Larry Gibbons' Blog

DOGGIE STORIES

10/11/2019

CORNEY BROOK

Have you heard the story about this canine fella who liked to crap in the house while her owner was away? You haven’t?

What would happen is the owner would arrive home, open her front door and there would be her dog, her tail wagging to beat the proverbial band. On the middle of the owner’s living room floor would be a pile of not particularly well-defined dumped doggie doo doo.

BUSTER ENJOYING FIRE

The first time this happened, the owner let out a blast of shouts and reprimands, grabbed the mid-sized dog by the neck, dragged her across the floor, stuffed her nose into the crappy mess and then tossed the poor dog out the living room window.

Didn’t seem to matter how often the owner blasphemed, jammed the dog’s nozzle into the poop and tossed her out the window. Because the next day and the next day the same mess was waiting for the owner.

Always the same dog discipling approach. The said owner would open the door, see the pile of dog crap, would loudly reprimand, grab the dog, stick the dog’s nose into the crap and then toss the stubborn doggie out the window.

CAT GANG

However, things changed one day. The owner came home, opened the door and was, as usual, met by her happy dog and the pile of brown crap on the floor.

This particular day, however, the dog took control of the disciplining technique. She ran up to the owner, tail wagging like crazy, then ran to the doo doo, jammed her nose into the pile and then, to her owner’s surprise, leapt out the window, all by her little lonesome.

My question is, what had the dog learned by being shouted at, having his nose jammed into his mess and then being tossed out the window?

LAKE O"LAW'S COLOURS

Here’s another story. Name has been changed to protect the dog.

Years ago, I got a phone call at work. A partner of mine had had a canine incident which upset her. You see, what happened, was while I was at work, my partner had heard a knock on the door.

When she opened the door, who should be standing there, but a man. He was a nice fella, I can vouch for that. There he was, standing in the doorway, holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers.

SEAGULL ON LUNCH BREAK

My partner invited him in. Now remember, this was all happening while I was innocently working at my place of employment.

The nice man, who lived in our apartment building, stepped in and handed the flowers to my partner.

FALL BERRIES

During this kind and loving transaction, our dog was standing next to my partner. She was growling. Fido was not very welcoming.

My partner, trying to get my dog to nice it up a touch or two, said to our dog, Fido, “It’s okay, Fido. It’s okay.”

Fido, using, I believe, the same sort of canine reasoning as the dog in the previous story, thought, “I guess it’s okay if I’m told it’s okay.” So, he bit the nice man. I’m assuming because he was told it was okay.

So, I got this phone call from my troubled partner.

I said, “Let me get this straight. A man came to our apartment. He came to give you some flowers and Fido bit him. Did I get this right?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“So what’s the problem?” I asked.

SUE AND BUSTER AT QUEBEC PICNIC PARK

There’s a little more to this story. I felt sorry for the man, who himself owned two dogs. He owned a very large dog and a very small dog.

I took the elevator up to the eighth floor and knocked on the nice man’s door. I wanted to apologize. He opened the door. His two dogs poured out. They were all over me. They were so happy to see me and made a big fuss over me as if I was the King of Spain.

I apologized extra profusely because his dogs treated me with such respect, dignity and love.

HIKERS ENJOYING THE VIEW IN CAPE BRETON

A few nights ago, we were sitting in the living room watching a CNN reality television show.

Suddenly, we heard a thunk, thunk. We also heard a rattle, rattle. I looked up and there was Buster. He had banged his water dish with his nose and then to make his point extra clear, he’d begun to bang his nose against our big drinking water bottle.

BUSTER AT HIS HUMANS' BEHAVIOUR STUDY TABLE

It was pretty obvious what Buster wanted. I got up and sure enough his water dish was empty. So, I poured water into it and Buster drank the water. See Buster drink. Drink Buster, drink. Sorry. I started thinking I was writing a Dick and Jane blog.

After Buster had his fill, he jumped up on the couch and sat beside me.

Oh, but Buster was getting rather aggressive with his paw. See Buster get aggressive. Look, Sue, look.

Sorry. Grade one flashbacks.

