Monday, December 27, 2021

NOSY PARKER

 I've had a lot of misses in my life;  I'm one myself.  I never married, nor was I asked.

I like dogs but never owned one. 

I live with my sister Fay.  She is older than I but not by much.  Over the years, we've been asked if we are twins.  Presumably there is a family resemblance.  We both have dark hair but hers is a lighter brown.  We are almost the same height.  Fay is almost one inch taller and I claim one inch shorter, and say I am 5 foot four, although that's a reach.  She is curvaceous, I am not.  She has a short body and long legs.  I have a long body and short legs.  Other than those differences, we are identical.  

Fay and I have lived in an old house in Deep Cove, originally a cabin, a few years before 2007 when I retired.  The house is on the water, the views are beautiful, and was gifted to Fay by her friends Dorothy and Harvey.  Fay was a nearby neighbour and confidant. 

Harvey, one of the previous owners, was a wonderful person.  He is of  course presently dead, a phrase he often used.  Harvey was ahead of his time and was a champion of environmental issues that he felt would affect our planet and therefore future generations.

For example, the idyllic gravel road into and out of his beloved Deep Cove village he felt should be kept in perpetuity.  He objected strenuously to authorities who were intent on paving the road.  Community meetings were arranged to listen to the thoughts and feelings of the residents.  They listened alright, and then as usual went on with their plans and paved the road. They'd already decided.

I'd planned a trip to Lonsdale Quay to meet my old boss Bob for coffee and much talk.  We always had plenty to talk about.  I jumped in the car, drove up Strathcona Road where we live, and turned left on to Deep Cove Road; the name changes to Dollarton at the Mount Seymour turn.  It is paved all the way.  Sorry, Harvey.

I was halfway along Dollarton when I spied a mean, lean man kicking a puppy at the side of the road.  I pulled to the curb shouting "Hey asshole" as I got out of the car to confront him.  "Mind your f...ing business" he said' and then added "f...ing nosy parker".  "This is my business" I shouted back, and then added "Stop that.  I'm phoning the police who will phone the SPCA."  I took out my cell phone, which hasn't been charged for many months, and placed it to my head.  I motioned the act of dialing.  He relented and shoved the puppy at me.  "He's all yours, you f...ing nosy parker."  The guy's vocabulary is lacking but I have the puppy and turned back to my car.

The little bundle of pup was trembling in my arms.  His little white face peered at me expectedly, as his rescuer I suppose.  I cuddled him close and noticed he winced when I touched his small leg which had a touch of blood on it.  I don't know what make and model he is.  He's dark, looks black with that white face and four white feet.

I got into the car and placed my little quivering bundle in a big brimmed hat I carry in the car in case of rain while I'm out.  He looked at me anxiously.  There's an emergency Vet shop over near the 2nd Narrows bridge.  I'll take him there for care, and hope I can drop him off there, and continue to Lonsdale Quay for the pre-arranged meeting with my old boss Bob.  I hope he doesn't give up on me because I may be late.

I met Bob at ICBC where I worked for about 35 years before I took a late retirement.  He and I met in the Public Enquiries department when ICBC started up to replace private insurance in the province.  Bob was the supervisor,  I was an underwriter moved to his department by the Underwriting Department to help the phone staff of Public Enquiries with automobile insurance questions from the public.  I was no expert but I just made up rules and requirements as needed on a daily basis.  It was a good and fun time at ICBC in those early days and my memories of colleagues remains with me.  Bob is the one I continued to see after my retirement.  He had retired earlier than I.  He was a bit older, but not much. 

I am so looking forward to seeing and talking with Bob at the Quay and hope this bloody puppy won't hold me up too much.  There is blood involved so I have a ready excuse to make to my old pal Bob for my lateness.

I parked outside the Vet's and hoped he was open.  Nothing stirred when I knocked.  I knocked harder and longer.  The door opened a little and an old face peered out looking suspicious.  "My son, the Vet, won't be here for 20 minutes.  Come back later," said the old face.

I was having none of that.  Couldn't the old fool see I was holding a whimpering puppy.  I thrust the door wider and stepped into the room.  It looked like a waiting room.

"I'm leaving the puppy here," I said, placing the puppy in my hat on a low table near an old decrepit armchair.

"Watch him until your son arrives.  I'll be back at noon.  I have a very important appointment at the Quay which I cannot break."

I left the puppy and the room.  My new habit of speaking with authority seems to be working.

