Elihu Entertainment

Max was very sad at the loss of my father. He had no idea why this special human had disappeared from his life, and it was one of the saddest moments when, for the first time after Dad’s death, we took Max to my parents’ house, for he searched every room and corner of the garden looking for his namesake.

It was hardly surprising that Max, the dog was so bonded with Max, the human. Dogs had always been a part of my father’s life, but he was old by the time his last dog died, so he had not wanted to get a new pet of his own. Therefore, Max filled a gap in his life during his old age.

My father’s love of dogs, along with his love of his bank book, is noted on a unique gravestone in the tiny Pender Harbour cemetery where his ashes are buried alongside my mother’s. Mum is commemorated with engraved roses and a poem touching on her charm and grace. Dad’s gravestone sports a German shepherd in one corner and a dollar sign in the other. It also contains a quotation from my play, Renovations, which only people in the family circle would understand. However, I suspect Dad would have been highly entertained by the fact that strangers who wander through the pretty country graveyard would see the gravestone and puzzle over the significance of the inscription. Like Max, the dog, Max the human was quite a character.

Max, the dog, was not a happy camper in the period after my father died. To add to the sorrow of Dad’s demise, Max also had to suffer the indignity of some new arrivals around the home. Minx the Manx was now firmly entrenched in the household, so there were frequent battles when Max cornered Minx and received a claw in his nose for his pains. A pesky cat was definitely no substitute for an adoring grandfather.

As if this wasn’t enough, new tenants appeared next door along with a large and beautiful dog named Sheamus. On the day they moved in, I was painting scenery in the garage below our deck. I had the door open to reduce the fumes, and Max was enclosed on the upper deck since I didn’t want him running out onto the road. As I continued with my painting, I was vaguely aware that there was activity in the driveway next door. Jody and Trevor were in the process of moving in. Suddenly, I had company. The large, shaggy and exuberantly friendly Sheamus had bounded in to introduce himself. As I patted the newcomer and told his owners how beautiful he was, I heard the clicking of paws and huffing and puffing overhead. Max was not impressed.

Although I expected some scuffles on either side of the fence when the two dogs were out in their yards, Max and Sheamus seemed to declare some sort of truce. As long as they kept to their own gardens, there didn’t seem to be a problem. I suspect that Sheamus attempted to be friendly and was snubbed by Max, who would have ignored him on principle for daring to make friends with his mistress. However, one day when Jody and I inadvertently left for our walks at the same time, the two dogs forged through their side-by-side gates, found themselves adjacent to each other, woofed loudly and veered joyously towards each other, finally given the chance for a scrap. If Jody and I hadn’t hauled on the leashes and back-pedalled at speed, doggy mayhem would have ensued.

No sooner had Sheamus moved in on one side of our garden, the neighbours on the other side also acquired a dog. This was a large black German shepherd, and to add insult to injury, he was also called Max. His owner informed us that their Max had trained to be a police dog but had ultimately been rejected for being temperamentally unsuited. The moment Hugh heard that the newcomer had failed police school, he christened him Max F, and so we distinguished him from our own Max from then on. Poor Max. He was so irked to have large male dogs on either side of him, especially since his mistress always talked to them when she was in the garden.

However, just as he had with Sheamus, Max proceeded to ignore Max F—until the day we returned from our walk and Max F was outside with his owners. We stopped to talk and I made the mistake of saying hello to Max F. My Max’s eyes narrowed and glittered, jealousy emanating from his pupils like laser beams, and the next thing I knew, Max F was flattened in the road. This was no mean feat considering that our Max, with his short stubby legs, only came up to the big shepherd’s midriff. I hauled Max off and took him inside, but his eyes continued to glitter, this time with delight. Two dogs and a cat invading his territory, but finally he had been given the chance to put one of the newcomers in his place. Once again, Max had proved he was leader of the pack.

Being such a rebellious dog, Max felt right at home during the early part of our difficult years, because suddenly he was in sync with the rest of the family, all of whom were feeling pretty mutinous over the pounding we were taking from the legal system. Even sweet young Katie started to kick at the rules, particularly on one notable occasion when Prince Charles, Prince William and Prince Harry visited Burnaby South High School.

