creaturescreaturesallall sharing the planet with our fellow creatures

Issue 16 June-July/2008

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Advertising InformationGloria Fantin 403-289-3836gloria@creaturesall.com

Graphic Design & Story InquiriesBob Fielder

publisher@creaturesall.com

Account InformationLinda Fielder

editor@creaturesall.com

PrintingThe Prolific Group

Mailing address:creaturesallP.O. Box 126,Langdon, AB T0J 1X0

403-512-9544creaturesall is published 6 times per year (February,April, June, August, October and December) by 1160613ALBERTA LTD. and distributed freely in Alberta or viasubscription the first week of the publication month.Advertisers and contributors assume responsibility andliability for the accuracy of their claims and statements.The opinions and views expressed in articles do notnecessarily reflect those of the Publisher or advertisers.creaturesall reserves the right to refuse any advertising.Written submissions become the property ofcreaturesall on publication. By proferring yourphotographs or written submission you grant uspermission to reproduce it in creaturesall, other printedmedia, on our web site or as a component of an onlinedownload. All submissions will receive a reply if emailaddress is provided.Writers & Cover Artists may make submissions by email to:

publisher@creaturesall.comCopyright 2005 by 1160613 ALBERTA LTD.

In This IssueKapusta & Spud – the scene that spread before us was

like a Bizarro comic strip 8

Dump Dog – eyes that seemed to have lost their

blinking reflex. 16

Emily – please don’t let her step on my hand 18

Saving Sable – I got my answer while waiting

at a streetlight 24

Gilbert – The journals warned of afflictions 29

ColumnsWagging Tales – Dr R Weger - Calgary North Vet Hospital 11

Creature Feature – Cyril Brass - photographer & writer 13

Taking Down the Fences – A.I.W.C. 15

Spaces and Species – the Nature Conservancy of Canada 21

Youth Said It – holidaying with cicadas & cocodrilos 23

The Gardening Bug – the Calgary Horticultural Society 27

Obsolete – cari-creatures by Sean Skerry 28

The Final Word – cherishing the past 30

DepartmentsPublisher’s Note 5

Letters 7

Issue 16 June-July/2008

Cover ArtistCrystal Driedger

Rendered in a whimsicaland playful style, Crystal’sart has appeared ingreeting cards, wrappingpapers, children’s booksand editorial spreadsacross North America.She graduated with adiploma in Design &Illustration and is cur-rently living her dream as

a freelance illustrator from her home based studioin Edmonton, AB. The cover illustration is ofBarnes, a former resident of the new EdmontonHumane Society Shelter. It was donated to theshelter’s first Paws & Claws Gala and Silent ArtAuction fundraiser. www.crystaldriedger.comor email: artist@crystaldriedger.com

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Advertiser and Story Submission Deadline for Next Issue – July 4th/08

PUBLISHER’SNOTE

encouraging you to read, then writeBob & Linda Fielder

One of the benefits of workingon creaturesall from myhome office is that I have a

wonderfully short commute. I spentmany years commuting the 50 kmsinto the city centre from my little ploto’ dirt out here and can vouch for thefact that my daily trip from breakfasttable to desk top is the far betteroption. Another of self-employment’sgreat benefits is that the interviewprocess is a slam dunk.

It was while thinking along thoselines that I was led to recall aninterview I attended several years agowhile trying to get on with a large adagency in the city’s downtown.Advertising agencies are a fairlyinformal group, vis a vis acceptablework attire, so I felt both comfortableand confident wearing clean jeans,shirt, tie and new hiking boots. (Thething to remember about hiking bootsis that they have these lace hookdohickies at the top as opposed toordinary eyelets.)

As I sat across the desk from theHR person, I feigned a casual air byleaning forward (signaling I waspaying rapt attention) and crossing myfeet beneath me. In doing so, I wasstartled to learn that I hadinadvertently caught the loop of the

lace of one boot in the lace hooks ofthe other, effectively tying my feettogether beneath my chair. As Istruggled to extricate myself, Icontinued to hold unbroken eyecontact with the interviewer, all thewhile nodding, knowing sooner orlater I would be required to stand andwalk towards the door. However, themore I struggled the more entangled Ibecame!

Trying to maintain the illusionthat I was paying close attention, Ibegan to perspire profusely from boththe squirming and the dawning of thesad realization I was not going to getthis job. I can’t imagine my expres-sion as she witnessed me struggling tomotionlessly extricate myself.

As the interview drew to aterrifying close, the increasinglyapprehensive interviewer stood toshake my hand, her desire to rid heroffice of me all too evident.“er...thank you; we’ll keep yourresume on file.”

She watched bewildered as,instead of standing to take my leave,I bent beneath her desk andcommenced to grunt caveman-likewhile trying to untangle my laces.Finally, after what seemed like aneternity (to her as well as me, I’m

sure), I arose, red-faced and perspiringfrom beneath her desk, only to realizemy foot had fallen asleep from havinghad the circulation cut off. I clasped hernervous hand in my sweaty palm, andturned to exit. Head down, shouldershunched, dragging my dead extremityzombie-like behind me, I awkwardlylimped out the door. And no, in case youhaven’t been paying attention, I neverdid get a call back ca

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page7

For the first time I picked upyour magazine - the photo of theexquisite butterfly on the covercaught my eye. In general Ithoroughly enjoyed the articlesespecially the one about Nakoda asI, also, used to sponsor that wolf.

I would like to point out thatthe Alberta Institute of WildlifeConservation article “Taking DownThe Fences” on page 15 talks aboutBald Eagles but the photos appearto be of Golden Eagles whichmigrate across Canmore and intoKananaskis Country twice eachyear. Perhaps a photo of a BaldEagle and a Golden Eagle could berun in a later issue and a clarifica-tion made.

Karen Probert

AIWC responds:

Hello Karen:The publisher of creaturesall

forwarded your comment about theeagle picture in AIWC's article. Ioffered to clarify your confusion.

Bald Eagles do not acquirewhite heads or tails until they arefive years old. They are often mis-taken for Golden Eagles for this rea-son. There are other distinguishingcharacteristics as well such asplumage patterns on the wings andtail. One of the most unmistakablefeatures, that is 100% fool-proofregardless of the bird's age, isfeathering on the legs. A GoldenEagle has feathers that grow all theway down to the top of its feetwhereas a Bald Eagle has bald legs.It's a neat trick you can use toimpress your bird-watching friends.

Thanks for your interest. I'msure you're not the only one whowas confused by the picture. TheBald Eagle in that article was a two year old.

Dianne Wittner

I enjoy reading your magazineand it is one that I always read coverto cover. The stories are informativeand humorous. I pick it up at theSafeway when they have it.

Marjorie Hembroff

Well, thankfully the snow hasfinally disappeared. It was an amaz-ing and crazy winter for us.

Andre took this photo duringthe final snow storm outside ourbedroom window.

It looks like they are nesting inthe woods behind the house. We areseeing them on a daily basis.

They sure look big.Karen Gariepy

Jessica Griffin's story aboutPenny and Zoey was heart-wrenchingand left me feeling sad for a while.She will never forget the experienceand time will help her to cope withthe deep sorrow she feels now. Thestory encouraged me to give my catsan extra hug and playtime that day.

Helen Willy

It is always so good to see yourmagazine in my mail box, I reallyenjoy it. In the April/May edition aletter written by Mrs KatherineMcFarquhar expresses my feelingstoo; the text superimposed overphotos with a dark background Ifind very difficult to read, the

articles are always very interestingand I hate to miss out on them. Thisis the only complaint I have - creaturesall is a great magazine.

