Elihu Entertainment

It was obvious what Max’s New Year’s resolution had to be: I must not bite! However, it was also obvious that he needed help achieving that goal. On Boxing Day, our shopping expedition was to buy a promise collar for him, which tightened around the muzzle if he pulled ahead. However, when we took him for a walk at the Foreshore and tried it out, the little stinker managed to get it off in no time. Home for a lengthy talk with trainer, Gary Gibson, the result of which was that Max had to wear a muzzle when out and about.

The next day, we went to Tisol to fit him for a muzzle and a harness. The muzzle was a large cage variety which allowed him lots of room and breathing space, rather than the wrap-around Velcro variety. Max wasn’t at all happy about the procedure, but the girls were in the store were very nice with him and he was at least co-operative.  However, we discovered that he also had the potential to be a shoplifter since the whole time we were there, he was attempting to pilfer the snacks off the shelves.  Once we’d finished choosing his gear, we allowed him to take one package of treats and we added it to the bill.  We let him trot out of the store with his goodies in his mouth, so he was happy again and forgave us the indignity of the earlier fitting. This mood only lasted until we were home, though, since we went out to meet Edna and tested Max’s muzzle during the walk.  Max worked non-stop to get the muzzle off but finally gave up and, instead, used it like a battering ram and had fun sideswiping Brandy.

A few days later, Max was beginning to wear a bald spot on his nose from chafing at the muzzle.  Mind you, he was behaving a lot better, so maybe Gary’s strategy to make him understand who was boss seemed to be working. The rest of the day was taken up with preparation for our Die Fledermaus, the sequel, a very funny ten-minute show set to the overture of Die Fledermaus. This had been prepared for our New Year’s Eve party, not as a gig for hire, although years later, when the Burnaby Village Museum initiated free admissions over Christmas and needed short shows to accommodate the swelling crowds, I redid the soundtrack and we began using it as a public show. To this day, it is a great hit with the people that come by and see it.

However, that year it was performed strictly for fun, with me and the children doing all the roles. Mum and Dad joined us for the party, and what fun it was. A great crowd of friends, family and neighbours took part. The show went well, the buffet was delicious, and a good time was had by all. Max, needless to say, spent most of the evening in solitary confinement in our bedroom, but like a king holding court, he had sporadic visits from various members of his inner circle, not to mention the odd treat snuck upstairs by the kids.

Since Mum and Dad were staying over and sleeping in our room, Hugh and I crawled into the bunk beds in the guest room at 2:00am, watched by a rather puzzled Max who’d been brought down to sleep with us. He couldn’t figure out why we were not in our own room, or why there were assorted children sleeping on sofas and air mattresses in every corner of the house. However, he settled down happily once he saw that we were going to sleep. Max had seen out the old year with no further incidents and made it into the new. My goal was to ensure that he was protected from making mistakes in the future. The New Year held challenges for us both.

Once the excitement of the shows was over, Max became sulky again. There were just too many family outings that didn’t include him. The week leading up to Christmas was one event after another: two open houses, a matinee at the Playhouse where the girls and I were convulsed by a wonderful production of Charley’s Aunt, a visit to Stanley Park for a ride on the Christmas train, our anniversary dinner at the William Tell, where, although we had a great chat with Mr. Dobeli talking about our respective dogs and comparing notes on their antics, Max was still left at home to sulk. At least he got to accompany us when we made a meals-on-wheels visit to Mum and Dad to deliver presents and pick holly.  Max thoroughly enjoyed the holly cutting with his namesake, but I was sad to realize that my father was gradually losing the battle with his illness. Still, he soldiered on, insisting on taking Max around the crescent for their usual walk. The two were deeply bonded, and I knew Max was going to be very sad when Dad passed on.

In spite of our busy schedule, Max still had his daily walks with Edna and Brandy. He loved the crisp, cold air, but his antsy mood showed up in his behavior. One day, Hugh came with us for a walk down to the Brunette River. The river was running so fast that Max was afraid to go in, but Brandy made a couple of forays into the water to reclaim the sticks that Hugh had thrown. Macho Max was clearly put out to be shown up by his girlfriend, and later, when Hugh was playing with him, he started to nip again. Sigh! One certainly couldn’t roughhouse with this dog. Home for yet another long down.

