Elihu Entertainment

Saltspring was lovely. There were fields with hedgerows that had the nostalgic charm of the English countryside. There were trails where Max could go for a run with Bobo and Sally, and he proved remarkably gentlemanly realizing that his new friends were elderly ladies and not up to roaring about the way he liked to. There was also a bay where the dogs could swim. There was a pub where the girls could sit in the garden with Max while we adults went onto the deck for drinks. There was a lovely coffee shop in Ganges that we could walk to for our morning caffeine fix. And wherever we went, it was pretty and picturesque.

Josie was still in Vancouver, so Dennis was our host for the first part of the holiday. He seemed to quite enjoy having us there, particularly as we were cooking full English breakfasts which we would share. Dennis would help himself to bacon with a big grin and a warning ‘not to tell Josie’. Dennis was a helpful guide, filling us in on what there was to see around the town and cheerfully driving us to various locations if there was something we needed. Max liked his new host, especially as he came complete with dogs, so everyone was happy.

One day, though, Max was not a happy dog. We had walked the girls to the video store, then headed round to the bakery.  Outside the store, a pickup truck was parked, and in the back was a twin Max. When we walked over for a closer look, the owner informed us it was a female Samoyed cross, and on closer inspection we could see it was smaller and fluffier than our sturdy mutt. But for poor Max, it was love at first sight.  The Samoyed hung over the gate while Max stood up on his hind legs. The Samoyed showered him with kisses, whereupon Max went down into bow position and made growly come-and-play noises.  He just couldn’t understand that she wasn’t allowed to jump down and become part of his entourage, and he was terribly sad when we had to leave.   Poor fellow, he sulked for the rest of the afternoon.

Between the dog walks, coffee stops and fishing excursions, the latter, of course, for Hugh, we spent quite a bit of time exploring the island. A drive up to the appropriately named Mount Maxwell took us to a magnificent viewpoint where we could see out over the island. One day, we drove around to Fulford where we passed two pretty country churches and an equally pretty inn.  Afterwards, we went out to Ruckle Park and walked along the coast and through the sheep farms.  This, however, proved problematic. Max was leaping with excitement at all the animal smells and we had to keep him leashed the entire time.  Our wannabe sheep dog didn’t understand that the goal of herding sheep wasn’t to end up with mutton. This was one occasion where Max’s wolf genes surged to the fore.

Another day of exploring resulted in a boat trip to Montague Harbour on Galiano.  We moored at the marine park and walked all the way around the point. Here Max did have a nice run, and even managed to behave among all the sightseers and hikers. He swam off the rocks and thoroughly enjoyed himself. Then he hopped back in the Optimist, and nose to the wind, voyaged back to base with a big smile of contentment on his wolf-like mask.

He was less impressed, though, on the day we went for a trail ride. Max had finally figured out that horses were bigger than he was, and he sulked and growled in the car while Hugh dropped me and the girls at the ranch. The girls were thrilled to find we were to ride a horse family that spanned three generations, but Max was quite relieved to find that his master shared his wary attitude toward horses and did not intend to stay. So Max spent his afternoon, tagging along while Hugh did errands. Of course, he was probably hoping to meet his pretty Samoyed again, but sadly, she never reappeared. So much for Dog’s Life, Deluxe. This was the Dog’s Life in the conventional sense. But then, the wily old fellow had Brandy at home, so what could he expect from a holiday romance.

Max was happy to have an interlude at home.  He was particularly glad to see Edna and be reunited with Brandy, although both dogs seemed a little shy at first. Max wagged his tail rather tentatively, probably remembering how standoffish Brandy had been when he had gone away the previous year. For most of the walk, they trotted along, parallel and harmonious, if not interactive. However, on the way back, Max challenged Brandy to a frolic, and after a moment’s hesitation, she started to play with him.

The interlude at home was supposed to be brief, as we were intending to leave again to visit our friends, Josie and Dennis, on Saltspring Island. However, our best laid plans promptly ‘Gang aft agley’ since I came down with a bad infection and Max trod on something and developed an inflamed foot. Poor Hugh had to get up and make his own tea on his birthday, since I was laid up in bed. However, the girls came to the rescue, brought him his presents and made him breakfast.