Lorraine Farran

I am forwarding this email thatI got yesterday from a creaturesallreader.

Cyril Brass

I just wanted to write to you andlet you know that I've really beenenjoying the articles you've writtenfor creaturesall, and that your photosare wonderful. I'm glad I've beenable to read the articles on your web-site that you've written for some ofthe issues of creaturesall that Ihaven't been able to find at news-stands. (Yeah, I know, I should quitbeing such a cheapskate and sub-scribe!)

Costa Rica is a place I haven'tknown anything about, but whatyou've written about andphotographed certainly makes it looklike a place worth visiting. I loveyour pictures. I have to admit that Ihad never heard of a basilisk orcoatimundi before reading yourarticles. Thank you for teaching mesomething new!

I certainly look forward toreading more of your articles increaturesall or on your website.

Jane Calderin

When the envelope arrivedyesterday I pondered and ponderedwhy such a neat magazine was sentto me. When I came in I was tiredso just put it on the counter andnow today when I began leafingthrough it I discovered a lovely cardstating:

“Pat Gowing sent this compli-mentary copy of creaturesall to you”-- thank you very very much. I shallenjoy leafing through it.

Peggy Noble

LETTERSpaw prints and pen scratches

readers write

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As I neared what appeared to be aball of fluffy yarn, it came alivewith an insistent hiss. Perched on a

bale of hay, the kitten’s wide eyes and arching eyebrowsformed a look of shock. My hand hovered over a bobblehead seemingly too big for her body and she stood on hindlegs to pet against it; she was friendly from that momentforward. When I lifted her into my arms, it was evidentthat the fluff hid a scrawny, hungry frame.

Outside, it looked like a giant hand shook the snowglobe in which we were trapped. Snowflakes stuck together to form new, impossibly giant flakes, each unique.Cats huddled in the corner of the barn but this little onewas alone. After a moment’s hesitation, my mom and dadsaid we could bring the kitten into the house and take overfrom where the mother cat had left off. Though, momwarned, the kitten was very young and might not surviveeven with our help.

We started feeding the kitten from a bottle that night.Feeding a kitten that’s only a few weeks old is not an easytask at best, and a complete fiasco at worst. It requires

patience, time, and a tiny doll’s bottlewith its end carefully cut off. The

upcoming weeks were filled with turbulentmeowing, feeding, scratching, and rambunctious play. Iwas a teenager at the time and I’ll never forget theamazement I felt at knowing this animal relied on us forher survival.

We called her Kapusta, which means ‘cabbage’ inUkrainian and may seem a strange name for a cat. But itwas a name that just seemed to ‘fit’; and her strength andhardiness weren’t unlike her vegetable namesake. She wascalico in colour and remarkably unremarkable in appear-ance. (There were three other cats in the barn for whichshe could be easily mistaken.)

A few days after Kapusta’s discovery, a new cat wasadded to the mix. Spud was found in an outside hay bale;cold, and hungry. He was easily persuaded to feed from thetiny doll’s bottle and now we were graced with two raucousveggies in our patch. Kapusta and Spud each slept in a boxwith their own mix of toys; a stuffed Smurf for Spud and atoy mouse for Kapusta.

&KAPUSTA

SPUDby Caroline Barlott

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We all worried about these cats asthey grew older; neither of them hadthe benefit of a mother to teach them

those things necessary to being normalcats. As spring approached, the catsstarted to look eagerly outside andwhenever they meowed at the door, Iwould open the latch and let them out,Kapusta always leading the pack.

One day, my mom, dad, brotherand I were sitting in the house andtalking, when it sounded like someonewas entering the house. We walked tothe door and the scene that spreadbefore us was like a Bizarro comic

strip. It’s something I’ll never forget.Kapusta hung from the latch of thedoor as it swung open and Spud,

carefully walked through the opening.After Spud was outside, Kapusta grace-fully swung from the door and itslammed shut in our stunned faces. Welooked at each other and knew thatthese cats could handle themselves.

Kapusta turned out to be aremarkable cat despite her normalappearance. She would play fetch on awhim and could jump to the top of thefridge with minimal effort. Andwhenever she or Spud felt like

venturing outdoors, she would openthe latch while her brother patientlyawaited their independence. ca

Caroline Barlott continues to be amazedby the intelligence and humour of vari-ous animals. She is a freelance writerand an editor for Edmonton’s ChildPublication. You can see more of herwork at: www.edmontonschild.com

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Breathingshouldn’t be exhausting.

“Please don’tleave your

engine idling.”

Awispy wind wafted gentlyacross Nose Hill Parkfaraway. Small clusters of

particulate dust were carelesslydisturbed and immediately transformed, funnel like. Above,the sun’s rays mercilessly beat down on the urban junglebelow. A shimmering image appeared in the grassy distanceuntil finally it crystallized into a recognizable shape. A manand his dog emerged from the dusty cover into the greenoasis of parkland. The man, doing his seeming best to blockout any of nature’s sounds, blasted his iPod. The melodicsounds of “The End” by “The Doors” echoed effortlesslythroughout the valley.

Trailing beside him was his faithful friend and compan-ion, a chocolate lab named “Willard”. Oblivious to hisserene surroundings and caught up in his musical interlude,the fellow was unaware his dog had decided to explore theterrain alone. Feeling giddy and full of puppy pep, Willardbounded happily through the underbrush, without a care inthe world. Then, utilizing his keen peripheral vision, he spot-ted a quick movement in the tall grass not more than a fewmeters away. Something was amiss!

At first, Willard believed the moving shape to beanother dog or perhaps a wayward cat. However, throughcareful sniffing, the scent he detected on the ground told adifferent story. It was a scent not known to him and did notmatch anything in his olfactory inventory. This requiredfurther and immediate investigation.

Out of the corner of his eye he again spotted the samejerky movement. This time he would find out who wasplaying the cat and mouse game. Erupting into a full sprint,Willard poured on the speed. After what seemed to be onlyseconds of running, he felt himself fall and plunged headfirstinto a blackened pit. Opening his eyes and peering throughhazy vision he glimpsed his first image of his unknown play-mate. Three or four round shapes looked down over him.They were covered in what appeared to be hundreds of longsticks. Feeling woozy, he began to lose consciousness and inthe distance could hear the concerned shouts of his humancompanion calling his name.

A rude awakening was the only description for whatWillard felt upon regaining his faculties. Attempting to clearhis head, he focused his gaze on his captors. A multitude ofthe creatures that leered at Willard during his time in thepit trap completely surrounded him. From the shadows infront, appeared a bigger version of his vanquishers. It spoketo him in a sinister gravelly voice.

“Greetings my enemy. I am Kurtz. You are currently inthe thrall of the “Superior Porcupine InsurrectionistsNegotiating En masse” or S.P.I.N.E. You and your kind’s

incursions into our territory will no longer be tolerated.Thus begins an epic battle that will tear Heaven and Hellasunder! Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war!”

Willard could feel the terror welling up inside him.Sensing his enemy’s severe trepidation, Kurtz the porcupinesniffed the air deeply and exclaimed “ I love the smell ofdoggie fear in the morning!”

Sporting a devilish grin, Kurtz whispered quietly intoWillard’s ear, “Know this my canine friend; there will be nopeace between dogand porcupine.”Returning tohis throne,K u r t z

commandedhis troops, “Take thismutt to the surface and make sure our ‘point’ is made.”Kurtz disappeared once again into the shadows. Willardcould see the plethora of perturbed porcupines convergingon him! He was surrounded. There was no way out.

