Walking Alone....
I find myself photographing some wonderful old souls over these last few weeks leading up to Christmas. It is with sadness that these last minute sessions come to me, for the the Very same reasons that I decided to turn my camera towards capturing these wide eyed furry friends that grace our daily lives for such short times.
I, like many of my clients, define my life in dog years....each memory I have growing up is attached to a dog. For me there are the "Dillon" years, growing up as a little girl in the west end of Montreal with my very own personal horse, a beautiful fawn "Great Dane". He taught me how to follow the sun spots around the house for that extra warm nap in the afternoons. He also taught me to double bag! HA!
I have the "Lucky" years, which bring back vivid memories of high school, college and my first newspaper job at the Dorchester Signpost in Southern Ontario, where this wonderful collie cross girl shared my trips back home along the 401 in my white Mazda 323. Lucky came to work with me and sat under my desk, she kept me company while my family lived straight across the opposite side of the province. She was a constant while my photography career was just beginning and moving me all over the province every year or so.
She was 14 when we lost her to brain cancer. I had just started my family, my youngest daughter was only a couple of years old and funny enough she remembers Lucky and talks of her. Commenting on how much she misses her.
In salute of those of us who get it, those who know about the loss, I leave you with this excerpt from one of my favorite books, by Ottawa writer Roy MacGregor "The Dog and I ". If you don't have this book, you have to get it, but I do not suggest reading it in public....
Walking Alone Page 157
"I am having to learn to walk all over again. Don't misunderstand. I did not break a leg. There is no apparent brain malfunction, despite all those years of covering hockey. I am learning to walk alone, and is not an easy thing to do. There is no longer a dog around here to walk me
( yes, it was finally "time"; enough said, please), and yet I remain one of those people who must, absolutely must, get out each day and work off excess energy.
For nearly 16 years Bandit walked me. And for 16 years before Bandit came along, Bump walked me. Dogs, in fact have been walking me since I was eleven years old and a family down the river was handing out mutts that were still hanging off their one mother but looked as though they had several different fathers. So it is only in these past few weeks that I have realized that I cannot walk alone.
When I head down the street and over the crosswalk toward the park we always walked in. I now think every driver passing by figures I have a heart condition. I am out here, walking under doctor's orders. Or prehaps I am something never seen before in this suburban neighbourhood - a middle aged man without a car and am therefore immediately under suspicion.
It has all brought home the fact that we are defined by the company we keep. There is not a man alive who has ever pushed a stroller and not noted how , miraculously, women coming in the other direction no longer avoid eye contact but simply smile widely at you. And there is not a dog walker born who has not benefited from the doubt that is erased in the minds of all he passes. If the dog is friendly- and all of ours have been tail wagging, crotch nuzzling, face licking basket cases- then the owner is automatically presumed friendly as well, and the strangers will nod and say hello and often stop to pat a head until they are so soaked in saliva they must head off in search of towels...........But at this time of year it is too cold for biking, too early for skiing, and too often too icy and slushy for running, so there is really nothing to do each day but head out in the dying light and walk. Alone. A suspicious character, up to no good, Someone who had better find another dog soon to walk him. "
Sue
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