Katie was desperate to see the royals and she was most annoyed with me for insisting that she was not allowed to skip school that day and join the crowds at Burnaby South. As I pointed out, given the mob of young girls that would be present, she would never be able to get close to the princes anyway. However, Katie ignored my order, went AWOL with her friends, and in spite of my prediction, got to talk to all three of the princes. But she didn’t get away with her escapade. Her photo was taken by a press photographer and she found her picture all over the local papers. Was she contrite? No, in true Max fashion, she was jubilant about the fact that a little disobedience resulted in a lot of fun.

In October, 1998, there was some respite to our troubles when our older daughter was acquitted on all charges. However, almost as soon as the trial was over, my father went into hospital for the last time, so the next two months involved daily commutes to the North Shore to visit him and make sure Mum was all right. All this time, we were preparing for our new Christmas show. This was The Highwayman’s Christmas, a lively romp with some points of reference to The Beggars’ Opera, with Max as MaxHeath, a rascally dog who reforms and saves Santa Claus from Mad Jack, the Highwayman.

For the first time, we had not only taken private gigs, but had also arranged a seven-show run as a co-production with the Vagabond Players, so we were keen to make the show really special. Poor Max was short-changed during the final preparations for this show, as each day, I would pack up my sewing kit and take my puppets to the hospital so that I could visit with my father while I completed the costumes and stringing. Good old Dad. He might have been dying of cancer, but I can still see the glint in his eye as his face lit up when the buxom red-headed Ma Foxyfingers came out of the puppet box. “Oh, yes, I like that one!” he said.

As if being left so much at home was not sufficient annoyance for Max, he soon had another source of aggravation. Hugh had stored bats of fiberglass insulation along the fence that surrounded our carport, and one day we noticed a little grey and white Manx cat sleeping there. This became a regular occurrence as the weather grew colder and once we had noticed her, the cat began to meow and ask for attention and we realized she was a stray. We suddenly remembered that there had been notices about a missing cat of that description during the summer, so if it were the same cat, she had been fending for herself for several months. We also realized that the newcomer had a lot of spirit, for in spite of Max’s growls and yowls of protest on the other side of the fence, she persistently returned, often glowering at him from the top of the fence but refusing to give up the territory she had claimed.

Katie, of course, became anxious to adopt the newcomer, but we realized that her former owners might be searching for her, so we contacted the SPCA and put up notices around the neighbourhood. However, there were no responses and we assumed that the people had moved out of the area. So, in spite of Max’s sulky face, we tentatively claimed the little Manx and took her to our vet for a check-up. Katie christened her Minx, and Minx the Manx she remained. However, to Katie’s alarm, the first thing the vet noticed was that Minx had a tattoo in her ear. While Katie clutched the little cat to her breast and muttered furiously about ‘my cat’, the vet went to check the registration on the tattoo. It turned out that Minx had been spade gratis through the shelter, which meant she had belonged to a family on welfare. This reinforced our feeling that the people had moved, since they would probably have been renting. The vet looked at the three of us, an anxious trio, lovingly cuddling the cat, considered his options, and decided to re-register the cat.

Thus, in the midst of our trials and tribulations, we acquired a little grey and white bundle of joy and Max acquired, not only a lifetime foe, but a co-star to carry out an ongoing feud in a whole series of puppet shows. One Ho Hum Husky with his nose right out of joint!

After regular two-week intervals between dog blogs, there has been a significant gap, and the reason for that is the blog on the front page of this website. Care for poor little Minx, the Manx as she developed more health problems became the main focus of the last few months. Minx is actually a part of Max’s story, though in that context, still to come. So now to continue with the dog blog and the story of Max, the Ho Hum Husky, and his life with our family.

Sadly, 1997 and 1998 were dreadful years. Due to a tragic accident on March 15, 1997, our family became embroiled in a criminal trial and a civil lawsuit, the latter of which dragged on for four years until it was dropped. My father was dying of cancer and my mother was being assessed and subsequently diagnosed with vascular dementia. We had massive money problems as the lawyers bills escalated, and our older daughter was not only facing the court case, but preparing for college, going through jobs like jellybeans and applying for student loans since all our money was going to pay the lawyers. During that period, I learned more about the law, social services and the medical system than I ever wanted to know. I also learned that Agatha Christie mysteries where little old ladies like Miss Marple prove better investigators than the police were not far-fetched, because Hugh and I did the necessary detective work that ultimately caused our daughter to be acquitted of all the charges. But that is a story in itself, and this is Max’s story. Still, our trials and tribulations are relevant, for if ever a dog earned his keep providing solace and comfort to his loved ones, he certainly did during those hard years.

