Elihu Entertainment

According to my diaries, the two challenges that dominated the last part of April that year were conquering my 8-track recording system and keeping my naughty dog in line. Max was so unpredictable.  One day, he’d be good on our walk in spite of meeting new dogs and spotting a coyote.  The next, he’d go walkabout on the trails and refuse to co-operate. He behaved impeccably while being pet-sat by my parents on the North Shore, topping off his gold star by trotting round Lighthouse Park with me and Dad without so much as a woof at the West Vancouver dogs.  But the very next day, on his own territory, he promptly got into a scrap with Harley, the dog he’d challenged a couple of weeks before.

Once again, Edna and I headed for the lower, less-frequented trails in the hope of dodging such encounters.  On the plus side, on one of these walks, Edna found Max’s collar where he’d lost it in the bush, but on the downside, there was always the risk of coming across the coyotes. We tried taking different routes to keep Max off guard, although this backfired on us one day when he plunged into the bush, lost his sense of direction and had a panic attack. For a tough guy, he could be a real baby at times. It took the two of us several minutes of pats and soothing talk to calm him down.  Max was actually quite a nervous dog, being easily startled and frightened of loud noises.  Once when Hugh and the girls were watching hockey on TV, they broke into hoots and cheers as the Canucks scored. Poor Max slunk off to the deck, ears back, head down and his wolf mask signaling bewilderment and distress.

But of all his traits, the one that made him most difficult to train was his stubborn refusal to accept that I was ‘the master’.  He wanted so much to call the shots.  One day, I worked with him after dinner. He went through his paces nicely, and then it was time to practise retrieving. At this point, we hit an impasse over the tennis ball.  He chased it part way, then stopped, abandoned the idea of retrieving it, came back and looked at the cookie in my hand.  When I told him he wouldn’t get the cookie until he fetched the ball, he lay down and glowered at me.  I promptly sat on the steps, told him he knew what he had to do and stared back at him.  After a few moments, he burped and looked at me for a reaction.  Seeing none, he tried to ignore me.  He looked off into the distance, glancing back periodically out of the corner of his eye to see if I was still watching him. The stand-off lasted almost five minutes.  Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore.  He got up, the mutinous scowl still on his face, fetched the ball, and threw it at my feet.  Victory at last, but Gary Gibson was definitely right. Naughty Max was more dog than most!

The Easter break had been great fun, but it was back to school for everyone, including me.  Right around this time, Hugh and I decided to get serious about the soundtracks for our marionette shows, so we had gone to Annex and invested in some good recording equipment. We came home from our shopping trip $4000 poorer and with enough manuals to make me feel as if I was back at university.  It took me two months of intensive practice, amid phone and onsite tutorials, to learn the system. Max, resigned to spending his days hanging out in the music room while Mummy struggled to conquer her new creative tool, found a comfortable spot in the corner and claimed it as his own.

However, boredom was setting in, and it soon became apparent that Max needed to go back to school too.  His nose was out of joint at my preoccupation with my sound equipment, and his annoyance began to manifest on our walks.  For the first time, he charged at a leashed dog and got into a scrap—and was naughty and unrepentant afterwards. Once home, I put him in a long down, and he scowled mutinously the whole time. He was also becoming very possessive about his toys and treats, sometimes carrying his chew toy throughout an entire walk rather than leaving it behind when it was time to go. Often, he would simply find treasure along the way. Once he cracked up everyone who saw us by walking around the block with a McDonald’s chip container wrapped, muzzle-like, around his nose. Tennis balls frequently accompanied us home, and soccer balls too, even though it was obvious that he was struggling to get his jaw hooked onto them. And woe betide anyone who tried to get his loot away from him.

Given Max’s rebellious mood, Edna and I started walking the less-populated lower George Derby Land trails to avoid running into other walkers. These trails were lovely in the spring. Triliums, bleeding hearts and wild forget-me-nots abounded, along with ferns, fiddleheads and curly ground cover.  Max could run his little legs off there, and there was less danger of an incident.  But to my frustration, even here, Max found trouble, one day getting a scent of a coyote and taking off through the bush. When he finally responded to my shouts and whistles, he wheezed his way back, utterly exhausted, and we discovered he’d managed to lose his collar during his escapade.

