My Personal Thoughts and Observations about the Dog Sled Massacres

       Usually I like to write about subjects that aren't too deep or controversial, kind of just talking on paper to the reader. I'm not particularly interested in writing about political problems, world hunger, or the financial state of the world. Those subjects are better left to experts who take the time to research and give unbiased opinions. It's not to say that deeper subjects don't cross my mind; they do. Often. I just choose not to make them the focus of this column.

       However, upon reading about the massacre of the sled dogs in British Columbia, and hearing that the person who did the killings got compensation from our government due to the stress it caused him, I felt I had to speak out. It felt awfully wrong.

       According to newspaper reports, Bob Fawcett was asked, by his employer, to cull a portion of the company's sled dogs due to there not being enough work to sustain them. And so Bob, against his better judgement (apparently), over the course of two days proceeded to shoot the dogs, one by one. The huge pile of bodies was then pushed into a mass grave. I didn't see the actual pushing of the bodies but I can't imagine there was any other way to do it other than dig a huge hole and then, with the assistance of a snow plough, push.

       A year and a half later, running his own dog sled company, the gunman has come forward to tell his tale. The trauma has become too much and he wants to come clean, he says. So, if we are to believe him (which I personally don't) he was able to leave his past employment with no recriminations. There, then, goes any claim he may have that he was fearful for his life, his family's life or fearful of what harm may come at the hands of his former employer as a result of not shooting the dogs. What has made him come forward? Perhaps, the whole thing was about to blow wide open and he was scrambling to save himself by claiming trauma. Maybe he was simply broke and needed some quick cash.

       Let's consider trauma. You have 100 dogs, presumably tethered or jammed into kennels so they can't get away. You get your gun and your many, many bullets and you pick off the first of the dogs. We've all seen the cop shows on television that now show us the vast amounts of blood that come flying out of bodies that have been shot at close range; it must be the same for dogs. So, the shooter shoots the first dog, aims at the second dog and shoots, then the third. I'm thinking that trauma should be setting in by now. Unable to continue, perhaps even vomiting, throwing the gun down in despair at what he had done should be happening. If trauma had set in he should be refusing to continue, to shoot any more. Maybe even contacting authorities so that steps would be taken to perhaps save the dogs. But, no, all of the dogs were killed. Over the course of two days, traumatized Bob killed approximately 100 dogs. One dog got way, his face half blown off and an eye hanging out of his head but Bob managed to get him with a long range rifle. Another dog, not quite dead but wounded, attacked Bob, in an effort to save its own life but Bob, wily Bob, had a knife.

       Can we even imagine the noise that was coming from the dogs? Each one of them, unable to get away, frightened beyond belief, frightened to death, awaiting the certain death that was coming?

I'm sorry but I really find it difficult to believe that anyone who could stand in the pools of blood that he no doubt stood in, and shot each and every dog and then slit the throats of some, would have any trauma. And, since it took two days to accomplish the killings, where was the trauma the first night he slept, having killed about 50 dogs with about 50 more to go? Any trauma might be as a result of grasping that he is capable of such a thing.

       I'm a dog lover. I own dogs and I rescue those in need. I have looked into the eyes of dogs and seen the trust there. They rely on us for their food, their shelter, their warmth, their well being. They trust their masters. Should not those dogs have been able to trust their master to find an SPCA to take them in? Should not those dogs have been able to trust their master to seek out new homes for them? Should not those dogs have been able to trust their master to do his utmost to find another solution? Since the shooter started his own dog sled business why didn't he start his own business by taking off the hands of his former employer the unwanted dogs? Presumably that was an option?

       But no, he stood in what can only be unimaginable amounts of blood, listening to the baying and moaning and agony of the dogs who were already wounded or awaiting their executions, the stench of death around him and the boom, boom, boom of the gun as he shot and shot and shot.

       Trauma? Traumatized? A year and a half later. Hard to believe. Hard to fathom. Hard to think about the dogs now in his care. And a huge thumbs down to WorkSafe BC who awarded him compensation as reward for his killings.

SLEEPLESS IN BOOMERVILLE

Normally, I am a pretty upbeat kind of person, happy, not prone to mood swings. I smile a lot. I like to look on the bright side and I believe there are many wonderful perks that we enjoy as we age. One day I will make a long list of those perks and share it with you. Just not now. Right now I can’t think of a single perk. At this moment in time, I am in a very bad mood. I am tired. I am very, very tired. So no perky stories of perks today my friends. Today we concentrate on the pitfalls of aging. One pitfall in particular. The one that pales the others into minor inconveniences. I’ll just cut to the chase. Zero in on the big one. The biggest pitfall of aging........ SLEEPLESSNESS. Lack of sleep. Inability to sleep. No sleep. Sleep deprivation. Call it what you will. A rose by any other name......blah, blah. Sleeplessness is the worst, sickest and cruelest joke being played on the aging population. On top, number one, numero uno, the ultimate, the king. So you will forgive me if I am less than perky, upbeat and light-hearted. It’s nearly four in the morning and I am wide awake.