Bob was waiting for me in the usual place, and as usual, he was dressed casually but impeccably.  Like my sister he likes to iron and it shows.  I like the wrinkled look, and you guessed it, I don't like ironing.

I told Bob about the puppy that was thrust upon me at roadside earlier and that I'd left him at the Vet's for attention.

Bob jumped in here and said "I thought your sister didn't want a dog, and certainly not in the house."

 "That's so true Bob, but what could I do?  That awful man would've kicked him to death or thrown him under the wheels of a passing car."

"I hope your sister likes surprises," chuckled Bob.

I left Bob at the Quay at noon and drove towards home and the Vet's.  As I entered the Vet's office, a short, rather stocky man approached me with the puppy under his arm.  Both of them peered at me, the puppy anxiously, the man sporting  a wide toothy grin.

"Here's your little guy, Miss.  He's ready to go.  I checked him over carefully and, while he's bruised on that leg, the little cut I have doctored and left for the air to do its magic."

"So, he's OK?" I asked.

"Yes.  Bring him back in a month and I'll give him his shots to keep him safe."

"What breed is he?"

"I'm not sure.  He could be a Portuguese Water Dog with that white face and feet.  Or, he could be a mix.  I'm not sure.  Does it matter?  He's a cute little fella."

I turned to go with the puppy clutched close.

"What's his name?  I need it for my records."

"Parker," I said.

"That's a big name for a little guy like this.  I like it."

"Is he trained, Doctor?"

"Yes, he went over to the sand box I use for little pups like him.  That's a bonus, eh?  You'll need to keep him inside until he heals."

"OK.  I'll get a box and dirt on the way home."  I left.

"Let's go Nosy.  Time to go home and face the music.  Do you recognize your name" I said, peering into his wee face.  He butted my forehead.

"Are you smart, Nosy?"  He butted my forehead again, acknowledgement presumably.

To test him, I asked "Are you a bad dog?"  No response.

"Are you a good dog?"  He butted my head again.

I got into the car, placed Nosy in his hat on the passenger seat, started up the car and drove ever so slowly down Dollarton to Deep Cove Road.  Down Strathcona I went, right into our driveway on the water side, and slid into our carport.

"You're home Nosy."  He said nothing and burrowed deeper into my hat.

I lifted him up, hat and all, got out of the car, and moved up the stairs to the back door.  I peeked in.  Fay was standing near the dishwasher with her usual bowl of blueberries.

"Why do you have a puppy in a hat," she asked me suspiciously.

"I rescued him up on Dollarton.  A horrible man was kicking him and trying to throw him onto the road when he saw a truck coming."

"That's awful.  What kind of person could do such a thing to a small defenseless animal?"

"I don't know.  I can never truly understand that kind of anger.  It boggles my mind."

"He's very cute.  What kind of dog is he?"

"The Vet guessed he's a Portuguese Water Dog with a bit of a mix perhaps  You may remember President Obama had a dog like this back in the day."

"Oh yes, I remember that dog."  She paused and then said "You know I don't want a dog in the house."

"I know that.  I have to keep him inside for about a month, have him checked over by the Vet to make sure he's OK, and then I'll find him a home.  If all else fails, Mara might take him.  One more dog at her place up country won't matter."

"I don't know about that," said Fay.  Mara has some personal issues right now.  Her back is still bothering her and the treatment is dubious in my opinion and I tried to tell her that.  I know she's my daughter, but she never listens to me and never has."

"There's plenty of time for me to find this cute little guy a home."

"A month isn't long," said Fay and turned away.  Suddenly she stopped, turned, and said "Can he walk?"

I placed the hat on the floor at my feet, gave it a bit of a nudge, and waited, hoping Nosy would get the idea.

Slowly, Nosy stood and stepped out of the hat.  He tottered towards Fay and stopped near her feet which were encased in her fluffy blue slippers.  He leaned over and placed his front paws on Fay's slippers, and followed it up with his face.

I think the bugger likes Fay.  Why is that?  Why oh why do people or animals gravitate to the one who doesn't seem to care?  Love is a funny thing, I'm thinking.

Fay bent down and picked up the puppy, holding him up near her face.

"Is he trained?" she asked.

"The Vet said yes, although he sounded surprised.  Hold him while I get that box of dirt I have outside."

"Where did you get the dirt?  It's so unlike you to go digging."

"I'm using that big bag of potting soil, you know the one I got for our pitiful plants in those outside containers.  Remember, we thought new dirt might perk them up."

"Organic potting soil seems pretty costly for puppy litter."

"I think Nosy is worth it."    