SEAL FISHING

Anyway, Buster began to poke his paw against my shirt’s top pocket. Bang, bang and what is he up to now?

What he was up to was he was explaining to me, by using forceful pointing that he wanted a piece of gum which was in my top pocket.

I didn’t give him any because he can’t chew gum, but only licks off the gum’s yummy sweet taste and then leaves the denuded piece of gum on the floor.

HIKER ENJOYING CORNEY BROOK TRAIL

And, like the other two dogs, Buster had thought things out and realized, in his case, that forceful pointing gets results.

See Buster nose or paw tap Sue’s walking boots. Oh look. See Buster nose or paw tap the treat bottle, the blue leash, the food dish, the coat, the truck keys, his tea cup, Olvatine cup, Sue’s bowl of ice cream, my steak, the front door, the toilet bowl. Go Buster go.

FALL COLOURS ON OUR ROAD

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LIFE HAPPENS

27/9/2019

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CORMORANTS AND A SHY HERON

As you probably know, recently we had a big wind. It hit the coast as a hurricane and then became a tropical storm.

So, what’s the difference between a hurricane and a tropical storm? Well, as one person explained to me, a hurricane has sustained high winds and sounds like a train constantly roaring by.

I assume a tropical storm is like having one freight train roar by, then silence, where a person can feel hopeful and then is hit with disappointment when another train roars by and rips out some of what the other train missed.

TREE ACROSS LANE_WAY

On the positive note, I learned that my chainsaw still starts and that we have very good neighbours.

I had to clear a large tree off our lane-way and a bunch of downed trees off the path that leads to the river. We like to call it our ‘River Path’. Very creative, I must say.

After I cut up the big tree lying across our lane, I went in to start breakfast. That involved cooking on the wood-stove and getting water from the river. We had no power, so no running water for four days.

NO WAY OUT

BLUEBERRY MOUNTAIN FOREST

While eating breakfast I heard a chainsaw. It was a neighbour and his partner cutting up the rest of the tree.

So, I gave him enough gasoline for six hours of generator time and he in turn let us put our frozen food in his freezer.

Also, just before the storm, a neighbour had offered their home as shelter. They live on a mountain and the house is sturdy. It was very kind of them, but we immigrated to another person’s house. She had phoned us earlier and we have stayed there before.

We were glad there were open arms. Everybody in the world could become a refugee at one time or another and open arms are very handy. And truly Christian.

WEB OF LIFE

The problem with writing this blog is there is too much life happening for me to keep up with it.

I was going to write a blog only about my nearly 60 K bike ride between Judique and Port Hastings. It was a memorable day, but so was the tropical storm.

JUDIQUE TRAIL_HEAD

Anyway, on the bike hike day the weather forecast was for a high of 28 and a humidex of 33.

Well, I figured that because the trail ran along the ocean a breeze would cool things down.

However, I packed three bottles of water instead of two. I also brought an extra shirt, just in case. What a laugh. Absolutely and totally unnecessary.

On the trail, as the heat built up, I saw what I thought was an animal sitting on the trail. So, I hopped off my bike and began to walk slowly towards the critter. I would stop from time to time to take photos. The critter never moved. Up ahead, I saw two cyclists approaching from the other direction. It surprised me to see the cyclists pass the animal without the animal fleeing.

MAYBE A TURTLE?

After the cyclists had passed me by, I got on my bike and rode towards the strange beast. If they could do it, so could I.

Well, it was a strange beast indeed. I had to pull out my animal identification book and was able to identify it as a rare orange pylon pot-hole marker.

Four k’s from Port Hastings I discovered that the trail had been washed out. Therefore, I didn’t have to do the full 60 K’s and when I turned back I was happy to be heading home. The humidity had definitely sapped my strength.

FARMER WORKING ALONG TRAIL

I looked for a place to stop and eat my lunch. I found a spot to sit in the shade, where the black flies were plentiful and the mosquitoes roamed free. Here, the bugs and I ate and drank water.

I still had over 20 K’s left to go to get back to the truck and was hoping I was up to the task.

Back on the trail, I cycled and stopped, cycled and stopped. My arms felt heavy and I knew I was reaching my limit.

About ten K from home port, I had used up two bottles of water and was happy I had brought a third.

I stopped once again, my bike and I half crawling to a picnic table where I wiped the sweat out of my eyes and off my face and then took a swig from the last water bottle.

It was a solid non-transparent blue water bottle. I decided to pour the water from it into the clear one that I had been using.

Look out! I could now see the drinking water and it was full of slime swimming merrily, hither and thither.

BUSTER'S FRIEND

I said to myself, “Self, I am going to try and do ten K’s without drinking any more water.”

Which I did, but you see when I’m dehydrated, I lose my voice. So, when I got to the truck and began the drive home, I didn’t stop and buy water. Because I don’t know sign language.

On the way home, I practiced ordering water, but my voice was almost non-existent. It was awol. So, I drove all the way home, approximately 90 K’s, thirsty while meticulously driving the speed limit because I didn’t want to get stopped by a cop and be left dumb-founded and speechless.

MOUNTAIN FOREST

Three billion birds have disappeared from North America in one generation. I assume ours.

It’s a befuddling fuddle duddle what our generation has prioritized. Natural resources. Human resources. Fuddle duddle.

TARA TAKING PHOTOS

Last Sunday, Tara, a friend from Eskasoni, Vince, a friend from Baddeck and myself, a very, very close friend from Middle River, climbed Blueberry Mountain.

We also took a side trip to get a view of Cap Rouge and the climb back to the trail was tres exhausting. The views from both heights were worth the effort though and with change left over.

LARRY, TARA, VINCENT

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DANGERS OF INSTANT EVERYTHING

14/8/2019

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PEACEFUL MIDDLE RIVER TRAIL

I’m impressed and somewhat worried by how much time some folks spend staring at those tiny squares and rectangles they carry around. It can lead, I believe, to external reality isolation, or ERI, a clinical diagnosis, I just invented.

MIDDLE RIVER'S BEAUTY

For example, one morning I was cycling up a hill. Up ahead I saw a woman walking down the hill. She had a beautiful husky type dog on the end of a leash.

As I approached her I made sure my bike was set at an easy gear so she wouldn’t hear me huffing and puffing and looking and acting like an old white-haired guy.

SPOTTED SANDPIPER

SPOTTED SANDPIPER IN FLIGHT

Her dog saw me and began to curve his trajectory towards me. The woman kept on a straight line. The dog was now pulling. The woman kept walking in a straight line. The dog kept pulling as he attempted to greet me and sniff me out. The woman was now trying to yank her dog back as she stared and stared some more into her gadget.

ME WITH RELIGIOUS FRIENDS

However, she finally looked up. External stimulation had broken through.

I said, “Good morning.”

The woman said, “Good morning.”

Then I passed her and now she was behind me. Once more in her straight line, heads down gait.

COMING IN FOR LANDING

“When you enter this church, it may be possible that you hear the call of God. However, it is unlikely that He will call you on your mobile.
Thank-you for turning off your phones. If you want to talk to God, enter, choose a quiet place to talk to Him. If you want to see Him send Him a text while driving.”
POSTER FOUND IN A CHURCH IN FRANCE—(TRANSLATED)

SEAGULLS ON ROOF AT BEACH IN BELLE COTE

Here’s another cycling gadget disassociation incident that happened to me while I was cycling on an Ontario trail.

I saw a man and a little girl walking on the trail ahead of me. Of course, I was going faster than them, and soon caught up to the two walkers. I didn’t have a bell on my bike, so they didn’t hear me right away.

So, I coughed, hummed and hawed and finally the little girl turned around. The man didn’t, because his mind was rattling around in one of those magic instant pudding easy mix info bars.

“Daddy, daddy. There’s a man on a bike behind us.”

The man lifted his head. Turned his head. Saw me and said the appropriate greeting, “Hello,” and then dropped his head back into the comfort of the thing as he and the little girl moved to the side and let me pass.

GEESE NEAR LAKE O"LAW

As I passed the man and the little girl, I said, “Thank-you.”

I heard one voice. One young, squeaky, little voice. “You’re welcome.”

The man said nigh a syllable. He was gone.

The world is lucky there aren’t more open manholes.