Max was much happier on his next walk. By now it was two days before Christmas and we came home with a ton of loot from Edna and Brandy.  Max was very excited to see his presents going under the tree. Fortunately, our old house had glass-paned doors on the living room, so we were able to close off the area. However, I noticed an increase in the number of nose prints on the glass once the gifts started to pile up. In between worshipping the tree, Max watched me clean silver, put up holly, wrap gifts, and busy myself in the kitchen making Christmas treats, the latter activity definitely being his favourite.

Christmas Eve was lovely. After some last minute shopping, we took Max for a long ramble in the park. Our friends, the Dahlos, came to visit in the afternoon, and that was delightful because they understood that Max was not a pattable and followed the directive to just say, “Hi Max,” and ignore him from that point on. Caroline was visiting Andre that afternoon, but Katie acted as hostess, passing round the trays of goodies, and Max, after weeks of iffy behaviour, was suddenly transformed into best-boy-in-the-class mode. In the evening, we took the girls to the early carol service at St. Albans; then came home to sit around the tree and anticipate the morrow.

But oh, what a morrow it turned out to be. The day started well, with all the usual fun of present-opening. Hugh and I put the turkey on early; then I beavered away getting everything else ready for Christmas dinner while the girls played with their loot. Mum and Dad arrived by noon, so we had a lovely visit throughout the afternoon. However, like all Christmas Days when one hosts a turkey dinner, it was a busy one for me. Carla and Ron arrived shortly before dinner, so I reminded them of the don’t-pat-Max rule, since Ron took the attitude that he got on well with dogs but made a habit of staring them down. By the time I served up, all the adults were extremely merry. Dinner went well, with Max continuing to behave himself, even though Ron had looked his way several times and received a baleful stare in return.

Not wanting to take any chances, I made Max come to the kitchen with me while I cleaned up. Finally, the chaos in the kitchen was brought under control and the dishwasher was on. I decided a quick bathroom break was in order, and then I’d be ready to party. Max had snuck back into the hall, so I went to fetch him and take him upstairs. Foolishly I let Hugh and Dad persuade me that they could watch him for two minutes, so I reissued the ‘don’t touch’ directive and went to the loo. Within a minute, there was a knock on the bathroom door and I heard Hugh’s voice informing me that Max had bitten Ron. So much for peace and goodwill! I was ready to brain every one of them. The moment my back was turned, they’d all decided that Max was just fine, Mummy was simply paranoid and Ron was free to ruffle Max’s ears to his heart’s content. That was the end of the party for that Christmas Day.

The moral of that story, according to my well-lubricated-with Christmas-cheer husband, was that I shouldn’t go to the bathroom. Needless to say, the frost in the air wasn’t just outdoors on that particular night and Max wasn’t the only one in the doghouse.

Christmas was coming, and that meant show time. Finally, we were ready to debut Guard Dog in Concert, which was the very first of what was to become the Max, the Ho Hum Husky series. However, Max was not impressed by the fact that his puppet was going out on gigs and he was left at home. Having sat through rehearsals, practicing his bow and getting cookies as a reward, he felt like it was the world’s worst rip-off when we packed the trailer and took off without him.

Unfortunately, many of our gigs were not in venues where Max would be welcome. One was a Motorola Xmas party at the Burnaby Villa, and it was a good job we didn’t have the distraction of our dog with us, because we ended up having a terrible time with the sound system. It kept blowing fuses because there was a problem with the hotel wiring, and by the time we realized that we had to settle for our backup system, everyone’s nerves were frayed.

Another busy gig was a two-day engagement for the Brentwood preschool, where we performed for four different boisterous groups of three- and four-year olds. They were a highly enthusiastic audience, and the little ones were very sweet, patting the Max and Brandy puppets as if they were real dogs. Perish the thought of how the real Max would have reacted to being bopped on the head by thirty toddlers!