I was completely out of it for the rest of the day.  I dozed and dreamed. I couldn’t focus on reading.  I couldn’t do the crossword.  Drugs and the fever completely froze my brain. Still, to quote another common saying: It’s an ill wind that blows no-one any good. In my befuddled state, I let my eyes wander to the classified ads where I saw a heading:  Mary Poppins, Where are you?  It was an ad for a nanny, but it gave me the beginnings of an idea for a story. I thought of possible sinister connotations and filed the item away in my notes, after which I gave up and let the fever run its course.  Years later, I came across the note again, and ultimately, the idea became a story of that name in my book, The Beacon. Later still, I rewrote it as a play titled Shadow of Murder which was produced in 2011

As Max and I struggled along, both on antibiotics, Hugh decided we had recovered sufficiently that we could embark on the next trip. This involved Hugh cruising across to Saltspring in the Optimist, while Caroline, Katie, Max and I brought the motorhome and came over by ferry. This was not the greatest plan, as once I had driven Hugh to Ioco and seen him off, I was left to cope with the chaos of packing and getting the girls organized. Since I was still sick, Max was still sore and cranky, and Katie promptly came down with a fever too (all of which was complicated by a mass of phone calls and unexpected and unwanted visitors), by the evening I felt like jumping off a cliff.  Instead, optimistically, I set my watch for six and went to bed in the hope that sleep would make it all seem better.

The next morning was hectic. I leaped out of bed when the alarm went off, raced about loading the camper, putting out garbage, setting timers, rousing and feeding girls, and medicating Max. We managed to leave by seven-fifteen, stopping briefly at the Derby woods so Max could have a bit of a trot; then we headed for the ferry.  The traffic was dreadful getting out of New Westminster, and then, when we arrived at the ferry, an accident had occurred on board, and we had to sit in scorching heat for a solid hour due the accident that had ground everything to a halt mid-operation.  By this time the camper was so hot that I had to stay below with Max for the ferry trip to keep everything open and aired out.  The ferry sped and made up some time, but it was still almost a three-hour trip. Needless to say, I had a blazing headache when we got to Saltspring, poor Kate felt rotten too, and Max was glowering like the Big Bad Wolf.

But how the beauty of Saltspring and the prospect of rest worked its magic once we were there. We rolled into Dennis and Josie’s property and found Hugh waiting, along with Dennis and his two dogs. We sat in the shade of the garden and gradually the day improved. Max was hilarious when he saw that he was the guest of two older lady dogs. Bobo and Sally were very dictatorial with him and he was suitably abject in their presence. He bowed and scraped and longed for their approval. So much for the Alpha male with an attitude!

Once we’d recovered, we cleaned out Dennis and Josie’s small trailer which they used as a guest house. Once done, the girls had their own ‘little house’, and by the end of the afternoon, it was sparkling and habitable. Kate even had her Dalmatian quilt and Mr. Edward tucked on her bed.  Definitely not a ‘pigloo’ and we cautioned them that it should stay that way. Then we all went out to dinner at a seafood restaurant on the water. A heavenly end to a hellish day, and we didn’t even have to worry about Max, because he had Bobo and Sally to keep him company.  Saltspring promised to be yet another ‘dog’s life deluxe’ for our lucky hound.

It was great to be back in the Cariboo. After the noise and confusion of the Okanagan campsites, we finally enjoyed a peaceful night where the only sound was the loon on the lake. The next morning, the temperature was lovely and cool. We rustled up a camp breakfast—scrambled eggs and Prem—although the youngsters were not impressed with the bacon substitute. We explained that this was what people ate during WWII, but it didn’t make them like it any better. After breakfast, we took Max to Treasure Island, and the rest of the day passed with walks, swimming and lazing by the campfire.

The rest of the holiday was a lovely combination of hiking, swimming, games and boating.  There was a games room with pool and ping-pong tables, which the youngsters really enjoyed. There were also pedalos, which were an interesting novelty, and some of the other boaters introduced our crew to tubing.  Max was in clover too. There were two islands where he could run free, and fields where he could walk on his long line. Caroline and Andre became so proficient with our boat that they were able to take him for trips to the island by themselves. What a happy dog he was. No sooner would he be back on shore after a hike with me and Hugh than he was whistled back into the boat and taken for a ride with the kids.

On one occasion, however, his trip to Treasure Island did not turn out well. On a previous walk, the treasure he’d unearthed had been a deer bone. He was so attached to this, that he’d carried it round the island and hidden it when it had been time to return to camp. Sure enough, the next time we went back to the island, he retrieved his bone from his secret cache and paraded round the island with it locked in his jaws. When we reached the rocks where he liked to swim, Hugh threw wood for him as usual, but he was so reluctant to part with his bone that he swam out with it in his mouth.  Then he let go of it to grab the wood, but of course, the bone sank to the bottom of the lake.  Poor Max was desolate. He spent the next five minutes swimming in circles with a tragic look on his face, trying to find his bone.  He finally wearied and came back to shore, but he was a most disconsolate dog for the rest of his walk.

