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IN THIS ISSUE

• Dalton Deedrick´s aunt lived through the flu pandemic of 1918
• Rafiki forwards a story about a dog´s devotion to its master
• Catherine Nesbit explains the importance of proper English
• Dick Monaghan sends a tale that will resonate with golfers
• Gerrit de Leeuw forwards a story about two Ukrainians
• Catherine Green, Jean Sterling, and Tom Williamson suggest sites

FROM THE ARCHIVES

Dalton Deedrick sent this story, which was published in the August 8th of 1998 issue, written by his late aunt, Amy Wilson. She was the author of a book published in Canada as "No Man Stands Alone" and in the U.S. as "A Nurse in the Yukon." The book described her life as a district nurse along the Alaska Highway in the 1950s. Dalton wrote, "The manuscript is factual as far as I know - I had heard of this incident from time to time since boyhood, all except for the final paragraph, for which I cannot vouch." Here is the beginning of one of Amy´s stories:

THE WORLD ISN´T SO BIG

It seems like only yesterday but it was really a very long time ago. My two sisters and I were little girls, lonely little girls at that. Our mother was dead and we lived on a farm with our father, whom we always called Daddy, and a brother and sister not too much older than we were. Our oldest sister and brother were married and lived in homes of their own and we seldom saw them, but that wasn´t all the reason for our being lonely. No, it was something else. We had not seen a neighbour for weeks and some we would never see again, for it was the time of the flu epidemic which followed the First World War.

Nell and Nettie and I were too young to fully understand the tragedy and heartbreak the epidemic brought. We only knew that we missed seeing our friends and neighbours, and we hated to stay home day after day. We were not even allowed to go the four miles to town with Daddy in the old Democrat, and that had always been our special treat, to put on our best dresses and hair ribbons, and to wear shoes and stockings. Then to be allowed to take turns driving the big team, Jock and Baldy, while the border collie, Sec, ran behind the Democrat all the way. Oh, we missed it sorely.

We stayed home and helped with our little chores. when the telephone rang, Daddy always answered it and usually it was a request for him to go to town for groceries and leave them at the gate of one of the nearby farms. Sometimes the choked voice of a well-loved neighbour would ask him to dig a new grave in the town´s cemetery. Then, just after dusk, he and my brother would hitch up the team and take their shovels and go to town.

Daddy had the idea that it was best to go when the night air was quiet and the dew was falling. They would come home late, tired out, and with fresh clay on the points of their shovels. Our older sister, Lou, always had something sitting on the table for them - something nice like cookies or biscuits, and a jug of milk. And sometimes our brother, Marv, who is still as soft-hearted as a girl, would have tear-streaks down his cheeks. Daddy always said it was because he was dog-tired, but we knew it wasn´t the time they dug the grave for his best friend, Bill. Bill pitched for the baseball team and Marv was the catcher and we got to go to all the games because the baseball diamond was in our pasture.

I asked Marv who would catch for him when Bill was put in the new grave but he didn´t answer; he only rubbed his hand over his eyes and went out to the barn.

Daddy said, "Some little folks have mighty big mouths around here," but I don´t think he was talking about me, for I climbed up on a stool to look in the cracked mirror above the washstand, and my mouth was no bigger than Nell´s or Nettie´s.

Then, late one afternoon, something quite unexpected happened. Nell and Nettie and I were building a playhouse in the corner of the garden. It was a fancy playhouse too, and we needed string to tie together the little poles that marked off the different rooms. I was out by the barn looking for some binder twine when I saw something coming down the dirt road that led to town. It was a covered wagon travelling slowly towards our place. Dust was rolling up from the wheels. It could be only one thing, and I ran all the way to the playhouse shouting, "Gypsies! Gypsies! The Gypsies are coming!"

Just the word, gypsies, always made me tingle, and here I was shouting it and I shivered with excitement. Children all knew that gypsies stole everything they saw, including small children. No one in our district had ever had any actual proof of such a thing, but the children kept out of the way and the adults kept an eye on all their possessions when a caravan of gypsies went through. As far as Nell and Nettie and I were concerned, we had had no experience with them. My brother said that one beat Daddy on a horsetrading deal one time. We didn´t blame Daddy, though, because he figured there wasn´t a worse horse in the world than the balky old one we got rid of. As it turned out, there was.

This day, Daddy and Marv and Lou were repairing a fence half a mile away and there was nobody home to look after our place or us. We watched the wagon draw closer. Nell thought we should go to the house and stay inside in safety, but she wouldn´t dare go alone, and Nettie and I were all for hiding in the bushes along the garden fence. After all, there was only one wagon and we were close enough to the house that, should gypsies suddenly jump from the wagon to steal us, we could run to the house and lock the doors before they got us. Accordingly, we sat on the ground in the thickets of the bushes - three scared little girls, in bushes which were not very thick.