After all these gigs, we returned to our sulky pet who looked most put out at our long absence. However, the day came when he finally managed to get in on the act. We had been booked for a single-day gig at the Burnaby Village Museum. We were to perform in the small hall which was the basement of the Royal Bank building. It was the venue used by Footlight Theatre for their vaudeville shows, and it had a private backstage area with our own washrooms and small kitchen. Out the back door was access to an area where Max could have a short walk, so it was easy to have him on site.

Hugh and I went down in the morning to set up the theatre. Then we returned home for the girls, the puppets and Max. Max settled quite happily in our backstage area, though he became very excited when he recognized Edna’s voice coming from the audience area. Soon afterwards, my parents rolled in, followed by Carla and Ron, and Max was berserk with excitement to see so many of his favourite people in attendance. We managed to settle him down again, though he started to look anxious as the voices from the audience began to swell, particularly when future MLA, Harry Bloy, marched his boy-scout troop in and filled all the remaining seats.

The first show went well, and the audience was most responsive. They oohed and aahed most satisfactorily when the real Max appeared, and he managed a nice bow after much bouncing about looking excited and confused.  However, when we went backstage, the poor baby climbed up onto our standing platform and lay down as if to say, “This is a familiar bit of home so I think I’ll sit here.”

By the second show, Max had lost his anxiety and decided he was Mr. Superstar. While we performed, he sat expectantly behind our standing box, but as we approached the finale, I became aware of a lot of laughter in the audience. Hugh and I blinked at each other, perplexed. Yes, we knew the show was funny, but we didn’t think it was that hilarious. Then, as we concluded the show and lowered the curtain, we turned to get Max’s leash and realized he wasn’t there. Anticipating the post-show adulation and cookie, he had snuck out front and was bounding up and down in front of the stage, doing his bow and socializing with the audience, all of whom were in convulsions.  I couldn’t believe it. Talk about no business like show business. After all my years of opera and theatre training, I’d been upstaged by my dog!

[box]Little did we realize that twenty years later, we would still be performing at the Burnaby Village Museum. These days, we are booked for an eight-day gig, with eight short shows a day as opposed to two longer ones. How our Max would have loved being part of that![/box]

This Season at the Burnaby Village Museum

Max, the Ho Hum Husky                                Die Fledermaus, the Sequel
December 26-29, 2014                                   December 30, 2014 – January 2, 2015

 

After Halloween, the house was full of treats, so Max continued to clean up. Every time the girls ate a treat, he had to have one of his chocolate Goodboys.  Like all children who overdose on too much candy, his behavior was predictably erratic. He chased and corralled our neighbour’s cat on the garage roof one day, and then proceeded to watch for it every morning thereafter. Whenever I did my morning aerobics, he would bound about and puff at me as if the entire exercise was exclusively for his benefit. He also developed a new trick—self-taught yet!  I was outside in the garden with him, and he caught my eye, then walked over to the chain-link fence that separated our yard from the neighbour’s garden. On our neighbour’s side, there was a small wooden bench, tucked snugly against the fence. Max looked round to make sure I was watching; then he collapsed against the fence, making the bench on the far side fall over.  Having sent it flying, he got up, wagged his tail and looked very proud of himself.  Later, when I spoke to my neighbor and apologized for what Max had done, she went into convulsions because she had been telling her children off for knocking the bench over. Apparently Max had been making this a daily exercise when out in his garden.

Max’s feistiness did have its uses. Edna and I certainly didn’t worry about walking in the woods when we had him with us. On one occasion, we saw a man hovering in the bushes, and Max barked furiously and saw him off in no uncertain terms. However, his aggressiveness was also enough of a concern that I had to ensure that he was properly supervised, which generally came down to the fact that I had to be present when visitors were in the house, or else Max had to be isolated. This was born out by an incident that caused me great distress during our puppet rehearsals.