Thankfully unconsciousness once again enveloped himin its comforting blackness. He awoke to the sun’s warmingglow with nary a porcupine to be seen! It had all been adream, most likely born of heat exhaustion. However, as hewent to get up he felt multiple pricks of pain throughout his body. Carefully surveying his skin he discovered that he was pierced with hundreds of small spines thatlooked very similar to those of his nightmare induced Porcupine Overlords. It was then that his human companionburst on the scene. A horrified yelp broke the silence andthe young man picked him up and began to take him backto the car. Willard knew he was off to the vet’s office for a patch up. Reluctantly, he took one last look at the rapidlydisappearing fields and gloomily recalled Kurtz’s last words. “There will be no peace between dog andporcupine.” This was not over. ca

Dr. Richard Weger is a graduate of the Western College ofVeterinary Medicine, specializing in exotic veterinary medi-cine. He is currently owned by his Senegal parrot, Tiko andhis cat, Mendel. Exotic Veterinary Care and Referral Service:Calgary North Veterinary Hospital (403)277-0135

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WAGGING TALESstories from a veterinarian’s clinic

by Dr. Richard Weger, B.Sc., DVM

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CREATURE FEATUREmillipede or centipede

by Cyril Brass

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ow to tell amillipede froma centipede?

One way is to count the legs.Despite its name, the millipede

or “thousand-legger” does not have athousand legs, but only betweeneighty and four hundred legsdepending on the specific species.Also known as Diplopods, meaningdoubled feet, each body segment ofthe millipede has two pairs of legs,except the first three segments. Thisgives the appearance of athousand legs. The millipede is aslow creature incapable ofcrawling fast; there are just toomany legs to coordinate for quickmovements. When they do moveabout the leaf litter and dirt, itappears the legs glide in wave-like, worm-like motion.

The centipede or “hundred-legger” has fewer and longer legsenabling it to run more rapidlyescaping from any danger moreeasily than the millipede. Thereis only one pair of legs on eachbody segment of the centipede.

Besides the number of legs,there are several other distin-guishing characteristics betweenthe millipede and centipede.

Most millipede speciespossess a cylindrical elongatedbody composed of many narrowsegments. The rounded headwith short antennae blends intothe body making it more worm-like than the centipede. The cen-tipede has a flattened segmentedbody with a distinct head with a pairof long antennae. The millipede isborn with only four or five body seg-ments. As it grows, it molts, sheddingits old exoskeleton, generating moresegments and legs,

The millipede, unlike the cen-tipede, cannot bite, pinch or sting.And because it cannot quickly escape,

it has developed other protectivemechanisms. Its primary defense is torelease poisonous liquid secretionswhich can burn if it gets into eyes, ormay produce allergic reactions. Butthis does not pose any serious healthhazard to humans.

Several millipede species are ableto spray this foul smelling chemicaltowards their attackers. Throughmicroscopic pores along the sides ofthe body, these invertebrates are ableto squirt hydrogen cyanide.

Another way the millipedeprotects itself from danger is to curl upin a tight spiral coil or roll into a ball,hiding its delicate legs and soft under-belly within the armored exterior shell.

The centipede on the other handdoes not need a protective position.This nocturnal creature can inflict anasty bite with its venomous claws

which are located close to its head.Plus, each leg has a sharp claw whichcan produce a tiny scratch or cut onthe skin. Poison is released onto theinflicted area resulting in an inflamedwound.

The centipede is a carnivorouspredator preying on insects. With itspoison pincers, it grasps and killsprey by injecting venom.

The millipede is a scavenger, her-bivore and detrivore consuming plantsand organic waste as its source of

nutrition. Various millipedespecies can by found worldwideliving in moist microhabitatswhich are dark and damp.

Tropical rainforests are anideal habitat for the millipede,with abundant decomposingplant material; rotting leavesand decaying wood. The milli-pede provides an important rolein the tropical rainforests byhelping break down dead anddecaying plant matter, returningessential nutrients back into theecosystem.

On several hikes in therainforests of Costa Rica, I haveavoided stepping on theRainforest Millipede crossing thewalking trails and I have spottedthem climbing on fallen trees.Knowing about their defenseposition, I gently touched one ofthe millipedes with a stick. Sureenough, it coiled itself into a ball.I kept my distance, careful notto get squirted with the toxicchemicals.

The millipede… a many-leggedcreature... a non threatening arthro-pod... a helpful invertebrate. ca

Cyril Brass is a Wildlife and SportsPhotographer living in Calgary.www.cyrilbrass.com cyril@brassphotography.com403-999-1908

H

page14

You can make a differenceYou can make a differenceYou can make a differenceYou can make a difference

abuseneglec

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abandonment

Before After

Volunteers & donations of any kind mean the continued success of Oops-a-Dazyand expansion of our programs.

Ph: 1-888-734-1013 • Fx: 1-403-734-1014 • oopsadazyrescue@yahoo.ca • oopsadazy.com

TAKING DOWN THE FENCESskunks on the patio and bats in the belfry

by Dianne Wittner

It’s two o’clock in the morning andyou are suddenly wide awake.There’s an intruder in your house. Adrenaline makes quick work of

any lingering drowsiness as you try topinpoint the source of the strangesounds you hear. Instead of softfootfalls, it sounds a bit like scratching,perhaps gnawing, so you are quick toaccount for your pets’ whereabouts.That’s when you realize the sounds arecoming from your attic. By dawn, theattic is utterly silent so you decidewhatever disturbed yoursleep that night waseither a vivid dream orthe ‘intruder’ simplyisn’t there any more.

Problem solved. Or is it? Fact is, this type

of ‘home invasion’happens daily as urbanwildlife adapts to life inthe city. Mammals likesquirrels, bats, andraccoons love thewarmth, dryness, and security of aman-made residence. Skunks andporcupines look for the same underdecks and garden sheds. Woodpeckersare drawn to cedar siding and cavity-nesting songbirds explore dark holessuch as stove and dryer vents.

Some of us co-exist with wildlifequite peacefully, sharing our space withcreatures that are simply trying tosurvive. Occasionally, however, whenwild animals move in they may causeserious property damage or bring ahost of potential health hazards such asfeces and parasites. Typical examplesinclude ruined insulation, chewedelectrical wires, torn soffit, anddamaged shingles, to name just a few.

Up to now, homeowners findingthemselves in this predicament wouldreach for the Yellow Pages and look upa pest control company. Alternatively,

they might call their local animalcontrol agency or take the matter intotheir own hands. Rarely do any of thesesolutions offer adequate wildlifesensitivity so the end results arefrequently tragic. Mothers are separat-ed from babies, animals are displacedto habitats where they cannot survive,and many are injured or killed. Often,the solution is temporary at best withanimals moving right back in withindays of a homeowner having paid adear price for the service.

At AIWC, we are frequently askedto remove healthy wildlife fromchimneys, vents, attics, shopping malls,porches, and more. To do so, requiresspecialized equipment and resourceswe simply do not have. Furthermore,as a wildlife hospital, we are not in thebusiness of moving wildlife but, rather,of caring for those that are injured or orphaned. Keeping a non-profittrauma center running is a daily battlein itself; to attempt such an enormousundertaking was simply beyond our means. However, the idea ofproviding a humane alternative to pest control resided in the backs of our minds like a slow-growing pearl and now, thanks to the support ofseveral major Calgary sponsors,particularly the Calgary Foundation,it’s a reality!