The outfit drew nearer, and soon we could see it plainly, a team of rangy bay horses, one limping. the wagon they pulled was old and the tarpaulin covering it had been patched many times. One wheel badly needed axle-grease and squeaked sort of a monotonous tune. Sitting in the front was a man with a big hat shading his eyes. The hat wasn´t black like a gypsy should wear, and the man didn´t look mean or crafty, like he would steal children. He only looked tired.

To be continued.

Rafiki forwarded this story, which was written by Jim Willis:

HOW COULD YOU?

When I was a puppy, I entertained you with my antics and made you laugh.

You called me your child, and despite a number of chewed shoes and a couple of murdered throw pillows, I became your best friend. Whenever I was "bad," you´d shake your finger at me and ask"How could you?" - but then you´d relent and roll me over for a belly rub.

My housebreaking took a little longer than expected, because you were terribly busy, but we worked on that together. I remember those nights of nuzzling you in bed and listening to your confidences and secret dreams, and I believed that life could not be any more perfect. We went for long walksand runs in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone because "ice cream is bad for dogs" you said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you to come home at the end of the day.

Gradually, you began spending more time at work and on your career, and more time searching for a human mate. I waited for you patiently, comforted you through heartbreaks and disappointments, never chided you about bad decisions, and romped with glee at your homecomings, and then you fell in love. She, now your wife, is not a "dog person" - still I welcomed her into our home, tried to show her affection, and obeyed her. I was happy because you were happy.

Then the human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was fascinated by their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother them, too. Only she and you worried that I might hurt them, and I spent most of my time banished to another room, or to a dog crate. Oh how I wanted to love them, but I became a "prisoner of love." As they began to grow, I became their friend. They clung to my fur and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes, investigated my ears, and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved everything about them and their touch - because your touch was now so infrequent - and I would´ve defended them with my life if need be. I would sneak into their beds and listen to their worries and secret dreams, and together we waited for the sound of your car in the driveway.

There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that you produced a photo of me from your wallet and told them stories about me. These past few years, you just answered "Yes" and changed the subject. I had gone from being "your dog" to "just a dog," and you resented every expenditure on my behalf.

Now you have a new career opportunity in another city, and you and they will be moving to an apartment that does not allow pets. You´ve made the right decision for your "family," but there was a time when I was your only family.

I was excited about the car ride until we arrived at the animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of hopelessness. You filled out the paperwork and said, "I know you will find a good home for her." They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They understand the realities facing a middle-aged dog, even one with "papers." You had to pry your son´s fingers loose from my collar as he screamed, "No, Daddy! Please don´t let them take my dog!" And I worried for him, and what lessons you had just taught him about friendship and loyalty, about love and responsibility, and about respect for all life. You gave me a good-bye pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused to take my collar and leash with you.

You had a deadline to meet and now I have one, too. After you left, the two nice ladies said you probably knew about your upcoming move months ago and made no attempt to find me another good home. They shook their heads and asked, "How could you?"

They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy schedules allow. They feed us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago. At first, whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front, hoping it was you that you had changed your mind - that this was all a bad dream ... or I hoped it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who might save me.

When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention of happy puppies, oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner and waited. I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the end of the day, and I padded along the aisle after her to a separate room. A blissfully quiet room. She placed me on the table and rubbed my ears, and told me not to worry. My heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there was also a sense of relief. The prisoner of love had run out of days.

As is my nature, I was more concerned about her. The burden which she bears weighs heavily on her, and I know that, the same way I knew your every mood.

She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg as a tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way I used to comfort you so many years ago. She expertly slid the hypodermic needle into my vein. As I felt the sting and the cool liquid coursing through my body, I lay down sleepily, looked into her kind eyes and murmured, "How could you?"

Perhaps because she understood my dog speak, she said, "I´m so sorry." She hugged me, and hurriedly explained it was her job to make sure I went to a better place, where I wouldn´t be ignored or abused or abandoned, or have to fend for myself - a place of love and light so very different from this earthly place. And with my last bit of energy, I tried to convey to her with a thump of my tail that my "How could you?" was not directed at her.

It was directed at you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking of you. I will think of you and wait for you forever. May everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty.

A note from the author: If "How Could You?" brought tears to your eyes as you read it, as it did to mine as I wrote it, it is because it is the composite story of the millions of formerly "owned" pets who die each year in American and Canadian animal shelters. Please use this to help educate, on your websites, in newsletters, on animal shelter and vet office bulletin boards. Tell the public that the decision to add a pet to the family is an important one for life, that animals deserve our love and sensible care, that finding another appropriate home for your animal is your responsibility and any local humane society or animal welfare league can offer you good advice, and that all life is precious.