Caroline asked if one of her friends could come to watch our practice. I agreed, but put Max out of the rehearsal room since I couldn’t watch him and work marionettes at the same time. However, while I was backstage, Hugh arrived home and answered a phone call which was the mother of Caroline’s friend wanting to speak to her daughter, so he called the girl out and let the dog in.  Then when Caroline’s friend returned to the practice room, she saw Max eating one of Katie’s pop tarts and went to grab it from him. Taking food from Max had predictable results.  He snapped to get the tart back and Caroline’s friend was bitten. Oh, what a woeful day that was, even though the mother was most understanding and realized that it had been the result of her daughter trying to take food from the dog. But there was no doubt that Max was quick with his mouth and we had to be so very careful with him. Socializing this dog was one of the hardest challenges I’d ever had to deal with.

Fortunately, Remembrance Day proved to be much more upbeat. After a pleasant morning at the George Derby War Veterans’ Hospital where we visited old friends and joined in the service, we came home to prepare a birthday dinner for my father. The girls decided that we should perform our new Birthday Bug show for Gamma after dinner, and this time, Max was welcome in the performance area, cuddled up with his namesake and wagging his tail at all the hilarity.

A few days later, it was my turn to be fussed over, since my birthday was four days after my father’s. Hugh and the girls made me breakfast in bed and brought me a pile of presents. With these was a very artistic card from Katie, one with a cute drawing of the Birthday Bug from Caroline, and a highly appropriate card from Max. On the cover, it said, “From your little angel in disguise.” Inside was a picture of a devil. Max, indeed!

As Halloween approached, Max seemed determined to outdo himself in delinquency. One day, Edna and I took the dogs down to the Brunette River. Soon after we reached the water, Max went thundering off into the bush and ignored all calls to come back. Five minutes later, he emerged, his face, throat and back covered with blood.  He looked horrific, as if a raccoon had lacerated him.  I clipped on his leash, and we immediately started back, thinking a trip to the vet was urgent, but after a few seconds, I noticed that (a) Max was bounding along vigorously, (b) he looked rather pleased with himself, and (c) he stank to high heaven.  On closer examination, we realized there were no wounds.  He had simply rolled in a revolting pile of fish guts.  By this time, I stank to high heaven too, so I got him home, gave him a bath, stripped and threw all my clothes in the wash, showered, and finally collapsed with a cup of coffee, which was quite unappetizing as the fishy smell still permeated everything.

Another day, Max found two yucky old bones and became quite aggressive when we tried to make him drop them. After a while, one became too heavy and he abandoned it, but he clung to the other for dear life, his jaws clenched around it like a vice. Finally, we managed to trick him into dropping it in the creek, whereupon it sank to the bottom like a stone.  Max indignantly leaped in and dove for it, but presumably it had gone right down into the muddy bottom. The silly dog persevered, diving and coming up with a face covered with mud.  By the time he realized it was hopeless and gave up, his white muzzle was jet black. Home for another bath.

A week before Halloween, Hugh finally finished the Max marionette.  It was perfect, and continues to be perfect today. The body looked like a little bulldozer, which was very appropriate for our Mackie. Everyone in the family agreed that it was a delightful marionette, although at the time, we had no idea just how popular it was to be with our audiences. Max’s puppet was to perform in shows, street festivals and parades, and even once went down to strut its stuff in Kansas, Missouri. It was, and still is, my very favourite of all our marionettes.

But back to the real Max and his misdemeanors. Around four o’clock that afternoon, Hugh and I heard a loud bang. We thought it might be Katie coming home from her friend’s house, but we couldn’t see her anywhere.  We looked out all the doors, and finally noticed that one of the two pumpkins that had been sitting on the deck waiting to be carved was now in the stairwell and the other one was nowhere to be seen.  After further exploration, we found it, alongside a sheepish looking Max, at the foot of the stairs.  Max had stolen it and dragged it down to the lawn, then had returned for the other one, only to miscalculate and send it flying into the stairwell where it banged on the back door and alerted us.  We decided we could now add ‘Pumpkin Thief’ to his string of titles.