Meet Ken Cheek, biologist andlong-serving AIWC volunteer. Ken’sskills in wildlife restraint, biology, andconflict issues make him perfectlysuited to head up our AIWC WildlifeControl Hotline. Ken is also the onlyAlbertan to receive extensive trainingfrom Canada’s premier wildlife controlservice in Toronto where humanesolutions are the order of the day.When Ken visits a concernedhomeowner, he is careful to discuss thebest possible solution for everyone. In

most cases, he andhis crew of volun-teers don’t evenneed to stress the

animal by handling it, catch-ing it, or even frightening it.Ken’s toolbox contains inno-vative, permanent solutionsthat encourage wildlife tomove with its dignity andsafety intact.

Unfortunately, AIWCcannot provide this servicefor free as it is simply too

costly, but we are more thancompetitive and our service is equaledby none for all the reasons statedabove. The beauty is, all proceeds goback into AIWC’s charitable programs.It doesn’t get much better than that!

At AIWC, we don’t ever use theword ‘pest’ to describe a wild animal.They are our wild ‘neighbours’ and weneed to find ways to live with thempeacefully. It’s not enough to simply tellpeople to disregard risks to home andhealth, or to deny such risks exist. It’simportant to provide real solutions:solutions that protect wild integrity, arenot cruel, and are safe for humans. Wethink we’ve done it and we are soexcited to be able to assist wildlife inone more positive way! ca

Alta. Institute for Wildlife Conservation:http://www.aiwc.ca; (403)946-2361

page15

It was the fall of 2001 when the ideaof adding another dog to our familypopped into my mind. It hit me

while I watched my eight-year-oldNewfoundland, Baywolf and four-year-old Australian Shepherd, Davie engagein a community sniff during our dailyoff-leash walk.

Davie came to us as a foster dogwhen she was four months old. HubbyMike, our daughter Yana, Baywolf andI fell head over heels for that cutestever puppy. If there would be such acategory, Davie would have qualifiedfor the shortest lasting foster dog inhistory. After about two minutes wedecided unanimously that we wouldkeep her.

Davie’s happiness became ourpriority. The concern of how she wouldmanage without a canine companion,when much older Baywolf passes, wascompressed into a four-word thought:“Davie needs another friend”. It rootedand quickly evolved into a daydreamthat included my selfish desires aswell. The anticipatory excitement of anew dog, the puppy cuddling, theopportunities to teach afresh, withoutpast, inadvertently made trainingmistakes, branched into my mind.

Although I visited the daydreamoften, this third dog of ours remainedimageless for some six months, until, onone of our many walks together, myfriend shared the story of a five monthold mutt in need of a new home.Female, brown-coated with a blackshepherd nose, longhaired and fuzzy-eared, she seemed right up my alley andI felt a tender bond form right away.

That the pup was feral born, and,despite the qualified efforts of herfoster family, was still extremely afraidof humans and human touch, did notdiscourage me. Dog expertise andpatience, both of which I prided myselfon, would surely be enough to make upfor the missed human imprintingduring her impressionable first fewweeks of life. I welcomed the challengeand named the pup accordinglyWillkommen: welcome in German.

Just as thoughts and feelings man-ifest if pursued persistently, I alsobelieve that words carry energy. The

identity we attach to a name sendsvibrations of our intentions andexpectations into the universe,available to be picked up by likemindedorganisms, and the ones closest to us.Baywolf was named after thelegendary hero Beowulf, adapted toreflect his ocean heritage. He lovedwater and was a proud and grounded,intact dog to lean on. Davie was namedby her first owners and we felt that herboy’s name suited her sassy confidenceand extroverted personality.Willkommen, forced to live withhumans, felt lost amongst them. Ihoped that her name would somehowconvey that we wished to care for her.As a bonus, with her calling name Will,we continued the theme: boys’ namesfor girl dogs.

Will arrived in her small crate onApril 30, 2002, less than a week afterI named her. She stared at me withlarge, sclera surrounded, black-pupiledeyes that seemed to have lost theirblinking reflex. She was soaked in herown drool, and had her front paws safe-ly curled underneath her. I instantlyunderstood that afternoon what feralborn meant. The daydreams I had ofcuddling a puppy, of playing dogs, ofme teaching a new dog all I know, wererevised. Intellectually, I realized thatlittle Will would challenge everything Iknew about dogs. Emotionally, I lovedher nevertheless.

Davie and Baywolf included herinto their canine group instantly andbecame my first support group inWill’s rehab, almost as if theyunderstood the meaning of Will’sname. Having lived with dogs beforeshe was trapped, and bonded to five ather foster home, it was dogs she wascomfortable with. They supplied socialbelonging, but could not give her thesecure feeling of social safety that onlyhumans can. Yet, everything I did, mysheer presence, frightened Will.

She chose a physical and emotionaldistance and panicked; hyperventilatedand involuntarily voided whenever Itried to approach. She let me hand-feed her after a two-day, self-imposedfast, because she was too afraid to eaton her own. Any other touch resulted

by Silvia Jay

page16

DUMPDOG

I instantly

understood

what feral

born meant

page17

in stress expelled anal sacs, filling thehouse with a malodorous smell. Mycalming signals frightened her; when Italked to her softly she began to drooland shed; an offered treat, or anyperceived attention caused her tomindlessly and fleetingly search for anescape or hiding place, followed by adefault down position, in which sheremained frozen for hours. As best aswe tried, progress came in tiny babysteps, sometimes imperceptible to allbut me. It took her a few weeks beforeshe ate on her own, a couple ofmonths before she felt safe enough toplay with Davie, longer yet before sheindicated with a cautiously wagging tailthat she was glad to see me, andalmost one year before she politelyand submissively low-bodied, solicitedfor a pat and ear scratch. Everythingnew, even if introduced ever so gently,set her world off kilter and she shutdown, refusing to do anything, settlinginto her paralyzed existence.

When Will was almost three yearsold, we had a breakthrough, a leapthat catalyzed trust and confidence.We always enjoyed hiking in the

Alberta Rockies, and that summer wejoined a recreational tracking group.Will always loved to explore the envi-ronment with her nose. The task ofusing her skill to find a personaddressed her canine within, and atthe same time put humans in a newperspective. The fact that we workedas a team glued us together. For thefirst time, I was not solving her prob-lems for her, but solving a problemwith her. I did not ask her to rely onme for safety, but guided her to herown confidence. The mountainsbecame associated with strength andsuccess and became our special placeto return to whenever daily routineand small troubles deflected fromwhat our relationship ought to be like.

It was on a day hike two yearslater, in Kananaskis Country, that I feltthat Will had reached the limit of herpotential. We had both dogs off leash,and Will, the whole day, alternatedperfectly between ‘being obedientwithout control’ and ‘in charge whenneeded’. A balance between self-confi-dence and complete trust; domesticatedcognitive ability with core animal

instinct; tuned into us and a naturethat excludes all humans at the sametime. Will had become the dog Ienvisioned in my daydream more thanfour years prior. We accomplishedwhat I aim for with all my dogs:unspoken connection. I stoppedjournaling her progress that day.

In the summer of 2007 we movedto Nova Scotia, and took Will to themountains for the last time before ourcross-country road trip. We revisitedthe places that empowered her andrevealed the potential I sensed she hadwhen I first met her. For a briefmoment, as we drove through theAlberta Foothills, the place where shewas born feral, she stuck her head outthe car window as if to say goodbye.Then, she relaxed back into the carseat quickly, as if to say, all is well. ca

Dump Dog, the full and unabridged,heartwarming story of Willkomen’stransformation from feral reserve dogto a beloved family companion, can beobtained online.www.dogsensecommunications.comContact Silvia: Silvia4dogs@gmail.com

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My animals, and my horses in particular, havealways been my best friends. Although I haveowned many horses in my life, there are only

three who were truly my horses. The first one was, of course, my first horse. His name

was Brandy and I got him when I was seventeen. He sharedall the turmoil of my growing up and he is in my weddingpictures. Brandy was the horse of my youth.