Perhaps because I needed something to force me to stop brooding about our cares and the sad situation of the other family involved in the case, this proved a particularly fertile period for creation of shows for the marionettes. When working on a soundtrack, I had to be completely focussed, and the creative work provided a way to, at least temporarily, drive the other problems from my mind. 1997 saw the development of The Ho Hum Rescue, later to become The Sorcerer Princess, and a hilarious show for the small Pelham puppets called The Fairy-tale that Went Wrong. Max continued to be a great pal during the recording and editing of these shows. He listened to my singing, watched me edit, and whenever I headed for the music room, he took up his spot under my desk. He seemed even more settled than usual, perhaps because he sense that his mum was subdued and worried.

We also built two new shows around our clever dog’s antics. Max was very quick to learn new tricks and he’d developed a repertoire of four showpieces. ‘Bang, you’re dead’ had already been incorporated into Guard Dog on Duty, but he had also learned ‘On Trust’ (where he waited to take the cookie until we said, ‘Paid For’), and ‘Down the Hatch’ (where he would catch a treat as it shot out of the end of a long tube). His pièce de résistance, though, was his Can-Can dance, where he raised one paw after another as I sang the music, and ended with a leap forward followed by a bow with his backside up in the air.

We never managed to get ‘On Trust’ into a show, although I had written it into a script called The Mikadog. However, ‘Down the Hatch’ was a big hit in The Sausage Thief, when Caesar, the thief of the title, hides the sausages inside a drain pipe and Max nabs them as they fall out the other end. And the Can-Can trick had people in convulsions during performances of Guard Dog on Show, for leaving aside Max’s ability to do the trick, the Max puppet looked hilarious kicking up his paws alongside the pretty high-kicking puppet in the frilly dress. Those years were a bonanza for creating Max shows, to the extent that the poor fellow became quite puzzled during the long bouts in the music room when the work was being done. He simply couldn’t figure out why he heard his name so much during all those recording sessions!

In spite of the problems in our lives, we still managed to fit in a lot of gigs in 1997. Most were short local bookings, but we also were part of the VGOP Festival at the Shadbolt Centre for the Arts and we made another run to the Sunshine Coast in December to perform Christmas shows. Max loved to see us packing up to do a show and he would always watch to make sure he didn’t get left behind. The moment he sensed we were ready to load the trailer, he headed for basement, sat by the puppet box and stared at his leash.

Max may have felt chuffed to be a puppet dog, but he’d lost none of his wild-dog instincts. His daily walks with Brandy were still the joy of his life, and special outings were even more of a treat. We took him along when Katie took ski lessons on Grouse Mountain with her friends. I walked Max while Hugh registered the girls, but what a time I had keeping him at my side. He caught the scent of the wild and wanted to head straight up the mountain. During this period, we also found a wonderful new area for weekend walks. This was out at Pitt Polder where Max spent many happy hours roaring back and forth along the dykes. Given his temperament, the open dykes were perfect for us too, because we could see a long way and had lots of opportunity to rein him in if we saw trouble ahead.

It’s an ill wind that blows no one any good, and Max was the one that actually received the odd benefit from the family troubles. As my parents’ health problems increased, we made far more visits to their home. In the summer, we organized occasional weeding parties with the girls and their friends to keep Dad’s garden in order. Max thought these expeditions were great fun. Max was also the only family member who enjoyed himself during our long, agonizing days in court, for Edna, who had been a wonderful source of support throughout our difficult years, acted as dog sitter and he got to spend the whole day with Brandy. In typical Max fashion, the first thing he would do when dropped at his doggy daycare was to march through the door and head straight for Brandy’s toys. Yes, the rest of us might have been in total chaos, but Max was steady on course. He never missed a trick.

Come October, the fall-winter puppet-show marathon started again. Max took this in his stride. As long as he had his morning walk with me, Edna and Brandy, or Hugh and the girls on the weekend, he didn’t care what we did with the rest of the day. However, in spite of his burgeoning fame as Max, the Ho Hum Husky, he continued to be very un-ho-hum whenever he felt threatened.