I stepped outside to get the dirt box.  The sides of the box were too high for Nosy to step into so I cut one side down to about six or seven inches, filled the box, not too high, with the organic potting soil.  That should do it if I can convince him to use it  I can leave it near our back door but inside.

"Put him down," I told Fay.

Nosy tottered, albeit unsteadily, over to the box and stepped in without hesitation.  He did a little piddle and a little poop, wiped his bum on the dirt, got out of the box and went back to Fay.

He ignored me, the bugger, after all the work I did to get that damn box ready for his care.  Why did I bother?  I wonder what kind of food he likes, and what kind he can have.  I'll phone the Vet.

The next day I called the Vet at 10:00 o'clock  No need to call earlier as he wouldn't be there.  I asked him about the kind of food I could give Nosy.

"Nothing solid yet," he said.  "Any kind of liquid is good.  A bit of milk, water of course as much as he wants, and any soft food for now."

"I can do that," I said.  "I've got some leftover cottage cheese I must eat before it expires.  My sister doesn't care for it so it's a challenge for me to get through the big container I bought because it was on sale."

"That sounds fine," said the Vet.  "A bit of scrambled egg, loose if possible, would be good too."

"I like scrambled eggs myself.  Who wouldn't."

Later, Fay and Nosy stood side by side, looking at me.  Fay had opened her bedroom door which is off the kitchen, left the door ajar, and said it was time for her metamucil which she takes religiously and daily.  I don't know if it's for medical reasons or religious reasons.

Fay entered her bedroom and Nosy followed, plopped down on the floor near her bed and went instantly to sleep.  He's tired out from all the excitement he's had in his short life.

"Fay," I called out.  "If you don't want him in your room, you'll have to keep the door closed."

"He's OK here."

"Best to also shut the sliding door into the living room if you don't want him in there unattended."

"He'll be fine in there.  After all he is trained for the litter box.  Right?" 

"It's early days.  We don't know yet how trained he is."  I left the kitchen.  Time for my bath.

Later, now dressed, I entered the kitchen to get my last coffee and enjoy another cigarette in the privacy of my room.

I heard a bit of a whimper and scratching coming from Fay's closed door.  I opened it a bit, and quietly, and Nosy squeezed out.  He stopped, looked at me briefly, and then trotted towards the dining room.  I could hear the click click of his nails against the wood floor.  Needs a pedicure, I thought.  I know I do.

"Wait up, Nosy." He ignored me and walked up the wool runner rug that reached the entry way, opposite my bedroom door.

I moved forward, opened my bedroom door, and tried to usher Nosey in.  He looked in, briefly, and then turned back to the runner carpet, proceeded forward and plopped down head first onto the small irregular shaped rug facing the window and sideways to the front door.

"Stay there," I said, as if he ever listens to me.

What a dreary day, I thought.  Too wet to take Nosy out for a ramble and too wet for me too.  My outdoor coat is still damp from my morning walk.

Thinking ahead, when Nosy's on his feet, he can accompany me for my morning walks.  We can go over to the wooded area near Gordon's house.  Gordon is the master gardener of the area and his beautiful bushes and flowers are well known by all who walk by, including me.

After lunch, Fay and I watched an episode of ER, short for Emergency, an old medical series.  We have all the DVDs and there are many seasons so we don't have to find them at the Library.  We both enjoy this quiet interlude after lunch and I have a couple of cigarettes.  Even Fay will have a cigarette now, and she gave up smoking years ago.  She started smoking after the New Year.    I guess it was one of her New Year's resolutions.  She had nothing else to resolve, she said.

I watch TV from my wooden rocking chair which my old friend Harvey, who owned this house before us, fixed for me.  He did a nice job, and to keep the light-coloured seat clean over many sittings, I enclosed the top in an old red and black duvet I crocheted years ago.  It is made of a special stitch taught to me by an elderly neighbour who learned it from her friend who discovered it on a trip to Paris of all places.  It works well on my rocker and kinda matches a small red plaid blanket I found at the Thrift for $4.00.  It caught my eye because it is 100% wool and made in Scotland, a place I loved on an old trip with my sister.  Hawick I found fascinating and we visited some of the mills there and Edinburgh where wool like this in my little blanket was loomed.

Fay sits, or mostly lies, on a dark rosy pink loveseat, and watches TV from that restful location.  She has a two-coloured blanket, reddish colour on one side and  a soft navy colour on the other.  Sometimes it's cool in the evenings and she can cuddle up if necessary in her wee blanket. 