HIGH WIRE ACT OVER MIDDLE RIVER

There are a number of people who don’t believe in climate change. Even though ninety-nine out of one hundred scientists do.

Excuse me, I keep hearing my climate change denier frog croaking in discomfort. Fergie is finding his pond getting uncomfortably warm. However, he’s not moving because he believes it’s not really happening and he just wants to play his guitar in peace.

THE PROVERBIAL CLIMATE DENYING FROG

Why do some people believe warnings from experts about their cars, their bodies, their houses, their gods, etc., but they won’t accept what is happening now, and is so obvious.

Yet, many of these same people go on long trips. They are, for example, fearless about going on a cruise. Willing to sit on the deck in a cozy lawn chair with a good book or those info boxes I was talking about earlier.

SEAGULL IN BELLE COTE

At some point, I’m sure they will look out at the ocean. Watch as the ship approaches the curve on the earth’s horizon which, amazingly, always moves a little further back as the ship moves ever forward.

BEACH IN BELLE COTE

And these unworried passengers, who might be smelling a faint odour of forest fire smoke from the unprecedented fires that are happening in the Arctic, won’t worry a smidgeon about their cruise ship going ass over kettle off the edge of the earth.

Croak, croak.

“Error is a hardy plant: It flourisheth in every soil.”
Martin Farquhar Tipper

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GHOSTS, CAVES AND BIRDS

16/7/2019

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BUSTER'S FRIENDS

Harper Lee, who wrote “To Kill a Mockingbird” once said that it is as hard to write a bad novel as a good novel. Well, I finally got, from a publisher, some editing advice about my novel. Apparently, it is too dark and too angry. So I’m working on it. I’m lightening it up and putting a smile on its face.

BIRD ISLANDS

A few weeks ago, a friend and I went to Cape Dauphin. We wanted to hike to the Glooscap Cave. It’s also called The Fairy Hole. It’s supposed to be a 2.5 K hike. Not for us it wasn’t.

The Glooscap Cave is connected to plenty of Mi’kmaq legends. The story is that the Great Spirit sent Glooscap, who was also a Mi’kmaq, to protect his people.

One day two Indigenous women started shouting and insulting Glooscap. He got angry and jumped into his canoe. His canoe broke into two pieces and they can be seen not too far from the cave. They are called the Bird Islands.

The two poor Indigenous women are now stone pillars who are situated in front of the cave. They should have known not to tick off Glooscap.

TOUR BOAT NEAR BIRD ISLANDS

We never got to the caves. We got lost and were amazed at the number of red markers attached to the trees. We began to mistrust their directional advice. We also began to think we were in the Twilight Zone.

SCARY FACE NEAR CAVE

After we had hiked for quite a while, we stopped on top of a cliff to eat our lunch, enjoy the view, watch two immature eagles soaring through the air and chasing smaller birds and to discuss how to get back to the truck.

After lunch, we decided to re-trace our steps. At one point we found the huge birch tree that we’d passed earlier. This marker showed us that we were on the path that got us lost in the first place, but we were now heading back to our starting point.

BIRCH TREE MARKER

Then, my hiking buddy says, about a half hour later, “There’s the place where we ate lunch”. We were right back where we’d started.

We finally found our way out, but only after making some poor directional choices and luckily, some good directional trail choices.

CREEPY GROWTH ON TREE NEAR CAVE

We had been getting worried that we would become part of the legends that are told about the Glooscap Cave.

MOTHER OF SORROWS PIONEER SHRINE

Last Sunday I biked from Inverness to Mabou. I ate my lunch at the Mother of Sorrows Pioneer Shrine in Mabou.

ME AT SHRINE WITH MY BIKE PAL

On the way home I approached the Glendyer Station. I began to wonder why I always felt sad on this part of the trail. I found out why when I read a sign that had been put along the track.

COWS GRAZING NEAR MABOU

Apparently, there had been a train accident here and the train engineer had been killed. For some time before the accident, people would see a woman walking the tracks. She carried a lantern and when people approached her she’d disappear. She was not seen again after the accident.

So, maybe that’s why I feel the melancholy.

