outside a garage with a group of people inside, that said, Studio Tour. I was curious, but carried on down the road, too shy to walk up the driveway and see what was going on. There's nothing wrong with being shy, except when you let it control you, so I went back. And I'm so glad I did. Inside were two people I had met before while out on a walk, Ana Calusic and Martin Grossi; and two of their friends. And Ana and Martin's "children" Bacchi and Mocha, were there, the tiniest and most adorable little dogs. Molson did not quite know what to make of these little friends. Bacchi and Mocha scampered around Molson with high energy, while he stood by calmly. They let him have a drink out of their water bowl, which was, for him like having a...

By Belinda He shot through the front door like a child let out at recess; Molson, after too many days without "walkies." For the last few evenings I've been busy making, baking, serving and eating pie! If ever there was a time when a good walk was needed. :)   Tonight I came home determined to "just rest," and crashed with Paul in front of our T.V. to watch detective stories. But Molson's ever hopeful eyes were not to be resisted; not by me. It was 8.00 pm when we left the house, and the night drawing in already, I chose a different direction than usual; one safer in the dusk, and away from the main road where there is no sidewalk.   He walked ahead, off the lead, and I followed a path I normally walk past, to the brow of a hill that looks across the fields.  I stood there, every sense attuned to the wonder surrounding me. This photo of that very spot was taken in May, so the tall fronds of feathery goldenrod aren't there  yet, but tonight I was...

By Belinda Psalm 84:1-2 (New International Version) For the director of music. According to gittith. Of the Sons of Korah. A psalm. [a] 1 How lovely is your dwelling place, O LORD Almighty! 2 My soul yearns, even faints, for the courts of the LORD; my heart and my flesh cry out for the living God. The sun slid down the evening sky like a giant scoop of strawberry icecream melting in the evening heat and about to turn into a puddle on the horizon. As we reached the corner of our street, Homer, the golden dog with a curly tail who always throws himself at us and gets rudely yanked back by his chain, was barking "Hello" and darting wildly from side to side. I think, "Poor Homer." We pass the one fine dining restaurant, in our hamlet, Poco Cappello . Behind the well stocked, mature perennial garden, is a patio with tables and umbrellas. The restaurant is always busy and the murmer of voices wafts across the road from the patio tables as we pass. Tonigh...

By Belinda End of the day; a long one, and my lap top came home with me, but as I plan my last few hours of evening, he is there, standing silent, and waiting. He moves with the stealth of a cat, this dog. He has learned to open the door from his apartment downstairs and pops in unannounced at odd moments. Like now. I think of my supper; a little too large, a lot too fried. A walk would do us both a great deal of good. I cannot resist. And so we go, out into the fresh air of evening, into the village filled with birds that are chirping and cheeping, trilling and peeping their evensong. We hear voices from the park before we can see it, then come upon a row of parked cars, and bleachers full of parents cheering on two girls soccer teams in black and yellow jerseys. We pass by sedately and leave the running to them tonight. Something about an evening game played in a park, is irresistably evocative to me. It feels timeless somehow, as though it could be a m...

By Belinda Psalm 16:11 (New International Version) 11 You have made known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand. "Bruce needs watching and handling by a strong arm. Molson goes along knowing the steps and pace." So wrote my friend Marilyn, in a comment on yesterday's post and she managed to sum up the respective characters of the two dogs in my life  perfectly. I hesitated to compare our walk with God to my walking with my furry friends, but I can't help thinking about the parallels often when I'm out with a dog. And since God uses the metaphor of sheep throughout the Bible, maybe it's okay. I hope so anyway! For my first few walks with Bruce, before I "took charge," he was the one taking me for a walk. We didn't have a relationship;I was the means to an end; the end being, "walkies." But as we quickly got to know one another, our relationship grew. He w...

By Belinda For four days now I have been Mom to Molson. His real mom, Brenda, comes home tomorrow from her vacation in the sun. Not only have I been Mom to Molson, but also to Blossom the chinchilla and two cockatoos whose names escape me at the moment. I must confess that coming downstairs in my robe to let Molson out and being greeted by a wolf whistle, has been a rousing and exciting start to my day. I will have to get Paul to do that after Brenda comes home tomorrow--just to keep my self esteem intact. I have had a lot more exercise than usual, faithfully getting Molson out for a good walk every day, even in the rain on Sunday. I can feel the result in my glutes. Will they be gorgeous? No hope of that! But I can feel them at least, and that is a promising sign. We explore a neighbourhood heavy into post-winter resurrection. Although the ditches run thick with last year's blackened leaves, from beneath them springs t...