I forged on with my sound project, but realized I had to take breaks in the afternoon and give Max some extra training walks. These proved a mixed blessing, however.  Max loved doing his reverses, and sitting and staying. He glowed with enthusiasm and went through his routines like a little circus horse. However, from the corner of his eye, he was always looking for anything that would provide some extra excitement. This was usually found in the form of the neighbourhood cats, and several times, I nearly dislocated my shoulder holding him back after he’d spotted a wandering moggy.  I became very conscious of watching my dog as we walked, since I could tell from the set of his ears whether he’d sighted anything of interest. But one day, this stratagem backfired on me dramatically.  As we turned into our driveway, I was watching Max like a hawk so he couldn’t didn’t take me off guard. I was wearing a Tilly hat with a wide brim, and with my head down, I did not notice that in manoeuvering around our parked car, I had gone too close to the overhang of our bay window.  The next thing I remember, I was lying on my back with a very bewildered Max standing over me licking my face. I had knocked myself out cold. Talk about going flat out for my dog.

We celebrated April Fool’s Day that year by taking our first trip in Lisa. Max had dutifully visited Dr. Zinger for his rabies shot and had behaved politely in spite of getting two needles. We set off at nine-thirty, having given Max a run in the woods before we left.  However, it was a slow trip as the traffic was terrible and it took us an hour and a half to get to and through the border.  Once there, we discovered that Max was a great asset going through customs. The officer in charge of our line was extremely picky and suspicious, and in spite of our declaration that we were not bringing in any prohibited foods, he decided to enter our motorhome and check for himself.  One look at Max’s lowering mask and he changed his mind, reversed in a hurry and waved us through.

We discovered that travelling with a dog was easy in a motorhome. When we left Max and went for a late breakfast at Denny’s in Blaine, he was comfortable with his food dish, his water bowl, his chew toy and his bed.  The trip to Copalis beach proved long and tiring as the traffic continued to be awful right through Seattle and Tacoma, but because he was in his house-on-wheels with all his people present, Max was not at all restless.  It was late when we got in, but he seemed blissfully contented as he watched us prepare dinner and get ready to tuck down for the night.

Come morning, we decided that Max was coping better than we were.  We woke up sore having discovered that the bed was rock hard.  The girls slept in, so Hugh gallantly served me tea in bed, then took Max outside—lurch, lurch, rock, rock—Lisa’s suspension was definitely softer than the bed. The girls were having to adapt to camper life too.  Once up, they went over to the communal shower where Katie acted helpfully as Caroline’s handmaiden until she ruined it all by dropping her sister’s ring down the sink.  After much wailing from Caroline and assistance from the owner, the ring was retrieved and we headed back to make breakfast.  Max seemed mildly bewildered at the amount of time his humans were taking to complete routine tasks, but he was rewarded for his patience once we set out for a walk to Copalis Beach.  What a lovely route it proved to be.  We crossed the bridge over the river, checked out the local store, then walked along a road bordered with grassy dunes and pretty ground cover until we reached the raging Pacific and an immense stretch of sand.  Max tore about like a whirlwind, and he chased every gull in sight.  It was windy but wonderful.  How he enjoyed himself. The whole day evolved into a medley of walks on the magnificent beach and lazy coffee breaks back at base, climaxing with a marshmallow roast by the campfire at night. What a tired dog his was by bedtime.  He was very happy to tuck up in the camper that night.

The second day was quieter for Max, since we were planning to sightsee. Hugh and I took him to the beach early but could only let him run for a while as the clammers were already out and cars were driving up and down the sands.  After breakfast, we set off and toured through Ocean Shores and then down to Aberdeen, after which we visited Hoquiam’s Castle and admired all the beautiful antiques.  Max didn’t seem to mind his enforced stays in the motorhome, since he was given a short walk at every stop where he could investigate a host of new and interesting smells. However, he was happy to return to our campsite, especially as we went straight down to the beach, where Hugh gave the girls their first driving lesson while I ran Max through the sand dunes.