The second horse was Tags, a big red chestnut gelding.He was a sweet horse to work with and had all the fire thatI could have wanted under saddle. Tags came into my lifearound the same time as my youngest son. Tags and I triedeverything; we showed dressage and hunter jumper, I rodehim on trails and we even learned to play polo together.When I moved to Alberta from Ontario, Tags came withme. Tags was the horse of my middle age.

Emily, a bay Canadian Warmblood mare, is the horseof my old age and is currently sharing my journey.

Emily is the daughter of a Thoroughbred mare that Ibought at an auction in 1997. Initially, I had no intention of buy-ing this horse. She was thin, andhomely is a kind way of describingher. But, just before the gavel fell,I found myself

the winning bidder and she was mine. My friend, who waswith me, shook her head and said that I had just bought theugliest horse in the sale. What could I say? She was right!

I brought the mare home and named her Sunny. Herregistered name was Pug’s Escourt and it just didn’t seemfitting to call this poor mare Pug! In time, I bred her to anOldenburg stallion and my Emily was born on a Maymorning in 2000.

by Nancy Bell

page19

Emily is the kind of horse that youcan only describe as a child. She

has to put her nose into everything.It’s a very good thing that she healswell. She wasn’t an hour old and shehad managed to find something to cutherself on. It wasn’t an accident, thetrend continued as Emily grew up! Forexample, one night the north windblew down a section of the wind fencein the back corral. The six otherhorses and even the cow had the senseto look at it and walk around it. NotE m i l y !E m i l yt r o t t e dup to thes e c t i o nw h i c hwas lyingon theground and had to examine it with hernose and her front foot. Then, just incase there was something she wasmissing, she decided she needed tohave a look at the boards in the center.Emily walked onto the supine sectionof fence and, of course, managed toget her hoof caught. Although shefreed it on her own, it was not withoutcutting herself first.

Fast forward to 2005. On August2nd, I came home from work anddecided to ride Emily before dinner soI could spend some time with myhusband in the evening.

I put supper in the oven andheaded out to the corral to get Emily.It was a beautiful afternoon, the skywas Alberta blue, the sun was warmand the wind light. I rode Emily in thecorral for about half an hour and asusual she was very good. We weretrotting on the east side of the corralby the old cattle squeeze. I glanceddown at my watch on my left wrist, itwas 6:02pm on August 2, 2005. In aninstant my life changed forever. Myleft thigh caught under the handle ofthe squeeze and was pushed down andback and then up and out as Emilycontinued to trot forward. Thingspopped and crunched in my leg, thenEmily hit the end of the reins andyanked me forward by my right arm.Of course up until this point I was still

trying to stay on her! Poor Emily gotreefed in the mouth and jerkedaround. I parted company with herand hit the ground, driving my leftfemur into the pelvic hip socket, whichI now know is called the acetabulum.Emily’s bridle came off and Iremember her looking at me with anexpression that said, “Why’d you dothat?!” As I crawled across the corralto the barn, Emily came and walkedbeside me with her nose on myshoulder. All I could think of was

please don’t let her step on my hand!Of course she didn’t. Emily was verycareful as she walked with me, makingthe same kind of whickery noises inher throat that a mare makes to herfoal. When I reached the mountingblock, Emily allowed me to dig myfingers into her shoulder skin and pullmyself up to sit on the step of themounting block. She had no bridle atthis point and could just have easilyran off to play with her buddies. Shestood and waited while I took her

saddle off and found something to leanon so I could hobble to the house.Emily, now with nothing on her,walking beside me and taking myweight on her shoulder, helped me out

of the corral and across the yard tothe gate. She stood at the gate for along time after I got to the house.

I had a broken pelvis which hasnot healed well. I walk with a cane anda limp. Emily walks beside me nomatter how slow I am, making sureshe stops and waits, if necessary. Shefollows me into her trailer, lifts herfeet when asked, and holds them upwhile I clean them for her. I am hopingthat I will finally be able to get back onher this May.

Where once I dreamed of theribbons we would win and theawesome dressage tests we wouldride, I now just dream of getting backon Emily and riding around the corral.

When I think what might havehappened, it makes me appreciate thetruly loving and intelligent creatureEmily is. She would have been wellwithin her rights to run off in fear; noone had ever fallen off her before noryanked on her mouth. Emily chose toremain and act in a way that a lot of

horse experts wouldsay is uncharacteris-tic. I can only pointout that horses havegreat hearts and arecapable of somereasoning skills.Often they reacttowards humans indirect response tothe way humanstreat them on a dayto day basis.

I choose tobelieve that Emilyknew I needed her

help and that she, in turn, chose togive it to me. Skeptics may disagreewith me and think that I am romanti-cizing the incident. My only responseis that I was there and I know whathappened. ca

I hit the ground, driving my left femurinto the pelvic hip socket

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When nature speaks...

www.creaturesall.com

Trees got web sites?

Yeah... and it’s so easy to‘log’ on.

take a moment to listen.

answering nature’s call

SPACES and SPECIES Alberta: the only rat-free province… or is it?

by Tara Worobetz, Conservation Coordinator/photo courtesy: Environment Canada: Canadian Wildlife Service

Although Albertans like to boastabout living in a rat-freeprovince, there is at least one

little creature who will beg to differ.The Ord’s Kangaroo Rat (Dipodomysordii) lives in southeast Alberta, butdon’t worry—it’s not closely related tothe dreaded Norway Rat.

Ord’s Kangaroo Rats are a light,orange-brown color with big eyes and alarge head; however, their most notablefeature is their large feet and hindquar-ters which enable this little rat to jumplike a kangaroo, rather than scurryaround on all fours like other types ofrats. Weighing around 59 grams, Ord’sKangaroo Rats are about 23 to 26 cmlong, but their long tail makes up overhalf of their body length!

There are many species ofKangaroo Rats in North America, butthe Ord’s Kangaroo Rat, which isfairly common throughout the UnitedStates and Mexico, is the only speciesthat occurs in Canada. The Canadianpopulation (occurring in southeastAlberta and southwest Saskatchewan)is the northern-most population in North America. The Albertapopulation is separated from otherpopulations of Ord’s Kangaroo Rats inMontana by over 300 kilometres.

Ord’s Kangaroo Rats do not live ingroups or colonies; they prefer asolitary and territorial existence. Themajority of their time is spent in theunderground burrows they excavatefor themselves. They emerge fromtheir burrows to forage for food,collect nest material, or find matesonly under the cover of darkness.These rodents eat mostly the seedsand stems of plants, and haveexternal, fur-lined cheek pouches inwhich they store large amounts of foodand carry it back to their burrows tocache for later use. Due to theirnocturnal habits, it is unlikely you willbe lucky enough to see a Kangaroo

Rat; however, you may see signs ofthem. If you see freshly excavatedburrows, paired footprints and longtail marks in the sand that may looklike a snake track, you may be inKangaroo Rat habitat!

Canadian Ord’s Kangaroo Ratshibernate during the winter months,but will wake up to feed on the foodthey collected and cached in theirunderground burrows duringthe warmer months. It is inter-esting to note, populations ofOrd’s Kangaroo Rats living inmore southern locales do nothibernate, so hibernating islikely an adaptation to survivethe cold winters here.