Halloween finally arrived, but Max and I were left to man the home fort together. Caroline was off to see Andre’s football game, Hugh was at night school, and Katie was trick and treating with her friends. So how to cope with a terrible-two dog and a horde of children coming to the door?  It actually worked out quite well. I set a bowl of dog biscuits besides the bowl of candies.  Then, whenever I went to the door, I made Max sit and stay while I dispensed the treats. Then, if he’d been good, I gave him one of his cookies.  He was remarkably well behaved for a terrible two, though he was very anxious to see who was at the door. He sat straining so far forward that he actually resembled a swan.  He seemed to enjoy the evening, however, and barked every time there was a knock to make sure I didn’t miss any of the visitors—no Halloween howl, though, just one decorous woof to alert me. Maybe we were going to train that misbehaved mutt yet!

All through October we were struggling with puppet tasks, and Max wasn’t the only thing that was misbehaved. Hugh was at his crankiest, coping with work all day and trying to finish a new travelling theatre in the evenings; the girls were rebelling at having to spend so much play time recording Katie’s Halloween Adventure; the new computer was outwitting me at every turn; and every time I tried to print a new batch of promo letters, the operation went at a snail’s pace while the laptop burped and blipped and jammed on me.

Hugh was still making various attempts to carve the new Max puppet, though it was proving a challenge to get it right.  Max liked to watch this exercise. He seemed to think the various body parts were chew toys and seemed quite put out that he couldn’t have them.  Having a family marionette company was certainly not easy. We were encouraged to persevere when a call came from the Burnaby Village Museum booking us for Christmas, so at least we knew a good gig was in the offing, but everyone was feeling a little frayed.

We really needed some respite from Max’s terrible-two behavior, but none came. A weekend walk at the Fraser Foreshore turned into a nightmare when he unearthed and ate a revolting scungy work sock.  He literally gulped it down whole: mud, river water, pine needles and all! We rushed home to call the vet for advice and then spent the next hour with Hugh standing on the deck, talking on the phone to Dr. Zinger, while I administered to Max down on the grass. Dr. Zinger told us to feed Max hydrogen peroxide until he brought the sock up.  It sounded a bit brutal, but if that was the treatment, we had to try it.

The first spoonful produced nothing more than a licking of the lips and an eager face that asked for more. However, no sock came up.  Dr. Zinger ordered us to keep trying, so spooful after spoonful went down Max’s gullet. Poor baby! After a while, he actually had tears in his eyes.  It took at least half an hour before the sock came up and Dr. Zinger was released from the phone call. Talk about service beyond the call of duty. He didn’t even bill us for his time, though I suspect, from the way his receptionist always talked, the entire veterinarian office used to dine out on Max stories. Max was not impressed with this exercise. The look he gave me after finally regurgitating the sock was something to behold: “The lengths you’ll go to make me drop it!”

The hydrogen-peroxide lunch did not do anything to improve Max’s behavior. Later that day, we took a motorhome meals-on-wheels to Mum and Dad’s, and while we trekked in with plates of food, Max added to his misconduct by cornering a raccoon and chasing it under the porch. On Sunday, he was even worse. We had an abysmal time in the park due to the fact that he went AWOL and it took most of the walk to track him down.  He finally returned, eyes glittering, but we had no idea what he’d been up to. However, on the Monday, when I walked with Edna, I discovered the solution to the mystery of the missing Max.  Edna had also been walking in the park, accompanied by her mother and her mother’s dog, Neisha. They had been up at the top of the wooded trail, whereas we’d been down at the bottom of the park. Max had picked up Brandy’s scent and had decided to join his girlfriend. Then, having tracked her down at the top of the trail, he’d promptly attacked Neisha for daring to walk with ‘his’ Brandy. He’d also nipped Brandy when she’d tried to intervene.  Needless to say, after hearing this story from Edna, I went home and put Max in a long down, whereupon the sulky expression appeared as if to say: “But I was good today.” For the future star of our shows, he certainly needed to work on his image. We definitely weren’t going to manage Benjie, but hopefully there was something halfway between that and Fang, Wild Dog of the North.