One Saturday, after a walk at the Foreshore, he cracked up the whole family during the drive home. As usual, he was riding in the back of the Jeep and none of us were paying him any attention, but suddenly we heard him growling. We all looked round to see him standing up and facing the back window. His hackles were up, and a moment later, the growls erupted into furious barks. The cause was immediately apparent. A Harley Davidson motorbike was on our tail, the rider decked out in full leather gear with a large round helmet. Obviously, Max thought we were being chased by a monster. The girls were in convulsions, but Max was oblivious to our laughter. He continued his barrage of woofs and snarls until the bike veered off onto a side street. At that point, Max turned round, sat down smugly and eyed us all as if to say: “There, I took care of him.”

It was another season cram-full of private gigs: school shows, daycares, hospitals, senior homes, office parties, not to mention our usual booking at the Burnaby Village Museum. We also had more public events and Max was certainly lucky that we had the motorhome that fall. We had quite a few bookings that entailed long days out, so he was able to come along and stay in his ‘home-from-home’ during the set up and performances, yet visit with us and enjoy walks in between. Halloween brought us a public show at Presentation House as part of the Vancouver Guild of Puppetry Festival. In November, we repeated our Babes experiment, this time booking a hall in Fort Langley so that we could bring the show to a different audience. Then there was the mammoth day out at Pender Harbour since the Lions’ Club had once again booked us to bring up our Christmas show.

The raft of repeat bookings in December of that year had made me realize that we were not going to get very far if we only had one Christmas show. Therefore, I had worked throughout the year to create a new seasonal show for Max. This year’s offering was Ye Olde Ho Humme Christmas, later to be expanded and developed into King John’s Christmas for a run at Vagabond Players. The latter title is, of course, also the title of a beloved childhood poem by A.A.Milne and it was that poem that inspired the idea for the show. King John, in our puppet show, was not hankering after a red rubber ball, but had turned against Christmas because “In days of yore when he was four” he had asked Santa for a little wooden toy soldier and Santa had failed to comply. As a result, the king was plotting to destroy Santa, but naturally, the plot was foiled through the efforts of Sir Max, the Ho Hum and his friend, Maid Brandy. The show was great fun, and enthusiastically received by local and Coast audiences alike. Even after we’d finished the paid gigs, there was fun with the puppets as we set up the theatre in the basement and gave shows for our various Christmas visitors.

That year, we had another White Christmas, although Christmas Day was quieter than the previous year. Mum and Dad were present, but we all missed the Aussies. However, we had many visitors for the three days after Christmas, so there was lots of opportunity for games and seasonal fun. The girls particularly enjoyed Boxing Day when Hugh’s nephews came over with their children. We made them bags of popcorn and performed the show, after which the girls showed their cousins how to work the puppets. However, by the 29th, visiting came to a halt. There was so much snow that the B.C. Government declared an emergency. People were stranded on the highway and in some cases, had to shelter in barns all night. Hugh was worried that the Optimist would sink under the weight of the snow, so he and Caroline ventured out to Ioco in the Jeep and shovelled off the decks. Thank goodness for four-wheel drive. But the snow put the finish on much more activity for the rest of the year, and it was the first year in a long time that we did not bother with a New Year’s party. Still, we were tired and happy to stay home, read books and do puzzles. And Max was the happiest of all. Long walks in the snow, fun with snowballs while we shoveled the drive, and captive people who stayed home all the time. A perfect way for puppet dog to round up the year.

During 1996, we spent another summer at Pender Harbour, but although we had now purchased the Garden Bay cottage, we were still holidaying on the Madeira Park side because the cottage there simply wouldn’t sell. We had rented the Garden Bay cottage to Patty Jackson, who worked at the Sundowner, so we had a good tenant, but the financial strain of paying a mortgage and caring for three properties was starting to show. Still, even though we were disappointed not to be in our new cottage, we were determined to enjoy the summer. Once again, the girls had friends come to stay, and during Jen Guccliemucci’s stay with us, the girls had a particularly interesting adventure—one that even carried over after we returned to town.