The Ord’s Kangaroo Ratis considered endangered inAlberta under the WildlifeAct. One reason for this istheir geographic isolationfrom other populations; anotheris that they are only able to live ina very specific habitat. The Ord’sKangaroo Rat lives in open, sandyareas with sparse vegetation. Theyrequire loose, sandy soil to excavatetheir burrows and tunnels. InAlberta, these sand dune habitatsare found in the eastern part of theCanadian Forces Base Suffield, andnear the towns of Bindloss, Empress,and Hilda, north of Medicine Hat.Kangaroo Rats can also be found inhabitats with sandy soil and sparsevegetation that result from humanactivities, such as fallow fields,heavily grazed pastures, fireguardsand roads with sandy banks.

Unfortunately, the actively erodingsand dune habitat the Kangaroo Ratprefers is gradually disappearing, dueto a combination of factors includingclimate change, vegetation encroach-ment due to natural fire suppression,grazing regimes that are differenttoday than what this species evolved

under, and human land-use practices,such as discouraging erosion alongroadways and agricultural lands.

Ord’s Kangaroo Rats occupy animportant role as a prey species for avariety of predators including owls,foxes, badgers, weasels, coyotes,snakes, and bobcats. Many of thosesame animals are also considered to beat risk in the province of Alberta. The

fact that when prey isendangered,

predators are alsoat risk demonstrates the interconnectiv-ity of species, and how changes in onespecies affects other species.

In 2005, a recovery plan for theOrd’s Kangaroo Rat was approved. Thegoal of this plan is to ensure a viable,naturally self-sustaining population ofOrd’s Kangaroo Rats in Alberta so theyare no longer at risk of extinction. Theirrecovery is essential not only forthemselves, but for all of the otherspecies that depend on them. ca

The Nature Conservancy of Canada(NCC) is dedicated to conserving habitatfor species at risk. 1-877-262-1253 or:alberta@natureconservancy.ca to help conserve habitat for these fascinating species.

page21

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memories made timeless

We welcome you to visitthe studio on our farmnear Cremona. Just ashort, beautiful drive north of Calgary.Upcoming 2008 Exhibitions:

Spruce Meadows MastersThe National Jun 6-8North American Jul 4-6Skyliner Tournament Jun 20-22Masters Tournament Sep 3-7

Diane M. Andersonwww.dianeandersontymarc.comtymarc@xplornet.com

403-637-2274 403-803-8039

Heaven Can WaitAnimal Rescue Foundation

(403) 601-2520www.heavencanwait.ca

page23

Upon departure from the planein San Jose, Costa Rica, wewere immediately hit by an

invisible but powerful wall of heat. Itwas refreshing not to be wearing awinter coat and mittens. Leaving theairport and along the way in our latenight 90 minute taxi ride to ourbeachfront hotel in Jaco (pronounced‘haco’), we realized that our surround-ings would be very different from ourCalgary home. The night air held manynew smells, sights and sounds.

Some people say that iguanas area modern day descendant of dinosaursand spotting many inside the forestwalls, we could almost convinceourselves that they are mini dinosaurs.They have rough skin, large pointyscales running down their necks andonto their tails and spiny claws whichenable them to climb. We werefortunate enough to see many iguanasof various size and colour, including anumber of Green Iguanas. These

animals range insize from oneto two metres

long and

theseguys are fast and agile (batteries notincluded) as these were the real thing.Geckos were also seen all over theplace: in flower beds or gardens, climb-ing trees or on railings and walls.

In general, we were surprised bythe lack of mosquitoes and all otherinsects. However, one particularlycrazy, hot day, when we were getting

out of our vehicle, inthe middle of anuninhabited field,

our dad threw open the door to theSUV. In his hand he was holding a fly (orsomething that looked like a fly) about 7centimetres in length . The girls in themiddle seat were immediatelyon top of eachother, screamingat the top of

theirlungs,while the twoboys in the back triedfrantically to bail out the tail gate, eachclawing and clamouring to get out first.Dad laughed, and so did we once wewere calmed down. What he actuallyhad in his hand was a cicada shell: thehard dry shell left behind as the cicadabug molts into its final adult skin. Theskin had eyes bugged out on the side ofits head which looked like black pins ina pin cushion. Although we saw manyhard, dry shells on the forest floor, wealso saw hundreds of the bugs alive,climbing the shady side of trees to stayaway from the afternoon sun. Justbefore dusk we could hear the sound ofthe male cicada as if it were waking themany animals hidden behind the treesand canopy of the rain forest.

On the last night, en route to theairport, our driver, Ricardo, slammedon his brakes, in what seemed like themiddle of nowhere and asked, inbroken English, if we were interested inseeing, “cocodrilos”. Confused, we tried

desperately to understand. Finally,while crossing the highway bridge, overthe Grande de Tarcoles River, itoccurred to us that “crocodiles” was theword we were looking for. “Si!” “Si!”

When we stopped we thought we wouldbe lucky to see one or two. Lookingdown from the bridge we were shockedto see at least 30 crocodiles on one sideand 15 or so on the other.

Our driver told us the crocodiles(cocodrilos) lazily paddle upstream,using their thick, muscular tails topropel and steer. They wait patientlyfor unsuspecting fish to swim into theiropen mouths. Dinner is served!

The funny thing about watchingthis was that there was a herd ofcattle drinking on the water's edge,not seeming to be bothered in theleast by the overstuffed crocs.

In all it was an amazing vacationand having experienced only a bit of Costa Rica, we are all lookingforward to returning to explore thecountry in a more detailed (did we saylonger) holiday. It will definitely be areturn engagement - the sooner thebetter! ca

YOUTH SAID ITholidaying with cicadas & cocodrilos

by Garrett & Samantha TaylorSamanthaage 9

Garrettage 11

page24

Which would it be? Would Sable, my ten year oldShepherd-cross, pull through her unexplainablebleeding ailment, or wouldn’t she?

I got my answer while waiting at a streetlight. It wasafter midnight and I’d just left her at the emergency animalhospital for the fourth time in two weeks and was headinghome. The streets were quiet, it had started to snow and Iwas stopped at a red light. Usually, I’d be bawling about now.But despite the facts – Sable was still bleeding profusely fromher neck because her blood refused to clot and she’d alreadyhad two transfusions so a third was risky – I just knew thatsomehow she’d pull through.

This all started with a routine minor surgery whereshe’d had two sebaceous cysts removed – one from her sideand one from her back – as well as a chipped tooth pulled.It was the cyst on her side that caused the problem becausefor some reason, removing the tiny bump triggered amassive hematoma – a lump of a bruise the size of half afootball. Within days, the entire length of her body turneda purplish blue. She was bleeding to death on the inside.And not only did we not know why, there was nothing thevets could do to stop it.

What baffled the vet who did the surgery (and the halfdozen who cared for Sable in the weeks to follow) was whywould the removal of one cyst cause a bleed but not the

other? Both cysts were benign. And furthermore, whydidn’t the site of her tooth extraction bleed since the mouthis an area far more prone to that?

Clearly it was a localized bleed. So a blood condition,such as the inability to clot, was unlikely and the tests didnot indicate this – yet that’s exactly what was happening.The possibility of cancer was raised, and is certainly still onthe list, but as the oncologist told me, cancer tends topresent itself loud and clear. The challenge in her job israrely the diagnosis; it’s getting the patient successfully intoremission.

Sable’s surgery had been on a Monday and her regularvet kept a close eye on her dropping red blood cell count inthe days to follow. By Thursday, he was concerned enoughto meet me at the clinic after hours. Sable was extremelylethargic and her gums nearly white. The vet ran the test:her red blood cell count was 10. Normal is 35.