I went out to the hall, picked up Nosy and the blanket he seems to like and carried him back to the living room.  I placed him near my rocking chair, pointed him towards the TV, and settled myself comfortably in my chair with my plaid blanket over my knees.

Nosy stood, gave me what I thought was a look of disdain, if a dog can do disdain, turned away from me and tottered over to Fay.  He placed himself face down on the navy piece of Fay's blanket which was trailing on the floor near her head.  Nosy looked at Fay adoringly before he succumbed to sleep, something he does often and well.   What's that about, I'm thinking.  I care for him, physically and mentally, but the bugger prefers Fay.  

Now that he's walking a bit, I'll carry him down to the little park near the bush.  He'd like that.  He can walk, slowly, or quicker depending on his sore leg, and maybe will meet some kids who play there on the playground equipment designed for little people by the district.  I could hold him on my lap and use the swing which is set low for kids and good for me with my short legs.

Later in the day, I did all that and he seemed to be enjoying himself.  One little boy was very attentive and even scratched Nosy's belly when he rolled over onto his back.  The little boy cried when I took Nosy home.  He told me his Dad wouldn't let him have a dog and would I bring Nosy down the next day.  He looked pleased when I said yes, if his grin was any indication.

That night I took Nosy and his little blanket in to my bedroom and and placed him next to my bed.  I positioned his head towards the head of my bed.  He settled down nicely, and I was pleased as I drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, I woke as usual around 5:00 am.  I carefully lowered myself over the edge of my bed which is quite high.  The wee blanket was there, but no Nosy.  My door was more ajar than it usually is.  I leave it like that because the doorknob is a bit wonky.

I stumbled towards the kitchen to make the coffee as usual.  My big toe hurts so I was walking gingerly.  I peeked into the living room on passing to see if Nosy was in there.  No Nosy anywhere.  Now, what's he up to.

I plugged in my handy percolator, which I had prepared the night before, whisked up some milk in my handy stainless steel pot with spout for pouring and returned to my room for a cigarette while I wait.  It takes about one cigarette to perk and be ready for pouring.  

Fay isn't up yet but it's early, only 5:05 am.  We went to bed early last night and five hours of uninterrupted sleep is all I need.

Finally, my cigarette was finished and so was the percolator.  I was pouring my first cup, doctoring it with a bit of sugar and milk, when Fay came out of her room with Nosy right behind her.  He didn't even look at me, the bugger, just went over to his dirt box, did his business, and returned to stand by Fay who was pouring her black coffee.  She is watching her weight so she skipped the milk, as if that'll do any good. 

"I'm so sorry Fay.  My door wasn't properly latched, letting him slip through."

"It's OK" said Fay, finishing the pouring of the first of the two coffees she allows herself in the morning.

"But Fay, how did he get into your room?  It's not like you to leave your door ajar when you go to bed."

"He knocked and I let him in."

"Did he knock with his head?  It must be that as his paws are too soft."

"First, he scratched on the door.  I heard something but chose to ignore it.  Then, the banging began, presumably with his head, and roused me sufficiently to get me up and peek around the door.  He was in like a shot and flopped down at the side of my bed nearest the door."

"What can I say, Fay, but sorry."

"It's OK" said Fay with a bit of a smile.  "It's nice to have company at night.  I miss that."

"See you two guys later" I said, and walked away with my cup of coffee.  I like this cup.  It's red and white, has a nice big handle, and a funny face of two big eyes and a crooked mouth on the front with a protruding nose.  I'm drawn to noses for some reason unknown to me.

I entered my bedroom and sat down on my vanity stool, a gift from Fay many years ago, placed my cup on my antique walnut Chippendale desk, which it probably isn't, and peered at my face in the mirror which is almost round.  It is circled by a beautiful three inch gold patterned trim.

My looks are passable, I'd say.  Love's got nothing to do with looks however, so I can throw out that thought.  Maybe it's personality that draws one person, or dog in this case, to another.  Or, as Mom used to say, a bit of money helps.

Many people have written famous lines about love, and some have been sung.  There's Love is a Many-Splendored Thing, Love Makes the World go Round, and my favourite, Love Means Never Having To Say You're Sorry.  I think of these as bullshit lines.  I wish I'd thought of one.

Bottom line, Nosy loves Fay, although I'm the one who does all the things for him that need doing.  I'll fall back on what an old boyfriend said to me many years ago when I questioned his alleged love for me.  He said "Love is".

  




  

 





  






.  






    





  







  

-