Caroline and Katie had been well taught by Hugh in boat-handling and seamanship, so the girls were allowed to take the outboard dinghy out on their own. Katie and Jen particularly enjoyed this, often packing picnics and heading for the islands in the mouth of the bay. One day, on their return, they were tying up our dinghy when they saw a baby seal clinging to the outboard of an adjacent boat. They came running up to tell us and we all went down to inspect the little creature.

It was quite adorable and we were concerned that it had been abandoned, although Hugh informed us that the mothers sometimes left their pups while they went fishing and later came back for them. This was confirmed when we phoned the Wildlife Rescue at Halfmoon Bay, but we were told to keep an eye on the seal, and if it was still there after a couple of days, we could bring it down and they would send it to the marine mammal rehabilitation centre in Vancouver.

The baby seal was certainly well attended for the next couple of days. The girls visited it constantly, reporting on how waif-like it was and urging us to take action. I had christened it Cedric Seal, although the girls informed me that they had called it Pooky. Whatever its name, it was certainly the centre of attention. After the second day passed and the pup was still there, we decided that it was time to rescue him. Hugh adeptly manoeuvred him into a fishnet and from there, deposited him in a large Tupperware tub. The tub was placed in the back of our Jeep, and since Cedric-Pooky was taking up Max’s usual spot, Max had to sit wedged at my feet by the front passenger seat. Max’s nose was going a mile a minute all the way to Halfmoon Bay. If a dog could cry, I swear Max was doing so. He wanted so desperately to see the fascinating cargo that was creating such a tantalizing odor.

Once at Wildlife Rescue, the girls sadly said goodbye to their new friend. However, they were very excited when the volunteers told them that they would be able to visit Cedric-Pooky in town and see his progress as he was rehabilitated back into the wild. Sure enough, after we returned home, I called the centre and set up an appointment. I was informed that our seal was now officially christened Voyageur and was doing well.

Over the next weeks, we made several visits to the marine mammal rehabilitation site in Vancouver Harbour and monitored Voyageur’s progress. At first he was in a solo pond, where he splashed around happily, safe, secure and regularly fed. Next, he moved to a double pond where he had a friend to socialize with; then finally, he made it to the big group pond where he had to compete for food with a horde of other growing baby seals. At last the day came when he was to be released back into the ocean. He was to be set free along with two other baby seals and all the ‘owners’ who had found the seals were invited to attend.

This entailed a trip to Bowen Island, which was the destination point for the release. When we arrived at Tunstall Bay, the Wildlife Rescue volunteers were already setting out three small cages at the water’s edge. We hurried down to check on Voyageur. Like proud parents, we noticed that he was eagerly whiffling at the front of his cage, clearly ready to embark on his new journey, whereas the other two seals had flopped down lethargically and were showing little interest in what was going on.

But to our mortification, when the grate was lifted, the other seals bounded out into the ocean whereas Voyageur slunk back to the rear of his cage and refused to come out. We quipped, “Now, Voyageur,” and urged him on, but he ignored our entreaties. Finally, he had to be tipped into the water, and even then, he seemed most uneasy venturing forth. In spite of reassurances from the Wildlife volunteers, we were worried about our nervous seal. He continued to quiver on the brink while the other two seals swam and played, instantly adapting to their new surroundings.

After what seemed an eternity, Voyageur started to swim, but his progress was still hesitant. By this time we were all convinced that he was never going to survive in the wild. And then, miraculously, he found his way to the other two seals, and we watched with baited breath as they circled, divided, then came back together. Yet again, Voyageur drifted away on his own like a little lost soul, but his fellow seals obviously understood the drill. They headed back to him in tandem; no seals going astray from this release. Suddenly all three formed a line and in graceful formation, they swam out to sea. Still together, they continued until they were just three small dots in the distance which ultimately disappeared from view.

With a sigh of relief, we thanked the volunteers and left the beach. It was time to go back to the car, where Max was impatiently waiting. The end to an amazing adventure with our little sea dog and time to pay attention to our dog dog. Max leaped out of the Jeep, and we walked him along the shore, happy to see him enjoying the smells and sights in this beautiful new location. Silently, though, we were all sending good thoughts out to sea where the three little voyageurs were exploring their vast new world.

The beginning of 1996 was memorable because of the massive amount of snow, and Max, with his husky genes, loved it. He and Brandy had wonderful romps in the woods. One day, we came across an old mattress that someone had abandoned in the bush. Max fell in love with this discarded piece of bedding, and on every walk he would attack it with great abandon, sending snow and fluff flying everywhere.