Predictably, when Max was out of sorts, his behaviour deteriorated. The next time Caroline and Andre took him to the island, they came back and reported that he’d been bad.  He’d growled at two other people who were daring to walk on HIS island.  Then he’d run off to chase ducks and refused to come when he was called. Poor Caroline and Andre finally returned to the boat, dreading coming back to tell us that they’d lost the dog, but when they reached the cove where the boat was pulled up on the shingle, there was Max sitting in the stern, waiting for them to return and looking at them as if to say, “So what happened to you guys?” They were not impressed. Needless to say, it was leash and timeout when he returned to camp.

Max continued to enjoy his holiday. He loved the long rambles across the fields. He stole logs from the campfire cache and spent hours shredding them. He found a deer skull on Treasure Island to replace the lost bone, and this one he managed not to lose. We took him exploring by the beaver dam at the end of the lake, which he though a great adventure, except when he fell into the reed-lined channel and had a hard time splashing his way out.

He enjoyed the fun when two young boys in a canoe cast us as natives with a wild animal in their imaginary adventure, and Hugh obliged by bombing them with an old soccer ball and a grenade-sized plastic toy that had been washed ashore. Max also liked the evenings in the games room, where he could watch us play ping pong and try to catch the balls if they went astray.

I enjoyed the outdoor activities, when we could fit them in between feeding four constantly hungry teens and pre-teens, but I also liked the leisurely afternoons when I could read at our campsite. However, I did use some of the time to review a script that I had written. This was a manuscript developed from my “To Catch an Actress” story.  At that time, getting it finished was a challenge, let alone getting it produced. I had no idea that, renamed as Casting for Murder, it would later become so popular with community theatre groups that it would have productions in several different Canadian provinces.

Finally, sadly, it was time to strike camp and go home. Andre packed up his pup tent and the Piglettes took down the Pigloo. Everything was loaded into the camper, Max being the last of all to come aboard. Then it was back to the Lower Mainland, road work, traffic tie ups and a long slog along the highway until we reached home. Once again, I thought how nice to be a dog. While the rest of us, exhausted as we were, toted in our gear and reorganized the home front, Max hopped out, wagged his tail to see his familiar garden, and promptly found a comfortable spot to curl up and have a sleep. A dog’s life—the deluxe version!

Camping did not make for good sleeping. In the early hours of the morning, a tow truck came to move a trailer parked beside the road, so we had to endure flashing lights, yells and crashing chains for forty-five minutes. Max, like his daddy, woke up, saw what was going on, and went right back to sleep, but I lay there with shattered nerves and was so exhausted that I spent the entire next morning in a deck chair.  Max was not impressed. However, after lunch we drove to the creek and walked him up to the waterfall. Then, on the way back, we stopped in town for frozen yoghurts and bought Max one too, which he ate whole, eyes bulging with greed.

The next day, I was still unwell from the heat and my dose of beaver-fever. Max was extremely bored by his useless owner, so much so that, when I went into the camper for a moment, he stole the hair band that I’d left on my deck chair. When I came back out, he was in the process of burying it by a tree.  He had dirt all over his nose and looked extremely guilty. He knew he’d been caught in the act.  In the afternoon, since dogs were banned on most of the Peachland beaches, Hugh and I took him to the other side of the lake and cruised around Rattlesnake Island. It was barren desert country, but huge Michaelangelo clouds were  spread across the end of the lake and the sky that framed them was equally Sistine Chapel blue. It was very beautiful, in spite of the heat billowing off the rocks. Max, naturally went for a swim, but the water was choppy and he kept submerging his nose and coming up sputtering. We took him ashore and he wanted to go exploring, but I was nervous about him finding a rattlesnake, so kept him close. Then we boated back to camp where we made the girls clean up the pigloo, since the resort owners were continually giving us dirty looks. Then I read in the evening with Max at my feet while our little movie queens watched a double feature in the outdoor ‘cinema’.