SIGN EXPLAINING MY SADNESS

One day, I was sitting in the woodshed and a little bird landed by my feet.

THE LITTLE BIRD

Another day, I was in the process of putting wood into the wheelbarrow. The little bird landed by my feet and began to drink rain water that had collected on the ground.

Another time, I was hiking down our lane and the little bird landed by my feet and began to eat seeds. I’m thinking that the little bird might have had a foot fetish.

I told the little bird to be careful of predators. The little bird obviously didn’t listen, and alas, I found him lying dead on the lane. The predator didn’t eat him, just beat him to death.

ANOTHER DISTANT VIEW OF BIRD ISLANDS

I hope the little chipmunk survives to see another day.

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NEMESIS

17/6/2019

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THIS BLOG IS A REVISED VERSION OF THE BLOG THAT I POSTED YESTERDAY. THAT BLOG WAS MISSING SOME TEXT. I HAVE ADDED ANOTHER PHOTO TO THIS BLOG JUST FOR THE HECK OF IT.

MAYBE A HAWK

SMOOTH LANDING

I think I’ve met my Nemesis. If not, then a critter with a strange sense of humour. A real tease.

Recently, I said to Sue, “I can see why so many people around here shoot them.”

I was talking about the red squirrels. They are noted for being home wreckers and we may have had one zapped in our home last March. This incident happened on a Saturday morning.

Buster, Sue and I were quietly lounging in our Seniors’ Christian Science reading room when suddenly we heard a loud noise. It sounded like a power transformer blowing up inside our wall and it didn’t take us long to realize that half the outlets in our living room had been invalidated.

GHOSTLY FOREST TRAIL

It was lucky we were home because I was able to ascertain which fuse was affected and then shut it down. The probability of having a fire was great if I didn’t snuff the live wires.

We phoned an electrician, who arrived to tell us that it would be very costly to locate the affected wire and the fried critter and it would be best if we just ran an extension cord around the living room.

The electrician explained that the critters like to live in the walls which are close to heat. In our case, close to our wood stove. It made sense and if the poor critter hadn’t been teething he might still be enjoying our wood stove.

SQUIRREL FEEDER

So, back to the red squirrel, who likes to sit in our bird feeder, and enjoy twisting and turning in the wind while hogging the bird seed so that the birds can’t have any.
You see, one afternoon, I noticed that the squirrel was riding cowboy on the moose skull we have sitting on our deck railing. He likes to chew the calcium that’s in the skull.

RIDE EM COWBOY

Anyway, there he was on the outside of our screened in deck. I stepped out onto the deck, which would put me on the inside of the screened-in deck. The little red bugger looked at me, ran up to the screen and began to nibble. I shouted and he took off, chattering in glee.

The next day, I was sitting in a deck chair, enjoying the fact that there is a screen surrounding the deck and protecting me from the hordes of black flies. They are a fury at this time of the year.

The said little bugger climbed the screen and, once again, began to nibble our fibre-glass bug protector. I tossed a handy bowl of water at him and he jumped away, chittering, chattering, giggling, having an hilarious time.

A day or so later, I stepped outside and there he was, as if he was waiting. He scurried up the deck railing, began chewing and then took off before I got my hands on the anti-nemesis-squirrel water.

SEAGULL IN FLIGHT

And I swear that he’s not really trying to get in. I think he’s just doing it to torment me. To test me. To see if what I write in my blogs about my concern for the squirrels is really true.

MORE WOOD TO STACK

And I do worry about them. Why I even, when we got to the last row of firewood this April which would expose the squirrel’s nest, climbed up on a ladder, and built a little place for the squirrel to make a new nest. I even went one step beyond just normal concern and cut the arm off one of my Cape Breton-dinner-jacket-bush shirts. Because it was stuffed with nice warm and cozy insulation. I laid it next to the squirrel Ikea nest kit so the squirrel would have proper building materials. Sue had to actually stop me from drawing a little instruction sheet so the squirrel would know which part went where. So the little buggers can’t say I don’t care.

INCOMING CLOUDS

By the way, I have found quite a few nests located in the woodshed. I just tossed out a pair of running shoes. Hardly used. The tongue of the one having provided excellent nesting material for a mouse or a squirrel.