Much as the dogs loved the snow, it was a big nuisance for me. I had scheduled more voice-over auditions in January, but several times I had to cancel because of the condition of the roads.  Caroline had valiantly recorded Max’s voice for the Christmas show, and had done the part extremely well. However, even she felt that Max ought to have a male voice, so the search was on. During my headhunting for singers, I called Jim Keary and he advised me to try Dwayne Campbell, another long-time member of Vagabond Players. I knew that Dwayne was a good actor and director, but didn’t realize that he could sing. Jim informed me that Dwayne had a very nice light tenor voice, so I followed through, and to my delight, Dwayne was interested in trying for the part.

When Dwayne came to the house to audition, Max glowered balefully. Dwayne was tall, and Max was always suspicious of large males. Dwayne was equally reserved about Max. He took one look at the expression on Max’s face and carefully negotiated his way around him. We headed up to my studio and locked Max out, since he had an annoying habit of shaking and making his chain rattle right in the middle of a take. Then we proceeded to try some pieces of music.

Dwayne’s singing voice was delightful. It was clear and melodious, with a very pleasing tone. I was greatly impressed and was on the verge of saying that I’d rather use him in roles that involved more lyrical numbers.  Max, after all, had patter songs or story songs—fun stuff, but hardly requiring such a musical tenor.  However, when Dwayne read some dialogue with me, it was instantly apparent that he had to play Max. His delivery of the lines caught my cheeky dog’s attitude to perfection.  There was no question that I had found Max’s voice.

Thus began a partnership that spanned many years and many shows. Dwayne aced all of Max’s roles, but he also took other more lyric parts. I was delighted to have someone who could record melodic and semi-operatic pieces with me—not to mention chorus parts, for Dwayne and I recorded the various lines into my eight-track and then I duplicated them until I built up a full-bodied chorus. We became so ambitious that we even managed some of the chorus music from Faust for the ‘Phantom’ Halloween show.

Still, it was Dwayne’s work as Max that put him on the map with our audiences. And what fun we had during those recording sessions. Dwayne cheerfully put up with all the witticisms from the other recording artists—if he was on a break and we needed him, some bright spark would bellow down the stairs, “Dwayne, Come!”—because he knew perfectly well that his voice-over was the one that everyone loved best. Max was the only puppet that ever received applause on his entrance. Max was the star and Max had found his voice.

That year, our family had a particularly busy and social Christmas. Back in November, I had received a call from my Cousin Peter in Australia to say that he and his family were coming to Canada for a ski holiday and would love to see us. I was delighted to hear from him. Years before, in the days when I was a free-wheeling single girl, his sister, Julie, had come to Vancouver and we had had great fun together. Therefore, I looked forward to meeting Peter, especially since he and his wife, Marliese, had two daughters, Catherine and Janelle, who were close in age to Caroline and Katie. The family had been living in Singapore in recent years, with a lovely home complete with maid-service provided by Peter’s employer, so I hoped they wouldn’t be too taken aback at our chaotic home.

It transpired that Peter and Co planned to arrive on December 18 and be in Vancouver until January 2, when they would head to Whistler to ski. Then they would return to town for two days mid-January before heading home. It also transpired that they were hoping that we could put them up while they were in town. This I had not expected, but with great trepidation, I agreed. The trepidation was twofold. Although by the 18th we would have finished our run of private puppet gigs, we would be performing our public show at the Shadbolt on December 23rd, which meant we would be in our production week when our guests arrived. The second cause of trepidation was, of course, Max. How could I get through two weeks of house guests without an incident? The prospect was daunting.

However, my fears proved groundless and the visit turned out to be wonderful. On the first day, I issued two directives to Catherine and Janelle:

1) Unlike Singapore, we don’t have servants in this house so everyone cleans up after themselves;
2) On absolutely no account is anyone to touch Max. You stay a minimum of two feet away from him and never try to play with him. You say, “Hi, Max,” and then completely ignore him.