The holiday came to an end far too soon, but before we left, we drove to the beach and ran Max on the dunes.  While there, we made coffee, buttered buns, and enjoyed our last snack by the sea prior to setting off for home.  We drove back via the inside of the Peninsula.  This was a magnificent drive, particularly along the Hoat Canal.  There was a three-hour ferry wait at Port Townsend, and once again, we discovered the benefits of road trips in a motorhome.  Instead of being stuck in a car, we made lunch and ate in comfort, walked Max on the beach, then strolled along the waterfront where we bought ice creams and postcards.

Such a lovely Easter Weekend. The ferry crossing was picturesque. The trip home was lovely too, with the scenic drive across Whitby Island and through Deception Pass.  Max continued to be patient throughout, not even seeming bothered when we left him to go shopping at Bellis Fair.  Going back through the border was a breeze, since there was hardly anyone at the truck crossing, and we were back in Burnaby by seven o’clock. We unloaded our gear, weary but happy, but Max, reluctant to be unpacked, kept returning to his corner in Lisa. His house on wheels had become his home.

Next: Back to school.

Shakespeare definitely had it right when he wrote: “When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.”  March, that year, not only came in like a lion, but went out leaving us feeling as if we were facing a whole Colosseum-full of the growling beasts. Faced with the news that my father had been diagnosed with cancer, I realized there would be many challenges for the family ahead. Had we realized that this sad news would be the precursor of fifteen years of troubles, heaven only knows how we would have coped.

In that first month, it was as if the worry over my father sent the whole family into a tailspin. Everyone was sick, I was diagnosed with an auto-immune inflammatory arthritis, and Max had his first (of several to come) biting incidents—this latter occurring when I was on the phone hearing the results of my father’s tests.  I had kept Max with me all afternoon while Katie entertained a group of friends, all of whom went home at dinnertime.  I saw the girls off, then went back to hearing Dad’s prognosis and finding out what was to be done for him.  Two minutes later, there was a knock.  One of the girls had returned to get something she’d forgotten, so I sent her downstairs to fetch it, by now completely distracted by my father’s news so I didn’t notice that Max had followed her.  Next thing I heard was a yell.  Max had found a dress-up to carry, Katie had told him to drop it, and her friend had yelled at the dog, tried to snatch it from him and got nipped.  Her skin was not broken, but there were two clear dents.

On top of the worry over my father, this was the last straw.  When I phoned the girl’s mother and explained, she was nice about it, and Katie’s friend was back the next day to play, so she couldn’t have been overly traumatized. Still, it was a worrying precursor of things to come.  Max was quick with his mouth, and vigilance was going to be the order of the day if he wasn’t going to get in a lot of trouble.  Even when there is provocation, the dog is always blamed and is held accountable when there is a biting incident. Somehow, we had to protect Max from himself and those alpha-male, husky-wolf genes.

Max was such a strange mixture of lovable pup and misbehaved tough guy.  In many situations, he was fine. He loved to go to Lighthouse Park to walk with my father, and was always wild with excitement when he leapt out of the car and saw his namesake on the trail. He socialized politely, if suspiciously, with the West Vancouver dogs, as if he understood that he was the visitor and this was their territory. On trips to the vet, he sat sedately, ignoring the other dogs in the waiting room and behaving politely with Dr. Zinger. When we took him for runs on the power line, he’d tear up and down, bound through streams and swamps, hurtle through the bushes, and come home happy and covered in mud, though he squirmed a lot as we hosed him off.  Yes, he caused a lot of worry, but he also brought a lot of joy.