On Sunday, Caroline and Andre announced that they wanted to go to church. Candace decided to go too.  All three of them were intrigued by the tiny local Anglican church. Katie announced that she had no intention of going to church when she was on holiday, so she accompanied me and Hugh as we took Max for a walk by the waterfall. Once again, he made his presence known, splashing in the water and then shaking all over another couple who were sitting on the rocks. We picked up the others after the church service and stopped for snacks on the way home. This time, Max managed to lick his ice cream decorously for a moment or two before gobbling it down

The following day was Caroline’s birthday, so we put her presents on the picnic table first thing in the morning.  We’d wrapped her gifts in newspaper, but had used the comic section to create some degree of festivity.  Caroline opened her loot while we made breakfast.  She laughed at Max’s card, made a face at Katie’s gift mug (Bad Hair Day), oohed at the money we’d put in our card, looked pleased at the make-up Candace gave her and melted over Andre’s ring.  After breakfast, we gave Max his run by the waterfall, then drove to Kelowna so the kids could celebrate Caroline’s birthday at the water park. On the news, we heard that there was a massive fire in Penticton, so we were very glad that we’d cancelled our reservation there. While the youngsters enjoyed the water park, Hugh and I did some shopping, then went to the beach and found a shady spot to eat a take-out dinner. As we ate, I found myself flicking what I thought were white bugs off me, but then I realized the flecks were ash floating up from the fire in Penticton.  We picked up our crew at five and drove back to Peachland, all by now exhausted.  The news of the fire was grim. There was a fear that lightning in the night would generate more fires and one area of Penticton was being evacuated. When we reached camp, the bottom of the clouds over the mountain were red, eerily reflecting the forest fire, and we could hear thunder in the distance. Later, a spotty rain started, but the heat was still unbearable. Hugh and I looked at each other with the same thought bouncing telepathically back and forth. Why did we ever leave the Cariboo? The next thought came equally quickly. Why not head back tomorrow?

Feeling like convicts preparing to bust loose, we got up at four-thirty in the morning and tip-toed about getting organized to leave. We woke the kids at six, then rushed about striking camp.  By the time we left, the sun was beating down, but it was early enough that there was a cool breeze coming in the window as we drove.  We cut over through Merritt and down the winding road to Spence’s bridge.  It was hot through Cache Creek, but nothing like what we’d endured in Peachland.  We stopped at 100 mile for provisions; then, less than two hours later, we arrived at the Fir Crest Resort on Lac La Hache.  It was heaven!  Sunny but pleasant, with the campsite right on the lake.  There was a lovely games room for the youngsters and a huge site, which was perfect for walking Max since it was all fields and rural lanes with long grass and wildflowers.  As soon as we were settled, we took Max out to Treasure Island.  He sniffed all the way round the trail, clearly thrilled to be back there and running free. Later that evening, we sat by the campfire and looked at the lake.  The surroundings were beautiful; the people were friendly; the dogs abounded and were welcome. Finally, we turned in. As Hugh and I settled down for the night, we heard Caroline making loon noises from her tent to replicate the sounds coming from the lake.  After a while, a laryngitic loon call emerged from the pup tent where Andre was tucked down. Shades of Rosemarie and the Indian Love Call? Hugh and I chortled heartily, but Max blinked, cocked one ear, looked at me as if to say, “Humans are crazy,” then tucked down with a blissful sigh and went to sleep. Back in the Cariboo. Bliss indeed.

The Cariboo section of the holiday was fun. The days passed with swimming, boating and trail riding, not to mention churning out meals for four hungry kids and keeping Max from assaulting Alfie in the campsite next door. Everything in the country seemed to go in slow motion. On the way back from a trail ride, we stopped at a farm for provisions and took twenty-five minutes to buy two lettuces.  First I had to check all the buildings until I found the owner; then I had to follow her down numerous trails to the garden where I got to pat the dog and assorted farm cats, admire all her vegetables and take appropriately serious care in selecting the two she was going to cut for me.

Max quite liked country life, but the wildlife began to impact on his naughty genes. He would go swimming with us in the lake and paddle alongside us in formation—until he saw a loon, at which point he would change course and dog-paddle determinedly in its wake. He never seemed to register the fact that water birds could elevate or dive, making his quest utterly hopeless. He started to be very misbehaved on our trail walks, and one night, he ran off up the mountain and I stood in the dwindling light, blasting my dog whistle for fifteen minutes before he returned, wild-eyed and exhausted.  I thought he was going to have a heart attack from running so hard.  We made a very slow trip back to camp, stopping every few steps so he could lie down and rest. After that, it was strictly leash walks, even though Mr. Mutinous was not impressed.