I miss the luxurious sleep of my youth. That delicious feeling of hopping into bed, closing my eyes and waking up seven hours later refreshed, alive, vibrant and ready to start a brand new day. I now realize that sleep should be savoured, not squandered. I never savoured it. I squandered it shamelessly. I slept all night without relishing it or basking in it. I didn’t appreciate it or honour it. It should be honoured. There should be shrines. I didn’t know it was a gift that could and would, one day, be taken away. Night after glorious night I slept. I napped in the afternoon, drank copious cups of coffee and still slept the sleep of the innocent. It didn’t matter, I slept. How was I to know, in my misguided youth, that it would be so horribly snatched away from me? Why did I not know? Sleep! Where did it go?

What a shock when first the signs of sleeplessness appear. The first inkling that sleep won’t come. Sleep doesn’t understand that you are in your bed, tired, just waiting for it to come to you. It avoids you like the plague. It teases you. It comes to you for brief moments only to snatch itself away and leave you frustrated and exhausted.

One moment you are almost asleep. You can reach out and touch sleep as it begins to embrace you. One more second and you will be asleep. Boom, without warning it’s gone. Just like that, (insert here snapping of fingers) gone. Instead of being in the land of nod you are in the land of tortures. Tossing and turning in your bed, tired, restless, craving sleep like a smoker craving nicotine. Your eyes pop open. You stare at the dark ceiling and fume. You fluff up the pillows and turn on your side thinking sleep will come. Nothing. You give it a few more minutes, still nothing. Reposition the pillows. Flip over to your other side, your back, your front, your side, your back, your front.

Your body betrays you. After hours of sleeplessness it starts its twitch of the night. Your legs begin to itch and crawl. You flop around. Flop, flip, flop, flip. You get up and walk around the house a little before giving sleep another shot. Twenty minutes should be enough. Back to bed you go, ever hopeful, ever the optimist. Relax, take a deep breath, just let yourself go, let your body go with the flow, let yourself fall into the abyss of sleep. Boing. Those are your eyes opening again. It’s almost audible. Boing. Like the music from Law and Order. Boing. Boing. You can’t get comfortable. Your mind wanders. How many jelly beans have I eaten in my life. Where did that girl I used to know in grade three, the one with the red hair, end up. Your stupid, random thoughts make no sense. You try to turn them off. You think about turning your thoughts off. You think about your thoughts. You think, think, think. First your body and now your mind betrays you.

Your legs are twitching so badly you can’t hold them still. You don’t want to wake your peacefully sleeping spouse. That just wouldn’t be fair now, would it? You stare at the closed eyes, the expression of complete relaxation on his face and you want to tear his heart out. It’s two hours since you first hit the sheets and you feel like you’ve been injecting straight caffeine.

Nothing else to do but get up, again. You try reading but it doesn’t help. Your jumpy legs are still at it, you can’t concentrate because you are exhausted. Your tired eyes won’t focus, the words jump around on the page. You put the book down. How about the computer?

Solitaire. Of course, solitaire. That always helps. You play game after boring game after boring game. Good lord, save me. This game is so tedious. Scrabble. Scrabble against the computer. You win a few games so up the ante to the next skill level. You are learning some really neat words playing tonight. It’s three-thirty in the morning and no one cares that you are learning neat new words. You don’t even care. You won’t remember them anyway come tomorrow. This tiredness is draining.

You were in bed at eleven, it’s now four-twelve a.m. Surely sleep will come. Surely sleep will come as soon as you drag yourself back to bed. You schlepp back to the bedroom. Glare at your still sleeping spouse and listen to the satisfied sounds of a sleeper. Grrrr. Quietly you slip back into bed. Ahhhh, yes. That feels better. Don’t think. Imagine. Imagine clouds. Imagine floating on those clouds, softly and gently. Floating, ever so slowly. Don’t let anything else enter your brain. Let yourself fall asleep quickly. Ever so quickly before your legs know where they are. Ahhhh. Bliss. You can feel it coming toward you. The sleep that has been so elusive. It’s coming for you. Miracle of miracles. It stays. It enfolds you and allows you to stay on your softly floating clouds. You sleep. Finally, you sleep. Beautiful, blissful, much needed sleep.