In fact, in hindsight, knowing how difficult the next years were to be, I realize that, for all Max’s naughtiness, his cheeky presence in the family provided a source of solace that helped us get through the tough times.  He was certainly a great comfort to me during the day when the rest of the family was at school.  He would lie at my feet, under the computer desk or the music keyboard, sighing blissfully at the music, or if I was painting scenery, he’d find his way to the studio, simply happy to be with one of his people. Yes, he was a difficult dog, but when it came to unconditional love, nothing could beat him. The troubles kept coming, but Max would wag his tail and snuggle up to his people, and every member of the family would smile and feel restored. That Ho Hum Husky had a way of putting everything in perspective.

Next:  Max goes across the line.

Max continued to be a mixture of klutz, disobedient hellion, clever trickster, spoiled brat and independent thinker.  He would race through the woods with such abandon that he regularly hit trees and almost knocked himself out. Alternately, he would pick up huge sticks and charge ahead, taking out the unwary walker at the knees. When called to come, he always looked around first to identify what it was that I didn’t want him to see. One day, he scared me silly during a walk along the power line, for he shot through a gap in the fence and headed for the freeway.  Fortunately he had the sense to stop short when he saw the whizzing cars, but I swear I gained a grey hair every day.

The weather was cold again, with occasional snowfall, which always seemed to stir up Max’s wild husky genes. Walks were frosty, chilly occasions, and Katie cracked us up one day by announcing that she had “goof bumps”—which we all agreed was very apt, for Max as well as for her. However, it was the kind of weather that one liked to hunker down indoors once the exercise walk was done, so I decided it was a good opportunity to get back to writing my mystery stories. I started work on a tale that would later become “Death and the Doorknockers” in my first book, To Catch an Actress. This was fun to write as it made good use of my experiences on the campaign trail.  However, Max was annoyed at being ignored and showed his displeasure by chewing up a pillow, after which he entertained himself by chasing the vacuum when I cleaned up the pile of fluff.

Max was a Smart Alec, and once he’d done something for the first time, he figured he knew the ropes and could call the shots. He became an ace at picking out ‘his people’ (which meant Katie, Caroline or Edna’s grandsons) in the daily parade of children pouring out of the school. He also recognized routes and knew the activities they presaged. One day, I needed the car to take the girls to the dentist, so I drove Hugh to school and took Max along for the ride. Since Hugh taught at Alpha in North Burnaby, we had to go right by Dr. Zinger’s Pet Hospital.  Max, sitting in the back, looked more and more dejected as he recognized the route, but perked up once he realized we weren’t going to the vets.  It was hilarious watching his doleful face in the rear-view mirror and seeing how it instantly reverted to macho-dog cheekiness once we drove by the dreaded destination.

In addition to his fear of the vet, Max had developed a dread of school, and he became very glum whenever Gary Gibson appeared.  Around this time, Gary was trying to sell his motorhome, and since I had just received a sum of money for a whiplash injury, Hugh and I decided to buy it and use it for family holidays.  So one Sunday, Gary and his wife, Kathy, came over to show us the motorhome, which they had named Lisa.   Max made no bones about expressing his opinion of their presence.  He sat mulishly, head bowed, face scowling, his back turned to Gary, deliberately ignoring him for the entire visit.  However, he quite liked Kathy, and cheerfully demonstrated his Can Can for her, glowing with pride when she said how clever he was. Max looked bewildered and relieved when they left and he realized he hadn’t had a training session. He appeared to puzzle over the fact for the rest of the evening.

The sale of the motorhome went through, and Max was most intrigued by his new house-on-wheels. We decided to take it out to Sasamat Lake for a test outing with the girls and their friends, so we packed a picnic and set off for the day.  Max took up his position between me and Hugh as if he’d decided that the front seats were the equivalent of our armchairs at home.  He remained there and behaved with impeccable manners during the drive.  However, he was naughty on our run around the lake. He was over-excited by the new smells and flatly refused to come when called.  We finally had to leash him, though Hugh let him go at the end of the walk so he could chase the geese.  The geese were unafraid and very contemptuous of this delinquent dog.  They flew all of two feet in front of him and then sedately outswam him until he gave up and headed exhausted back to shore.  He was a tired, but happy dog that night.  It was the start of a new era for Max. Lisa was going to provide him with a lot of happy times in the future.

Next: Troubles coming in battalions.