Please do your part to stop the killing, and encourage all spay and neuter campaigns in order to prevent unwanted animals.

Please pass this on to everyone, not to hurt them or make them sad, but it could save maybe, even one, unwanted pet. Remember ... they love UNCONDITIONALLY. Send to everyone in your address book and around the world! This IS the reality of dogs given up to shelters.

EDITOR´S NOTE: From the site recommended by Catherine Green, http://arunaurl.com/3272, comes this information: "The Animal Rescue Site focuses the power of the Internet on a specific need providing food for some of the 27 million unwanted animals given to shelters in the U.S. every year. Over 10 million animals are put to death every year in the U.S. alone because they are abandoned and unwanted.

"Each click on the purple "Click Here to Give - it´s FREE" button at The Animal Rescue Site provides food and care for a rescued animal living in a shelter or sanctuary. Funding for food and care is paid by site sponsors and distributed to animals in need at the Fund for Animals´ renowned animal sanctuaries (including Cleveland Amory Black Beauty Ranch in Texas and the Wildlife Rehabilitation Center in California), pet shelters supported by the Petfinder Foundation , North Shore Animal League, and other worthy animal care facilities supported by the GreaterGood.org foundation."

Catherine Nesbitt explains

THE IMPORTANCE OF PROPER ENGLISH

All of you ex-educators and lovers of proper English will appreciate this story.

On his 74th birthday, a man received a gift certificate from his wife. The certificate paid for a visit to a medicine man living on a nearby reservation. The medicine man was rumored to have a wonderful cure for erectile dysfunction.

After being persuaded, he drove to the reservation, handed his ticket to the medicine man, all the time wondering what was to come.

The old medicine man slowly and methodically produced a potion, which he handed to the 74-year-old.

With a grip on his shoulder, the medicine man warned, This is powerful medicine and it must be respected. You take only a teaspoonful and then say ´1-2-3´. When you do that, you will become manlier than you have ever been in your life and you will be able to perform as long as you want."

The old man was encouraged. As he walked away, heturned and asked, "How do I stop the medicine from working?"

"Your partner must say ´1-2-3-4,´" the medicine man responded. "But when she does, the medicine will not work again until the next full moon."

The old man was very eager to see if the potion worked, so he went home, showered, shaved, took a spoonful of the medicine, and then invitedhis wife to join him in the bedroom. When she came in, he took off his clothes and said,"1-2-3!" Immediately, he was the manliest of all men.

His wife was excited and began throwing off her clothes and then she asked, "What was the 1-2-3 for?"

And that, boys and girls, is why we should never end our sentences with a preposition or one will end up with a dangling participle!

Dick Monaghan forwards this story about

HONESTY

On the second tee of the golf course with his wife, the husband said, "Twenty years ago I had a brief affair. It meant nothing. I hope you can forgive me.´ His wife was hurt but said, "Dearest, those days are long gone. What we have now is far more valuable. I forgive you." They embraced and kissed.

On the 17th tee, the husband was starting his back swing when the wife blurted out, "I´m sorry, darling, I´ve been so conscience-stricken since you told me of your affair. Since we´re being honest with each other, I have something to tell you also. Thirty-two years ago I had a sex change operation. I was a man before I met you. I hope you can forgive me.´

The husband froze at the top of his back swing and then threw a fit! He slammed the driver into the ground, kicked the ball into the woods, stormed off the tee, pushed the golf cart over on its side, broke the rest of his clubs one by one, then started on hers.

He screamed and ranted, "You liar! You cheat! You despicable deceiver! How could you? I trusted you with all my heart and soul ... and all these years you´ve been playing off the ladies´ tees!´

Gerrit deLeeuw

TWO UKRAINIANS

Two Ukrainians are drinking at a bar in a small town in Manitoba, somewhere north of Dauphin.Ivan says, "Did you know that Lions have sex 10 to 15 times a night!"

"Oh shit, says Boris,"I just joined the Kinsmen."

THIS WEEK´S SUGGESTED WEBSITES

The Mayo Clinic has a piano in the waiting room for people to play to entertain those waiting. Catherine Green sends this URL for a video of a talented young pianist: http://arunaurl.com/327b, and Jean Sterling suggests http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RI-l0tK8Ok0for a video of an older couple playing some lively music while waiting for a doctor´s appointment.

Catherine also suggests http://arunaurl.com/326afor a number of dog videos.

For people who like this sort of thing, Tom Williamson suggests a video of a family of orcas attacking a seal on an ice floe: http://arunaurl.com/327d

He also sends the URL for a video of rare white deer in Wisconsin: http://arunaurl.com/327e

TO ALL THE MOTHERS: