THE BUD SAGA - PART 6

The sun has been a regular visitor here since the beginning of February, most welcome after the rainy, sunless month of January. It is colder, of course, but not bone chilling. We Canucks are used to putting on layers of clothes before venturing outside in the winter – it goes with the territory.

Personally, I like more snow than this. We haven’t had near as much as last year, it seems. My mountain is so awesome with a blanket of white. Right now it still has the grey, November look; the one in between the loss of autumn colours, and December’s first thick snowfall. It’s still beautiful; but a different kind – the ‘preparing to sleep’ look. It’s not the eye-catching splendour I’m used to seeing during this season.

Yoshiko was still on Japan time yesterday, poor thing. What a way to start back to work – sitting for hours; listening to a lady drone on about income tax programs! There was an electrical problem at the office (read – a jumped breaker, no power, no telephone system, no computers…), so I had to cut the training short and rush back there. On the way, I dropped poor Yo off at her home to help catch up to the time change. It always takes a week or two after her return for her to get back into the Western flow.

Without more ado, here is the next chapter of the Bus Saga.

YOU WANT ME TO BABY-SIT WHAT??? - the result of the event

In the front of the house, the lane swings right for about ten feet, then joins the narrow gravel side road halfway down a long, curved hill. While in the curve, visibility is non-existent, so on the top of the hill there is a warning sign indicating a hidden entrance in the turn. Most of the regulars take little notice, and more than one driver, when surprised by an oncoming car, has swerved into the house lane to avoid ending up in the steep ditches on either side.

The triangular corner where the lane and road joins is lined with thick, young evergreens. Still running as hard as I could, Ben and Beef close behind me, I caught only glimpses of black metal through the branches. It meant the vehicle was in deep. I could hear a voice screaming a stream of obscenities in French. I’m nearly fluent in the language, but the words that registered were 'maudit chien'. Translated it meant 'damned dog'.

Oh no! Then it was Bud.

We finally got around the trees, and I spotted a man standing in the snow bank, leaning over the back end of the black truck. He was looking at something in front of his rear wheel.

“Monsieur!“ I gasped... I was bent over slightly, holding my side. It had cramped from either the run or the cold air…or just maybe my heart had tumbled down that far. He straightened up and turned towards me.

“Ah, Madame,” he answered, speaking French, “Have you got a telephone? I need to call a towing.” I nodded, still barely able to catch my breath.

“The dog?” I gulped. He frowned at me.

“What?”

Still hanging onto my aching side, I choked out as loud as I could. “The dog! I heard you swear at the damned dog! Where’s the damned dog?!”

He stared at me for a moment, seemed taken aback by my tone, then pointed down the hill. “He’s there…in the ditch.”

I swallowed hard. “Did you hit him?”

“Bien oui! So he’s in the ditch and me too, I’m in the ditch. I couldn’t miss him!” It was a mixture of gesticulation and swearing. “The stupid dog... he’s stopped right here in the middle of the road. It’s slippery, you see? And now I need a towing. Where’s your telephone, Madame?”

My heart sank lower with each word. The truck was a heavy-duty model. How could the pit ever survive?

I had to know. I motioned for the labs to sit and stay in the lane, then reluctantly walked past the driver and started down the hill.

“Hey, where are you going?” he called after me. “I need the telephone!”

I suddenly disliked this dude immensely. “I’m going to see for the dog!” I yelled over my shoulder, and I kept walking.

“Well, he’s gonna need towing too. You tell him I’m not paying for his towing. It’s his fault! Yep, that’s it! You tell him he’s gotta pay my towing for sure. You tell him that!”

What??

I stopped, turned to face him again. “What did you just say?”

“That damned dog is going to pay my towing! That’s what I just said!”

Then it all happened at once. I heard more swearing, this time from down the hill. I whirled back around to see another man struggling through the snow. Because of its position, I had not noticed the small white car deeply embedded in the ditch further down on the opposite side of the road. At the same instant, I heard the truck driver exclaim nervously, “Is that a pit bull, that?” I swivelled again, and there was Bud trotting down the hill towards us. The little Sh*t was alive!

I swung from giddy relief (Bud’s not hurt!) to confusion (but the dude said he’d hit a dog) to comprehension (of course, he’s French!) within a space of ten seconds. In Quebec, the word 'dog' is used for the four legged animal, or more often can be an alternate term for a dirty deed, or even more often to describe a person who has done the dirty deed. In this case, it seemed that the 'maudit chien' was the driver of the white car - who was now standing by my side. He had stopped short when he saw the pit.

I came to my senses. We were all in danger if a car came sliding around that curve. Bud stood still, fixing his gaze on one man, then the other, and didn’t move when I reached him. I tentatively slipped my finger through the loop on his choker collar.

“I’ll bring the dogs in and call somebody to help you guys.” Then I called “Ben! Beef!” and tugged Bud’s collar gently. Seeing the labs stand up, Bud came along with no resistance.

My legs were still trembling as we all ran up the stairs and into the house. I found the number, contacted the tow-truck, then grabbed a beer from the fridge and put most of it away in one swallow. The labs were on their cushions, and the pit once again staring at me from the couch. I stood, studying him closely.

“That was all your fault, you little Sh*t,” I told him. “Look at me! A nervous wreck. I thought I’d get to relax out here! It’s only 11:30 AM and I’m already into beer. And damned near exhausted!! All because of you!”

No reaction... That dead stare, I could feel myself getting upset….the ‘delayed reaction’ thing.

“And I hope he does make you pay for the towing, you little Sh*t!” I stopped when I realized what I’d said. Okay and how childish was that?

To be truthful, I mused, some progress had been made. He did let me grab his collar out there, and he didn’t try to attack the unknown men, and he did follow us back and into house without coaxing. I turned my back to him, wandered over to one of the huge windows and looked out over the mountain bush. It was cold, but the sun glittered on the snow and the legion of trees. Just the scenery alone was worth staying the two weeks, and I had Ben and Beef for company. They were great dogs. My habitual optimism suggested that, with a little effort, and a lot of caution, I could probably get along with the pit too.

In the days to come I was to learn how very naive was that conclusion, and how totally unprepared I was to deal with a dominant pit-bull.

(To be cont’d)

I must admit I had a lot of fun writing this story. It brought back many, many memories – not all of them good, LOL. In answer to yesterday’s comment, Kilroy, friends & family reading on this blog, of course, knew that Bud would come out okay. The readers on the writing site did NOT know, however, and I wanted to make sure they would come back to find out what had happened.

Wishing you all a good day – sending you my cyber SMILE – and hasta manana!

Luv from the Bush in Quebec