Lest any of my worship team mates read this post and get worried; it is from the archives--February 9th, last year! It just happens that I was at worship practice this evening (Wednesday,) and Frances told me with eyes aglow, of her recent performance appraisal in which her boss told her, "You are irreplaceable!" What a wonderful message to be given, almost a year after I got the same message--just when I needed it. I'm working on a special two part blog post detailing the recent events in Haiti as told to me by one of our church members who was there, so I hope you'll forgive a dip into the archives--and enjoy. By Belinda I stepped out into the cool crispness of a Canadian winter afternoon, my cheeks growing rosy in the deliciously wood-smoke scented fresh air. Beside me trotted my faithful furry friend, Molson, his paws crunch-crunching as he trotted along, as happy as a child let out of school early. So many new scents to sniff--where to start? It was all too overw...

He got the call last week. Proud daddy Molson's presence was requested for a photo op with three of his young pups. Molson's mom, Tilly, is owned by someone with McDonalds and they are sponsoring the training of the pups as servic dogs with C.O.P.E. (Canine Opportunities People Empowerment) with a wonderfully generous gift of $30,000! So Molson was picked up on Thursday evening to be in the family photos at the official presentation of the cheque. The names of the three pups? Big Mac (Mac), McFlurry (Flurry) and Golden Arches (Archie.) :) Robert wanted to know if he wore a tuxedo with a scarf around his kneck, and was he picked up in a limo? I had to say no, but he did come home in a lovely yellow Toyota that looked very much like a Hummer. Meanwhile, Molson's eating habits need some refinement, in keeping with his star status. Torie confided that he ate a chunk of her science experiment, a goopy mixture she concocted with flour, oil, salt and food colouring and ...

By Belinda Every evening after supper I scan the sky, estimating what is left of daylight. "Can I beat the rapidly encroaching night?" I wonder, "And fit in a walk with 'You Know Who'?" Oh, he has trained me well to talk in code, this furry and devoted friend. From behind the door to the apartment below he is listening. Keen ears attuned to shoes being removed from rack and tied--he knows what those sounds mean. A gentle paw on wood, and a soft whine, says, "Happy, hopeful dog here. Take me." Into the evening we go; he on best behaviour borne of love and respect; I with heart of gratitude for the gift that he is to we who share his life. Long may he live, I pray often. I stride out, he scans ground with nose. We compromise on stops along the way. The evening is warm and sultry for the season and the streets are school-night empty. I listen to my W alkman as we walk our beat; Bill Bryson's book: Shakespeare: The World as Stage. A black car slo...

By Belinda In my post of yesterday: Moments; I quoted myself during a silly moment, saying that, "Dog's can't read." It never occurred to me that this dastardly comment would reach the ears of the Dogs Union, but be careful what you say.... Dogs Union Local R-UFF said... We of the Dogs Union, wish to protest. Dogs are amongst the best readers in the world. There isn't a dog that can't read a summer sky for rain, a summer breeze for tales of far way, a lawn for evidence of past visitors. We dogs can read scent, one of our members can smell his master's seizure coming along, another works in a hospital, and he can smell cancer cells forming. Reading scent, reading the colour of the sky are one thing, but it seems we dogs have the ability to read the need for love and kindness on the face of your own species - an ability you all seem to have either lost, or perhaps thrown away. Please refrain from further dogist remarks. Well, in the words of our esteemed Can...

By Belinda I tie the laces on my well used, dusty brown Rockport walking shoes and clip my Walkman belt around my waist; then reach into the closet for the red leash. A call for my golden friend and he gallops up the stairs, followed by an eager , smiling granddaughter. Victoria's face asks the question, and I answer it, "Yes, I'm going for a walk. D'you want to come?" She nods , eyes bright, and excitedly runs downstairs to get shoes. "Does Tippy know we're going?" I call after her. "Oh no! I forgot to tell her," she says, and yells, "Tippy! We're going for a walk!" Tiffany-Amber emerges from their downstairs apartment and the computer game that she was playing and begins energetically putting on sandals and bike helmet in the garage. The four of us launch into the evening. I take out my ear buds and fold them into the W alkman . The book on CD can wait for a different walk. We pass a bank of goldenrod, breathta...