After a week at Timothy Lake, we had to strike camp and move on to our next booking.  We said our farewells to our friends in the next campsite, but Max managed to blot his copybook yet again. His idea of saying goodbye was to get into a scrap with Alfie. We had to detach them from each other’s ears and jowls and stand them in opposite corners while we finished our adieus.  After that, it was a long, hot drive to Salmon Arm.  Max hated it. We had to keep pouring water on him to cool him off.  Finally, we stopped at a Petrocan station and hosed him down. Then we bought ice creams for everyone. Max swallowed his whole, down in one gulp, his eyes bulging with greed.

We reached Pierre’s Point at four-fifteen and quailed the moment we arrived. Why had we left the Cariboo? This site was like a big city, a glorified tenement by a lake.  There were miles of sites and masses of people; no-dogs-on-beach signs, concessions and video games; radios blaring and washrooms full of mothers with screaming tots—and worst of all, trains roaring by every forty minutes.  We gave up trying to be productive and went for a swim.  Then we bought dinner at the concession and collapsed in our deck chairs to listen to the blare of portable radios and the screams of train whistles. Max’s face was eloquent: he clearly thought we had entered a madhouse and were as insane as the occupants to be there. After a ghastly night with trains running every hour, we called Peachland and arranged to move on the following day. This was definitely the right decision, for after dinner, the wind and rain started. Then there was a set-to in the adjacent campsite that caused the police to be called in.  That night, I stuffed earplugs in my ears, wrapped my head in my sweat top and took a sleeping pill.

The next day, we headed for Peachland, stopping at the Kelowna waterslides along the way.  Hugh and I bought more provisions while the kids enjoyed the slides—four teens and preteens ate an amazing amount of food—then we drove the rest of the way.  The Peachland Trailer Inn turned out to be small and quiet with manicured gardens. It was the antithesis of what we had just left, but the sense of orderliness was a little ominous. Hugh and I looked at each other and read each other’s minds:  A boy in a pup tent, three girls in the Pigloo, and Max? Maybe not quite a match made in Heaven!

Next: More disasters and another speedy exit.

Max loved the summer. He particularly enjoyed the extra visits with my parents. There were more of these than in previous years, given my father’s health. Dad was being very brave about his cancer but Mum was extremely anxious. She had high blood pressure and a minor heart condition, and she was becoming very nervous about my father’s illness. What we did not realize was that she was having a series of mini-strokes that were ultimately to lead to her dementia, so both parents were in need of care and assistance.

Max loved Nana and Gamma dearly. He was always thrilled when they arrived at our house, and visibly put out any time he came to the station to see them off and saw them swallowed up by the Skytrain. He particularly enjoyed the trips to their house in West Van, and these became increasingly frequent once we realized we could go over in the motorhome, complete with a small BBQ, and provide meals-on-wheels service using the camper kitchen as our base. Max had great fun trotting between the house, the camper and the BBQ. We became most proficient at this, serving up menus such as bacon wrapped steaks topped with asparagus, crab and béarnaise sauce combined with new potatoes and home-made fudge for dessert.

Max was delighted when it was time to set off for a proper holiday in the motorhome. This year, we had extra youngsters in tow. Caroline had her very first boyfriend and was reluctant to head out of town for a family holiday, so we said Andre could come along as long as he brought his own tent and camping gear. Katie immediately demanded equal treatment, so her friend Candace had been invited as well. Thus, we were planning a trip to the Cariboo that involved me and Hugh sleeping and cooking in the motorhome, one teenage boy in a pup tent to the right of the camper, and three giggling girls in an igloo-shaped tent (immediately christened the pigloo for the state it was usually in) on our left. Max found all this extremely entertaining. He liked Andre and approved having another guy-guy along. Candace and Katie were young, loud and shrill, so he was not so sure about them. When I saw the ears going flat and the wolf mask scowling, I knew it was time to make him sit with me and tell the girls to keep their distance.

Our first stop was Timothy Lake in the Cariboo. Once we were settled, Hugh and I took Max out in the boat and checked out the islands at the far end of the lake. Max scampered about, delighted to be free once more and we threw wood for him so he could swim. He was not so pleased when we returned to the campsite and discovered that a gigantic ten-year-old German shepherd named Alfie was in the next site. Alfie had huge ears and a calm manner, and obviously considered Max a naughty young whippersnapper. The two were tied up side by side and soon settled into a truce, though Max took great pleasure in flaunting his chew toys in front of Alfie. Needless to say, Max was most indignant when I gave Alfie one of the toys. Alfie chewed happily for the rest of the day while Max just guarded his and looked baleful.