The girls nodded cheerfully and appeared to comply. Peter and Marliese were the perfect house guests. They were easy-going and insisted on taking turns at helping with chores. They cooked their own breakfasts and organized their days, but joined us for mutually compatible activities such as dog walks, shopping or a theatre trip to the Playhouse to see The Importance of Being Earnest. Marliese helped me finish sewing the puppet costumes, and on show day, the whole family came along, helped set up our theatre, and acted as ushers. The show was a sellout. We should have done two performances as we could have filled the theatre twice, and what a treat it was to have eight enthusiastic workers pitching in to help instead of our usual four. After the show, we struck the set in record time, and then went Christmas shopping in the evening.

Christmas Day was fabulous. The four giggling girls tucked down in Caroline’s room on Christmas Eve, and the Christmas morning stocking opening was a party in itself. The heavy snowfall was a thrill for the Aussies, who had never experienced a white Christmas before. Mum and Dad came over for dinner, and later in the evening, after we’d driven them home, there were still enough people to play games and tackle a jigsaw puzzle. As our girls continue to say to this day, “It was the best Christmas ever!”

The week following Christmas was lovely too. More friends and family came to visit our houseguests, and in between the socializing and the shovelling, we went for long rambles in the snow. The girls accompanied us to Caroline’s skating lessons and enjoyed watching her prowess on the rink. Then on New Year’s Eve, we threw our usual house party, but with the cousins helping, it seemed a breeze compared to the usual amount of work. New Year’s Day was easy too. After a long lie in, everyone pitched in to clean up after the party. Then we took Max for a walk along the Fraser Foreshore, after which we spent a lazy afternoon finishing the jigsaw puzzle.

When the Aussies set off for Whistler, we really missed them. Max, who had managed to be relatively angelic during their stay, reverted to misbehavior and found some fish guts to roll in on his very next walk. We were busy, too, as we had to brush up Die Fledermaus, the Sequel  for the Vancouver Guild of Puppetry New Year’s party which was to be hosted in our home on January 8. There were financial items to wrap up after the Shadbolt show, too, plus preparations for the next round of shows scheduled for the spring. Before we knew it, January 19 rolled around and the Aussies were back for their last two days. We celebrated their last evening by all going out to the Souvlaki House, which was something of a disaster for me since I became extremely ill from underdone chicken, so I was very fragile the next day when we drove them to the airport.

Since the holiday had gone so well without any dog-related problems, we brought Max out of the car so that he could say goodbye to the cousins, albeit at the usual designated two-foot distance. I was hugging Peter and Marliese and saying our farewells when suddenly I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I glanced round to see Catherine going bonk, bonk, bonk on Max’s head, roughing up his ears, and bidding him a fond farewell. When she looked up and saw my horrified expression, she grinned and said, “No worries. I’ve been doing that the whole time we’ve been here.” Everyone howled with laughter and Max looked smug. So much for Mummy being in charge!

Halloween and Christmas were the two seasons when we had the greatest demand for puppet shows, so the fall was always our busy time. It was also becoming difficult to accept gigs which conflicted with Hugh’s workdays or the girls’ extra-curricular activities. When we performed Katie’s Halloween Adventure during a schoolday for Parkwood Manor in Coquitlam, Hugh and I set the show up the evening before, and then I took Marcella with me to perform the next day since both Caroline and Katie had other activities scheduled. Marcella and I were happy to see how well the show was received by the seniors. It was a deliciously satirical take on Phantom of the Opera, and Katie, although not present as a puppeteer, was present on the soundtrack and had done a lovely job on her voiceovers.

In November, the new Shadbolt Arts Centre opened in Burnaby and we had been invited to perform along with many other Burnaby groups. I had been heavily involved in the early stages of the upgrade to the Burnaby Arts Centre, and the lobbying process had begun to bear fruit when I was president of the Burnaby Arts Council. Therefore, it was gratifying to be performing at the opening of the new facility. Hugh and I had gone one step further, and Elwoodettes Marionettes was also to be the first group to rent the new studio theatre. We had booked it for December 23 and planned to give a public performance of Babes in the Wood. This rental was proving an expensive proposition, so we were glad we had a lot of paid gigs coming up as well.

Before we knew it, Christmas was approaching. We issued our usual invitation for the Second Street School teachers to bring classes to our final dress rehearsal. This was a great field trip for the kids and easy for the teachers since our home was only two blocks from the school. The visit was fun for us too since the teachers always had their classes draw pictures and write letters afterwards, and we loved seeing the children’s comments.