WHAT KEEPS COUPLES TOGETHER FOR FORTY YEARS OR MORE?

I have been particularly interested, these days, in what makes a happy and lasting marriage with happy being the operative word. As we all know, a lasting marriage doesn’t necessarily mean a happy marriage. I was interested in couples who had weathered forty or more years of living with the same person, day in, day out, every single day and were still happy. Couples who had managed through the ups and downs that day to day living would entail and are still happy in their marriage and with each other. In forty years there are births, deaths, illnesses, family crises, fears, angers, tears, misunderstandings, disappointments, arguments, changes, all of which can get in the way of happiness.

Not personally being able to chalk up forty years of marriage I wondered if there was a formula I had missed, some secret that had been kept from me or a magic that escaped me. I wanted to find out what it was that kept couples together for forty or more years who are still smiling. I took it upon myself to question, grill and plague my friends who were married in and around the year 1968 for answers to my question, “To what do you attribute your longevity as a couple?” It’s amazing that such a little question can produce such diverse answers. The responses I got were awesome, sometimes funny, sometimes poignant but always truthful and heartfelt.

One couple who will celebrate forty-two years of marriage in a few months dance. They dance everywhere. They dance in their kitchen, they dance on their lawn, they dance anywhere, where ever there happens to be music playing. Of course, dancing didn’t keep them happily married for forty-two years. Dancing is a symptom of their happiness, a by-product, so to speak. So what was it for them? When I asked the wife the secret to their long and happy marriage her answer was, “When I look at him, my heart still flutters.” Nice! When I asked the husband his response was, “We laugh. We laugh every day.” That too is nice! So with a fluttering heart, a daily dose of laughter and dancing through the years of child rearing, births, deaths, illnesses, this couple has survived.

“I think we survived because of ignorance.” Said one friend of mine who has been married close to forty-five years to her high-school sweetheart. “Ignorance? I don’t quite understand.” I responded. “Oh, it’s simple. I ignored him and he ignored me.” Naturally, that was a joke. I had been talking to couples who were actually happily married and ignoring each other for forty-five years wouldn’t have produced a happy marriage. Her answer was commitment, shared goals, a willingness to support the other person through good and bad, not be judgmental and an underlying feeling of love. Aaaah. I like that one too.

I cornered one couple at a social function and they were in total agreement about their long and happy marriage. They were almost echoing each other’s words. The husband was adamant that no one should rule the roost. “In a loving marriage,” he said “you celebrate your partner’s successes.” Hmmm - I like that a lot!! “You show them respect.” he continued as his wife nodded her head in agreement and she added, “Respect, of course, and you support what they do. Respect their opinions and ideas. You don’t have to agree on everything but you have to listen to the other’s point of view.” They both then looked at each other and laughed. “We also have fun. We have a lot of fun together. We are like best friends who happen to be in love.” Another couple plotted and planned with nothing left to chance. “We wanted the same things out of our marriage. We discussed at length and planned when to get married, when to have our kids, where we wanted to live.” For this couple, everything was carefully researched and nothing was hit or miss. They planned vacations a year in advance and would never dream of making a purchase without first consulting every source available to them.

How does that stack up against another couple I know who planned nothing? Who allowed life to take them where it would, took spur of the moment vacations, joined in at the last moment and thought nothing of it? “I couldn’t bear the thought of knowing every little detail of my life. If I had to play bridge with the Joneses every Friday night at 8:00, I would go crazy.” “It’s true”, the husband confirmed, “Spontaneous works for us. That much planning would give me the creeps. ”

I guess the secret to a long and happy marriage is that there is no magic formula that had escaped me. The friends who I had spoken to had just plain gotten it right.

It probably doesn’t matter what it is that keeps a couple together. If they stay together because they are truly happy, are willing to suffer through the bad times because the good times far outweigh the bad, respect and honour their partner and have fun in the process it has to be good. Love is important. But it’s not the only ingredient. Some people who are in love suffer daily because love isn’t enough. My guess, from listening to these forty plus year married couples is that the most important factor is respect. Dancing in your kitchen won’t be quite as enjoyable or romantic if you don’t respect the person with whom you are dancing. Likewise, taking spur of the moment trips to exotic locales with a person who doesn’t respect you would leave a lot to be desired.

Respect coupled with love makes for a good combination. And, a healthy dollop of romance and fun. That’s probably what I came away with after speaking to five or so couples all of whom have been happily married for forty plus years. It’s a combination of good. And because it’s good, these friends are a joy to be around because they are truly happy with their lives.