Having a dog family next door was useful. Alfie’s owner told me where the best trails were for dog-walking, and that evening, while Hugh went fishing, the girls and I took Max for a run. The next day was great fun. We were in and out of the water all day. Katie and Candace enjoyed the pedlos and the other camp children. Caroline and Andre set off to explore the connector to the adjacent lake. Seeing them heading out in the boat reminded me of the Swallows and Amazons books my brother and I read as children. How we would have loved the opportunities that my children enjoyed. As a little London kid, I only got to read about such adventures, but my girls were both proficient little boaters.

Once the kids returned with the boat, Hugh and I took Max out and explored the river at the end of the lake. We found a minuscule isle in the second lake, so stopped to let Max swim. On the way back, we saw a mother duck with an adorable fleet of babies. I was so busy cooing that I didn’t notice the gleam in Max’s eye and before we knew it, he’d leaped overboard and was gliding through the lily pads with the smoothness and determination of a naval destroyer. Poor Max. No matter where he looked, all he found was a host of lily pads. Once he realized the ducks were impossible to catch, he swam back to the boat. Hugh and I were swamped heaving him on board. He was very pleased with himself, but we had a very wet trip back to base. As we squelched into the campsite, Alfie looked up from his chew toy. His expression said it all. What do you expect when you adopt a delinquent!

June was busting out all over, and with outdoor fun and summer weather, Max was in a mellow mood.  For all that he was a feisty dog, he enjoyed the action when the children and their friends were around. One weekend, when Hugh was away on a fishing trip, the girls had a camp-out in the garden. Max was very interested in the whole process.  While the girls set up their camp, his fluffy bottom kept disappearing inside the tent.  He was undeterred, even when sections of canvas collapsed all over him, and he would probably have stayed to sleep with them if I hadn’t insisted he come inside with me.

Suddenly feeling social, Max wanted to be friends with everyone.  When I walked Katie to the pool for school swimming classes, he shook hands with Nancy Ebert, Katie’s lovely teacher, who was also a friend from Vagabond Players.  When we returned tapes to Video Spot, he shook hands with the lady in the store. He enjoyed a daily session of pats and praise from our mailman, and he performed ‘Bang, you’re dead’ for the store clerks at Early Bird when accompanying Hugh on an errand.  When I picked up the girls from a visit at a friend’s house, Max did his tricks on the family’s front lawn.  It was a new and welcome phase. He seemed to be in love with the whole world.

One Saturday, we took him to the Foreshore Park. It was raining and we thought that we’d have the place to ourselves. However, on our arrival, we found hundreds of people, cars and canines.  It was the annual dog show for the Lower Mainland association for whippets, wolfhounds and their ilk.  Max was fascinated.  I don’t think he realized there were actually that many dogs in the world.  He didn’t know which way to look.  Finally, when we stopped to watch some whippets in the show ring, he tried a playful lunge at an amiable looking mutt who was also an onlooker.  They strutted their stuff, as if to say, “We can do that too.” Then, having drawn the attention of the people around us, he settled down to watch, satisfied that he had done his bit to participate.

Summer brought a burst of growth in the woods, so Edna and I began taking clippers on our walk so we could cut away some of the brush. Max and Brandy were confused by this activity, but after a while we noticed that they were falling back and whiffling around in the debris.  On closer inspection, we saw they were eating the salmonberries from the branches that had fallen on the trail.  Quite enterprising, except that, as the summer wore on and the weather became hotter, they became lazy and expected us to pick the berries for them.

Sadly, those summer walks were marred by an invasion of bulldozers, razing sections of the forest for future development. Masses of birds and forest creatures evacuated their homes, circling and crying the oddest cries as their nests were destroyed. Edna and I were sad to see this, but the dogs shared none of our sorrow. They were hot on the scent of all the animals that had scurried off in terror.  What a time we had, keeping them from running off into the bush. Brandy was generally obedient when told to stay, but Max could not resist the temptation. At one point, he actually came nose to nose with a rabbit.  The poor creature froze in fear, and for a moment I thought it was about to become rabbit stew. But then, to our amazement, Max froze as well. He simply didn’t know what to do with it. He stared back at the cornered bunny as if willing it to make the next move. Then, when it gathered its wits and ran, he tore off after it, darting back to check that we were waiting for him, then racing off again.  No killer instinct in this dog.  The chase was everything to him and he considered the other critters were there to play with him. Max might be naughty, but he wasn’t mean. He wasn’t called a Ho Hum Husky for nothing.