Am I being tested? Maybe, but I know I’m not going to shoot the little devil. There’s enough eco-destruction going on in the name of progress and necessity.

WEE BEACH CAMPFIRE

However, I did touch on the squirrel shooting issue with a hiking buddy who said, “You can’t shoot the squirrel. Not after all the stuff you’ve written in your blogs about caring for the welfare of the squirrels.”
Yep, the little tease has me by the proverbial shorts and if he keeps on having fun at our expense I may just have to get down-right tough. I may just have to go out and spend more money and buy metal screening to cover the fibreglass screening that covers our deck.
I can be tough when I have to be.

MIDDLE RIVER MEDITATION SPOT

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NEMESIS

16/6/2019

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PERFECT LANDING

GHOSTLY FOREST TRAIL

It was lucky we were home because I was able to ascertain which fuse was affected and then shut it down. The probability of having a fire was great if I didn’t snuff the live wires.

We phoned an electrician, who arrived to tell us that it would be very costly to locate the affected wire and the fried critter and it would be best if we just ran an extension cord around the living room.

The electrician explained that the critters like to live in the walls which are close to heat. In our case, close to our wood stove. It made sense and if the poor critter hadn’t been teething he might still be enjoying our wood stove.

NOW A SQUIRREL FEEDER

So, back to the red squirrel, who likes to sit in our bird feeder, and enjoy twisting and turning in the wind while hogging the bird seed so that the birds can’t have any.

You see, one afternoon, I noticed that the squirrel was riding cowboy on the moose skull we have sitting on our deck railing. He likes to chew the calcium that’s in the skull.

RIDE EM COWBOY

ENJOYING THE VIEW

And I swear that he’s not really trying to get in. I think he’s just doing it to torment me. To test me. To see if what I write in my blogs about my concern for the squirrels is really true.

MORE WOOD TO STACK

INCOMING CLOUDS

CAMPFIRE ON OCEAN BEACH

However, I did touch on the squirrel shooting issue with a hiking buddy who said,"You can't shoot the squirrel. Not after all the stuff you've written in your blogs about caring for the welfare of the squirrels."

Yep, the little tease has me by the proverbial shorts and if he keeps on having fun at our expense I may just have to get down-right tough. I may just have to go out and spend more money and buy metal screening to cover the fibreglass screening that now covers our deck.

I can be tough when I have to be.

MIDDLE RIVER MEDITATION SPOT

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MEMORY LIKE A BEAR TRAP

18/5/2019

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HERE OR THERE

Sue, Buster and I arrived in Kingston, Ontario on April 23rd. While in Kingston we met with family and friends and that was a very good thing.

MY LEATHER BOOK COVER

Sue, Buster and I left Kingston on May 1st. We arrived in Cape Breton with two extra passengers. One was called ‘A Bad Cold’ and the other passenger was called, ‘A Horrible Toothache’. Both of them decided that I would be their host. I’m now on antibiotics.

BUSTER'S COLOURS MATCH INN'S DECOR

I remember, many years ago, a very intelligent person telling me that animals don’t reason and their memories are very poor. Buster would like to disagree with a hearty growl and a brisk scoffing kick of his furry back legs.

I can tell you that Buster remembers every important thing that happened to him during every stay in Kingston.

He remembered where he had a through-the-fence-fight with a large Weimaraner dog. It was quite the battle. No love lost there.

MARKING THE SPOT

Buster took the time to stop at the Wrought Iron Fence shrine where he made his mark, growled, raised his hackles and used his back legs to kick dirt at the fence. The dog and Buster had had it out the day before.

WAITING FOR BRUISER

One fine day, three big dogs attacked Buster. They were the dogs which the exercisers took with them to the fat-busting joint that Buster and Sue regularly walked by. It wasn’t really anybody’s fault. It was an unfortunate coincidence. I’m sure they have firmed up the door after this happened.

The three big bruisers, who also have good memories and had seen Buster walking by before, spotted Buster and Sue and working as a team, they were able to get the front door open. They all jumped Buster and there was a very tough melee for Sue to sort out. Buster escaped with a bruised front leg.