Come December, there were numerous performances of Guard Dog in Concert. There were private parties; office parties for companies like Nissan or Motorola; hospital or senior-home shows; Rotary club bookings; not to mention the Burnaby Village Museum. In retrospect, I wonder how we had the energy to do so many shows. On one weekend we set up one theatre at the Village Museum in the morning, then set our other theatre up at Parkwood manor in the evening. On the Saturday morning, we performed the show at Parkwood Manor, then did two afternoon shows at the Village Museum, after which we struck all the gear and transported it to the BC Government Employee’s Union headquarters for shows which were to be performed on the Sunday.

Amidst all these gigs, we were rehearsing Babes for the Shadbolt show. Needless to say, Max did a lot of bows and ate a lot of cookies. Even when the gigs were booked for places he couldn’t attend, he always made sure he got his share of the loot during rehearsals. However, Max did get to come with us for our final paid gig that month. The Pender Harbour Lion’s Club had so enjoyed the summer shows that they had offered to pay our way up the Coast and have us do a show at their Christmas Party. That proved a long day. We took the early ferry to Langdale and reached Pender Harbour mid-morning. The girls walked Max while Hugh and I set up the theatre in the community hall. We lunched and napped in our motorhome—even Max was glad to curl up and close his eyes—then performed the show for an enthusiastic audience at two-thirty. After that, we struck our set and came home via the six-thirty ferry, leaving Max with his motorhome dinner while we all trooped up to the cafeteria to eat. For once, Max did not look put out to be left on his own. Puppet dog had had a long day.

As the summer drew to a close, we were busy listing the Pender Harbour cottage and arranging a loan so that we could buy the property on Pool Road. We didn’t realize what a rocky ride this would prove and how long it would be before we could actually take possession of our coveted holiday home. However, soon our activities in town took over and we had little time to dream about visits to the coast.

The challenge of reining in our naughty dog continued, because any change of pace affected Max’s behaviour and it often felt as if I had to train him all over again. Max was full of whoopee now that he was allowed to run free again, so once back into the routine of walking with Edna, we made a habit of staying on the lower trails of the George Derby Woods. Here, the long line came in handy. If Max pricked up his ears and was ready to go AWOL, it was a lot easier to nab the end of the rope than it was to collar him. However, I had to wear heavy gardening gloves. Otherwise I was in danger of getting bad rope burns on my hands.

Predictably, though, Max found a way to have a disaster, even on his long line. One day, as Edna and I entered one of the rougher trails, Max loped ahead and ran around a large rotting stump that lay to the side of the path. As Edna and I drew nearer, we noticed a couple of wasps flying nearby. Then a couple more appeared. Suddenly, we clued in. Max had dragged his line around the stump and stirred up a wasp’s nest. As we reached him, we realized that the wasps were starting to swarm. There was no time to untangle the line. I bent down and quickly unclipped Max’s collar. Then we ducked our heads, called the dogs and started to run. It was terrifying. As we charged ahead, I felt a sharp pain in my back and ripped off my jacket, shaking it as we kept racing forward. By the time we had outrun the wasps, I realized that I had been stung right in the centre of my back. This was very frightening, since I had now started to develop a bad reaction to stings so I knew that I needed to get to a doctor. However, we had to check our dogs, and although Brandy was all right, we found two wasps burrowing in the top of Max’s head. Fortunately, with my garden gloves, I was able to pull them out. Then I handed Max over to Edna, who assured me she could take him home, ice his wound and feed him Benadryl. Having left Max in safe hands, I set off to sprint to my doctor’s office a mile away.

Later, having been given an injection by my doctor, I returned to Edna’s house to pick up Max. When I saw him, I was aghast. In spite of the icing and Benadryl, his head had swollen so badly that he appeared to have three ears. The pyramid in the middle was as symmetrical and pointed as the two legitimate ears. Poor Max received little sympathy when we got home. Hugh complained that he would now have to make a new long line, and the girls gurgled with amusement and decided Max was in perfect shape to go out trick and treating for Halloween. He could be a cone-head! Neither Max nor I, nursing our ice-packs, was in the least amused. But as Hugh pointed out, that’s what I got for have a dog who was a Ho-Hum-Ham-Fisted Husky.