“You’re going to emergency,” he said. “This dog needsa transfusion. Now.”

By Saturday morning, Sable had experienced her firstblood transfusion. She was still in rough shape – and I, evenrougher. The internal medicine specialist gave me anupdate: still no diagnosis. And because Sable continued tohemorrhage, it would be prudent for me to prepare myselfto lose her. Surgery was not an option.

by Maryanne Pope

SAVING

SABLE‘don’t you dare give

up on me.’

page25

I nodded slowly as the tears began.Then, just like that, seven and ahalf years dissolved and I wasback in the Foothills Hospital ICUawaiting the news on the conditionof my husband, John, a policeofficer who’d fallen through a falseceiling and hit his head.

“John has suffered an extremelyserious brain injury,” the ICUdoctor had said, “and although hiscondition is still stable, surgery isnot an option.”

“Oh.”

“His head struck the ground sohard that his brain hemorrhaged –and there’s nothing we can do tostop that.”

I looked to the vet. “Isn’t thereanything you can do?”

“Maryanne, I’m sorry to tell youthis but your dog will not stop bleeding.”

“Maryanne, I’m sorry to tell youthis but your husband isbrain-dead.”

In the afternoon I returned toemergency with Soda, my other dogand Sable’s partner in crime, foranother visit. Gently holding Sable’spaw, I began to say goodbye.

And then it happened again: I wasback in the Foothills ICU holdingJohn’s hand as he succumbed to hisbrain injury.

I let out a sob.

Sable groaned and shifted a little, try-ing to get comfortable. She was threewhen John died and had been by myside ever since. I wasn’t just losingSable; I was losing another link toJohn. The self-pity monster reared herugly head again.

So I asked myself if perhaps therewas a lesson I should be learning here.

Detachment? Letting go? Being inthe moment? Accepting loss?

No. Been there, done those.

I suspect what I was to be learningwas, surprisingly, self-worth. For I’dtold an old lover the day before whatwas going on with Sable and he hadn’tcalled back since. This hurt. I wasgoing through enough losing my pet,why was I continuing to look to menwho refuse to love me the way Ideserve to be loved...

the way John loved me?

My favourite author, Sarah BanBreathnach, once wrote that

self-loathing is the silent hemorrhagingof the soul. “If I were to assign a colorto self-loathing,” she said, “it would bethe bluish black and purple of an uglybruise that erupts on the surface ofour lives or on our bodies; a warning sign that

something serious is happening on adeeper level. We bruise when webleed within. Loathing is grief that hasfestered; the rampant infection of self-pity.”

Granted, it wasn’t me physicallybleeding to death – but since Sable’scondition was shrouded in mysterymaybe there was a metaphysicalmessage to be deciphered.

Soda and I went home for dinner.I lay on my bed and cursed at whoevermay be listening, even if it was just fourwalls.

Then I returned to emergency, onmy own, knowing this would likely bemy last visit with Sable. But as thenurse walked with me to the visitingroom, she told me that the doctorwould like to speak to me.

“Oh?”

“I think there’s a medicationthey’d like to try,” she said.

I felt a tiny flutter . . . the one Ithink Emily Dickinson was referring towhen she wrote, “Hope is the thingwith feathers that perches in the soul,and sings the tune without the wordsand never stops at all.”

Sure enough, the medical teamhad decided to try the good oldfashioned antibiotic doxycyclin, whichmay help clot Sable’s blood – in theevent we are dealing with a form ofcancer that prevents the blood fromclotting on its own.

It worked. In retrospect, likelybecause it killed whatever nastyinfection Sable was battling.

Two days and five thousanddollars later, I took Sable home andtogether we began the healing process.

Fast forward two moreexhausting weeks, a couplemore thousand dollars,several more middle-of-the-night visits to our friends inemergency, a really lousyfortieth birthday (mine), anexternal bleed (Sable’s) allover the kitchen floor, andwe’re back at the stoplightmoment.

As I waited for the lightto turn to green, I thoughtof my last image of Sable.

She’d been standing in her pen,glaring at me through the glass door.Wearing an enormous pressurebandage around her neck and most ofher head, she’d smacked the glass withher paw and given me the look – theone that said, ‘don’t you dare give upon me.’ As I watched the snowfluttering to the ground, it hit me: sheknew her worth and was obviously stillwilling to fight to live, consideringthat, beneath the bandage, blood wasspurting from her neck.

And she did.Three months later, I’m happy to

report that I not only have a happy,healthy dog, I also learned a lesson:whoever I fall in love with next is goingto have to love me as much as I loveSable – which should be as much as Ilove myself. ca

page26

D. H. Petcare&Service Inc.

• Pet Sitting - Visits or Live-in • Dog Walking •• Medication Treatment Administration •

Ph: (403)569-9474 • Cell: (403)807-3702 • Fax: (403)204-7593Email: owner@dhpetcare.com www.dhpetcare.com

Debra Howe is an Animal Health Technologist with several years experience in clinical pet care. She is a graduate

of both the Animal Health Technology and Fish & Wildlife Programs.

The Hervey Foundation for Cats is a place of protection

and refuge for cats, the old, the suffering and a place of

last resort for healthy cats that would otherwise be

euthanized. We are a no-kill, non-profit and tax-exempt

private Charitable Foundation.

(780) 963-4933 www.herveycats.com

Some of the sculptures I have completed include pheasants, frogs, dogs, cats, historic buildings, roses, sunflowers, mushrooms and cat-tails.

All of my pieces are created from the recycled hoods of cars and trucks. I rework the heavy gauge metal using an assortment of tools and techniques which owe much to the now bygone age when blacksmithing and hand-craftsmanship were the only options available. I do take orders for gift-giving and keep an inventory of a variety of sculptures on hand.

COUNTRY CREATIONSCOUNTRY CREATIONSMetal SculpturesMetal Sculptures

COUNTRY CREATIONSMetal Sculptureshnhdougan@nucleus.com

Harvey Dougan 403-934-3640

Animals make great cartooncharacters: Mickey Mouse,Tom and Jerry, Sylvester the

cat, Tweety Bird, Wile E. Coyote,Road Runner, and the infamous DaffyDuck and Bugs Bunny. While alwaysendearing, their on-screenpersonalities tend to be black orwhite; brilliant, moronic, nauseat-ingly sweet orwickedly bad.The story linesare always pre-dictable withsmart and good tri-umphing over stupidand evil. As a kid Iremember hoping that just oncethe bad guy would finally get abreak and win. Come on, admitit, didn’t you occasionally wishthat Wile E. would catchthat beeping RoadRunner or thatSylvester would finallyget to eat Tweety? But,they have no manner of luck.

However, one character defiesthe typical pattern, possessing adiverse personality that encompassesnot only good and evil but all thesubtle traits in between: Bugs Bunny!Who other than Bugs has the brainsto manipulate a situation to hisadvantage? Who other than Bugscould be so likable one minuteand so calculatingly cruel thenext? And yet, everybody stillloves him? That in a nutshelldescribes rabbits, lovable oneminute destructive the next!

I have a long historywith rabbits, some ofit good and somenot so good.My first forayinto pet-keepingwas with a large white rabbit with theoriginal name of Snowball. Snowball

and my dad never really hit it off. Forone thing Snowball was an exceptionalescape artist (aided by a small girl whokept forgetting to securely lock the cagedoor). Dad was a bit of a gardener andloved rhododendrons and dahlias.Unfortunately, so did Snowball.