Everyone returned safely from Saltspring, with Caroline and Hugh voyaging back in the Optimist, and Katie, Max and I following in the motorhome. Now it was time to get back to normal. Max and Brandy were reunited for their walks and very happy to see each other. School started for Hugh and the girls, though we still made time for fun things like a trip to the PNE and pro-D-day hikes around Sasamat Lake.  There were also dutiful activities to resume, such as going to church.  Sunday School had not yet started, so on our first visit to St. Alban’s, the girls had to sit with us through the service. Katie leaned against me after the first reading and asked:  “Is God’s name Peter?”
I said, “No, what makes you think that?” to which she replied:
“Well, after the readings, everyone always says, ‘Thanks, Peter God.’”
Katyisms were always so cute!

September also marked Max’s second birthday. No one ever deserved the title Terrible Two more. Katie had ordained that Max should share her birthday each year, so it was quite the occasion. Kate roared into our room first thing in the morning and leaped at the presents, and while she opened hers, Caroline helped Max open his.  Max sampled all his tidbits and was very happy with these interesting parcels, though he was quite indignant when we made him take his coated chew toy onto the deck.  He kept trying various ways to sneak it back in and couldn’t understand why I didn’t want brown slobbery stains on my white bedroom carpet. Finally when he’d chewed off all the dye, we let him bring it inside, though that was a mistake as the triumphant look on his face meant he figured he had worn us down and won the battle.  The day followed with a riotous party and sleepover for the children. My parents bravely joined us, which was particularly noble of my father since he was by now undergoing radiation, but Max was very grateful for his namesake’s presence, given the plethora of excited little girls running around the house. He was able to go to Gamma for protection.

Now that the holidays were over, Hugh and I were working hard on the puppet shows again. Three projects were in the works: an updated recording of Babes in the Woods, plus two new ones, The Birthday Bug and Guard Dog in Concert. The latter was Max’s official first show. New recording artists were being brought in, so I was auditioning men for the various roles. Bob Werner became our new Robin Hood, and Brian Leonard and Mike Scannell came on stream to take on character roles. I still had not found a voice for Max, but had been given a few leads, so was hopeful that I would find someone soon. Max was a little bewildered by all these visitors to the house, and tended to glower at the newcomers, belying his ‘Ho Hum Husky’ official title. He was also a little put out by having to sit for photo sessions, which were necessary for our new brochure since he was now to be part of the company. He sulked a bit, which showed in his official portrait, but the process was a great test of his ‘sit’ and ‘stay’ training.

Finally the brochures were ready, and on the day I was to pick them up from the printer, I took Max along for the ride. On the way, we stopped at Tisol where we were given a beautiful canister for buying a large bag of Iams.  Max was ecstatically happy to see the man from the store putting boxes of food and biscuits in his car.  He wagged his tail and elevated his nose, once again belying his ‘Ho Hum’ title, but at least he’d stopped glaring. Then we were off to Richmond to pick up the brochures, which were absolutely gorgeous. Max was most excited to see more gentlemen putting boxes in our car, and when we got home, he watched me carry every single one inside. However, he was very disappointed when the cartons only produced paper.

He was also disappointed the next day, since Edna had to take Brandy to the vet, so he had to go through his morning walk alone. He still looked sulky when we got home, so, thinking he needed some more outside time, I sat in the garden while I had my morning coffee and did the crossword. Since I was not actually playing with him, he looked rather bored, so I suggested he get a ball.  He looked about, couldn’t see one, so put his front paws up on the garden table and got down an apple.  When later, I recounted this to Hugh, he said: “That dog has a better understanding of Geometry concepts than some of my pupils!”

The next day, Brandy was back on duty, so she and Max had a lovely romp together in the woods. However, Max surprised us with a disconcerting new trick. To my horror, he burrowed his way into a culvert that went all the way under the path.  Edna and I called him frantically, trying to get him to back out, but as we stood on the path waiting for him to emerge, he came up behind us having gone all the way through. He looked very pleased with himself, but given the narrowness of the passage, he could have easily got stuck. Max had no idea how much he’d scared me. That night, I had had a nightmare about closed-in spaces.  When I woke up and told Hugh what had triggered the dream he ambled off to make tea, and as he opened the bedroom door I heard him say, “Bad dog!”  Poor Max came trotting in looking bewildered as if to say, “How could I have been bad yet.  I’ve been asleep!”

Max soon got used to life on the island, but once the novelty wore off, his behaviour began to deteriorate again. One morning, Hugh and I took him for a walk to Ganges.  The trip down was delightful, as was the stay in town. We ate breakfast at Shelly’s overlooking the water.  Max, utterly content, sat under the table and ate tidbits.  But when we walked back, this time exploring a different route, Max took off after a deer and left us bellowing and panicking for fifteen minutes until he finally crashed back, so exhausted he could hardly stand.  It was a slow walk home, with Max alternately laying down, vomiting or suffering from diarrhea.  He was so worn out, we actually thought he might have a heart attack.  We stopped at the end of Dean road to request a bowl of water from the home of one of Dennis’s friends, and we remained in the shade until our naughty dog was ready to proceed. Max was still wobbly after a drink and a rest, but at least we were able to make it home.

The rest of the day was more serene. After a short shopping trip in town, we set out on the Optimist to pick up Hugh’s crab trap.  The result was one giant starfish and five undersized crabs, so back they all went.  Once back on shore, we drove to Stowell Lake for a swim; then returned to find there was a message from Josie to say she was on her way home and would see us in the morning. In the night, there was a bad storm, with the rain thundering on the metal roof of the motorhome, but the morning was clear and it was lovely to see Josie and enjoy morning coffee together.

We continued to explore the island throughout our stay. Josie told us of many more spots to visit, and I particularly liked the Fulford area where we visited the churches.  By the lychgate of the Anglican church, there was a gorgeous oak tree that had been planted to commemorate the crowning of King George. Josie also introduced me to cryptic crosswords, something that later became a lifetime addiction. It was great fun attempting the crossword together, although neither one of us was able to figure out the special trick of the week.   The next day, we visited the craft fair, then spent the evening playing Scrabble, having abandoned our quest to solve the last bit of the crossword. However, that night, I was awoken by Sally, who was barking at a cat who had strayed onto the property. I woke up with a start, sat up hurriedly and banged my head on the roof of the camper.  Two seconds later, I had figured out the puzzle trick that had eluded us! Living proof that the saying, Knock some sense into her, has some foundation in reality.

Josie also introduced us to the delicious filo and custard dessert, Baklava. However, it took several attempts for us to actually try it. On her first night home, we went to dinner at the Greek cafe, eagerly looking forward to dessert since Josie had recommended it so enthusiastically. However, by the time we had finished our meal, the Baklava was all sold out. We made several more attempts to sample the dessert. On one occasion, we arrived at the café to be told that the Baklava wasn’t ready, but to come back around three.  We went home to fetch the girls, but later, when we returned, it hadn’t been made after all.  However, the owners very kindly treated us to a different dessert on the house. We had no success until the final day of the holiday when we all went out to dinner again. The proprietor greeted us like old friends and was very relieved to finally present us with Baklava, freshly made that day.

The next morning, Katie and I saw Hugh and Caroline off on the boat.  Once they’d left, we took Max for a walk  around the trails.  His nose was twitching, something that always meant trouble, and sure enough, we had to leash him after he found his way to a fenced field where sheep were grazing.  Thank the Lord for barbed wire – otherwise, I hate to think what the result would have been. Probably a lot of mutton and one dead dog once the farmer saw what he was up to.

Relieved to have avoided disaster, we went back to town and headed for Toni’s. Morning coffee turned out to be great fun, for at the next table were two friendly locals, one of whom had two dogs and two newborn piglets!  Needless to say, Katie was enchanted with these, but Max simply didn’t know what to make of them, especially the little runt who was watching him curiously.   Was it a dog? Was it a rabbit? He was quite bewildered. Finally the runt made its way over to visit him. By this time, Max was quivering with excitement, but as he put his face down towards the tiny piglet, it stuck its snout against his nose and kissed him.  Max jumped as if he’d been stung. Everyone howled with laughter, but Max was one very embarrassed dog. The piglets didn’t have to worry about our Big Bad Wolf. He was as sheepish as the inhabitants of the nearby field.