Possessing the ninelives of a cat,

Snowball managedto escape Dad’swrath relativelyu n s c a t h e d .However, the

final coup degrace came when

Snowball chewed therubber off the lawn

mower tires. It wasn’t longafter that that he

escaped for the lasttime, never to be

seen again.Many yearslater I learned

he had help!Over the following

years many pets were partof our family, but it wasn’t

until my teens that anotherrabbit crossed our doorstep.While fund-raising for ourGrad at a local flea market,I spied a large brown rabbitfor sale. Without consider-ing the potential conse-quences, I purchased saidrabbit and a large dogkennel to house him in.

Mom’s first response whenI called her with

the goodnews, was“ D o n ’ tbring it

home!” Notto be deterred so easily I arrived

home with my purchases and appealedto a higher court. Having just returned

from a long trip, and in a weakenedstate, I pleaded my case to Dad. Afteran Oscar winning performance I knewvictory was imminent when hemoaned “Why do you always do this?”

Installed in our old fort at theback of the property, Peter was soonjoined by a lovely little bunny namedMopsy. Inspired by my biology teacherto try growing my own food, I starteda vegetable garden nearby. A peat bog,barely above sea level and set in aclearing in the forest was not the mostpromising site but I enthusiasticallyentered into the endeavour. However,fate conspired against me. In a daringnight raid, Peter and Mopsy chewedthrough the old wood of the fort andescaped. And just like in FarmerMacGregor’s garden, they helpedthemselves. By morning there wasn’tmuch left.

Hence, these memories floodedback when a white shape materializedin front of the car headlights onenight. Our visitor was a White-tailedJack Rabbit (Lepus townsendii) alldressed in his winter finery.

As we live adjacent to BunnyHollow Road it’s a bit of a miracle thathe was our first. Weighing in at a hefty3.4 kg, Jack Rabbits are actuallyhares. Mottled brown in summer theyturn completely white in winter exceptfor black ear tips. With snowlesswinters I imagine this protectivestrategy now puts them at a disadvan-tage. Their winter menu includes thebark, buds, and branches of trees andshrubs. Our intruder thoughtfullytrimmed a weeping spruce so that it’slovely waterfall shape now resembleda pompom with skeletal arms!

A few days later I saw Big Jackhopping down the road back to BunnyHollow. Just like Bugs, I don’t harbourany bad feelings towards him.However, that’s not to say he’ll beinvited back any time soon! ca

THE GARDENING BUGwascally wabbits

by Elaine Rude

page27

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Mr. Len Webber , MLAMember of the Legislative Assembly

Calgary-Foothills Constituency

403•288•4453

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by Très Bore

Gilbert gopher awoke with heartburn;a burning within his chest,which escalated to nausea,nasal drip and all of the rest.

He consulted medical journals.Front to back those journals he read.Afflictions affecting the afflictedfrom his toes all the way to his head.

He learned of Spine-Tingling Psychosis,of Cardio-Cretaceous Blight.All confirming his deep suspicionthat something inside wasn’t right.

He was sure his head would start hurtingand his toenails begin to curl.He knew in a matter of momentshis eyesight would start to swirl

He sensed the oncoming influenceof Influenza Infusion Cough.The journals warned of afflictionstoo frightening at which to scoff.

Like Acrimonious Dementiaand Pernicious Insipid Moan,

Willies’ Syndrome, defined by symptomsof wanting to run off alone.

Gilbert knew he must get to a clinic;have his symptoms properly readby a Dr. of Gopher Studies. A prospect that filled him with dread.

You see gophers are expendable.Like those Star Trek guys in red Once they’ve stepped outside the module,it’s a cinch they’ll end up dead.

The same fortune awaits most gopherswho dare exit the safety of home.There’s guns and poisons and leg-hold trapsawaiting the foolish who roam.

Not to mention the wild-eyed driverswho will cross 3 lanes with their carfor just one small chance of squishing one dumb gopher who’s strayed too far

After all, there’s millions of gophersMore than’s needed, for goodness sake.They’re reckless and stupid and everywhere! “What’s one gopher, give or take?”

But, if reckless and stupid are reasonsfor thinning the herd, I confess,a gopher might sensibly question,“What’s one motorist, more or less?”

©

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Gilbert

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THE FINALWORDcherishing the past

by Sunny Lu

We’ve all heard those bitter-sweet words such as,“Everything in life comes

and goes so you must cherish themwhile they last” or “Your furry friendscan be a joy throughout your entirelifetime”. Still, I can’t help but wonder:do you remember me?

It was that morningwhen I had the cool kennelbars pressed against myface, waiting for yoursteady rhythm of footstepsto crescendo. I felt a whineescape my throat and mytail propelling in circles asit was too short to just wag.You kneeled down, slippinga tiny biscuit through thecage as your way of sayinghello. I savored a quickwhiff before taking it frombetween your fingers. (It’sstrange, how the biscuit isshaped like a drumstick buttastes like beef.) I ate itanyway, running the grittycrumbs between my teeth.

At the same time, mygaze didn’t leave the lock;my ears alert for the metalclick which would allow thedoor to swing open.

My paws gently testedthe cold floor while I was waiting foryou to take me outside, or better yet,fill my bowl with the new lamb-flavored food. Then, as the sunlightand fresh scents poured through theopen door, I quickly decided that Imight as well stretch my limbs first.

It’s annoying how my ears alwaysfly into my face while the wind combsmy fur. I quickly scanned the yard tolocate an odd-smelling toy partiallyhidden in the grass. You stood there asI dug my jaws into the rubber, andeven though my eyes lingered on yourhand, waiting for you pet me or try tosteal my toy…it doesn’t move.

My tail rested on the grass, and Icocked my head. You were smiling atme, but with glassy eyes. I ignored thesounds from nearby to gently nuzzlethe denim of your pants with my nose.

A kind face peered over the gate.This stranger pets me, ruffles my silky

fur, and my paws lose grip so I endedup getting a belly rub, my pawshelplessly in the air. All that time, Ididn’t notice that beads of tears werefilling your eyes until my ears pickedup that faint sniffle.

I remember propping my pawsover your legs, almost pawing you sothat you might kneel down. Runningmy tongue over your cheek, I was sur-prised when you didn’t push me away.The salty taste of your tears left abitter tingle in my mouth. Then yougrabbed me by the collar and draggedme to the front yard, nearly stumbling,into a large, rumbling car. With your

final stroke on top of my head, I wasstartled by the loud slam and the doorlocking me in. The last thing I saw,with my paws numb against the glass,was your puffy eyes and the tears onyour face getting smaller and smallerin the distance.

On the first night, withoutmy familiar scents envelopingme, I cried, almost expectingyou to step into sight and takeme outside to do my business.I whined, with my paws overmy eyes, until a new scentcame to replace the old, tocomfort me and give mebiscuits.

Now, every day, I almostchew up the furniture as the hour nears three o’clock,and I wait for my new parentsto come home to me. It’s my way of relieving excite-ment.

There are no bunnyslippers living under the bedany more. I try to remembernot to pull on my leash, nomatter how many other dogsare trying to get me to chasethem. Mostly, I’m still thechased because… well... it’sno fun if I were to chase thembecause it would all be over

too quickly. I hope you’re glad to know that,

and I still want you to smile at me ifyou see me while you’re walkinghome from wherever you go for suchlong hours during the day.

Even if it isn’t you that brings me my meals every day now and it’s not you who lets me cuddle up on the couch, I love the times we had together. Despite all, you are a part of my life that I will want to remember and cherish, forever.

Well… what I am trying to say isthat a doggy’s heart like mine hasenough love for all. ca

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