The place is called STAVE OFF but Buster has changed it’s name to F$%) OFF. Every day, when we passed that place, Buster would stop and growl. He was not cowered and was ready for round two.

LOUNGING AROUND AFTER ATTACK

In Cape Breton, Buster carries the newspaper home as we finish our walk. In Kingston, as we walked along the mall’s store fronts, he grabbed a newspaper which had been left for the establishment’s owners to read. Buster planned to carry the paper back to the motel and give it to Sue. Where’s Buster’s memory problem?

PAPER BOY

The only thing that Buster seems to forget is to come when he is called. That seems to often slip his mind.

BUSTER STALKS CITY DUCK

BUSTER OPENING AUTOMATIC DOOR

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HAPPENSTANCE

19/4/2019

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SALMON POOL'S CABIN

I believe that serious writing can open a person’s heart and mind to the universe. In a sense, it’s praying. A connecting with the universe. A sharpening up of perceptions and intuitions. It allows one to see when some events are more than just coincidence and I’ll tell you about some recent happenstances.

A WING AND A PRAYER

While working on my novel I recorded my daily writing accomplishments or lack of accomplishments in a journal. I filled this book to the brim and needed a new notebook.

As I’ve mentioned before, I learned that completing a novel can be more than just a huge relief and a sense of accomplishment. It can also drag you kicking and screaming into a different sense of reality. Into depression and a feeling of being lost. Of course, it effects each writer differently.

FIND THE CENTRE

Over a year ago, when we were planning on making another trip through the Maritime/Quebec worm hole and entering the world of busy, busy, busy, Sue and I visited Value Village in Sydney. We were looking for some suitcases.

I found a smaller one which I thought would be perfect for Buster. It had a pinkish, bluish, cloth cover and inside, I found by happenstance, that somebody had left one small woman’s stocking, a fully charged pencil and a notebook which was full of fresh white pages. The empty pages just waiting for a wordsmith to write his or her leaden creations. I had found my next journal and the notebook in the Buster suitcase suited me just fine. This I would like to call Happenstance Number One.

CORNEY BROOK TRAIL FALLS

Well, after submitting my novel, I’d also quit writing for a while because I couldn’t get my head to play fair, so my new journal was lying around killing time. Over time, and sometimes over a glass or more of white wine, I returned to the writing of my blogs. At which time I got to crack open my new Buster suitcase notebook. However, because of the busy state of my mind I never really took much of a look at it nor did I give much thought to it’s significance.

BROOK IN SPRING

Then, one day, when I was flailing around attempting to find a reality place mat to plant my feet on, I noticed another happenstance.

This notebook was a special notebook. This Buster suitcase notebook was very timely. Because, you see, when I paid close attention to the book, I saw written on the cover of the little Buster-suitcase-working-journal the words: “THE LORD REPLIED——“WHEN YOU SEE ONLY ONE SET OF FOOTPRINTS, IT WAS THEN THAT I CARRIED YOU.”

And, when I opened it up, I realized that at the top of every page of this journal was a section of the famous “footprints” written by the unknown author. It was enough to knock my powder blue socks off.

This was Happenstance Number Two.

ICY FISH TEETH

Speaking of universal happenstances, here’s another one as it relates to my unpublished novel. I’ll call it Happenstance Number Three.

Sue, my partner, has been my staunchest writing supporter. Now, I have quite a list of writing supporters and some of them have been wonderful. However, nobody can top Sue! She’s been 24/7.

ICY MOUNTAIN FOREST

So, one evening, as I was wandering around in my state of chaotic creativity, I began to poke around in my wee office. I sat down and gazed at all the paper that I’d filled with stories and attempts at novels. I began to feel sad for poor little Larry. Began to think that there was some need for poor little Larry to be shown some respect. That my writing needed to be honoured.

BEAUTY WE OFTEN DON'T SEE

That moment is when I decided that my last draft up to now of my novel should be more than a digital smudge mark. It should be tangible. I should be able to touch, taste, smell and see my work. So, I paid a printer to print out the multitudinous number of pages.

A few weeks later, Sue, Buster and I drove to Port Hawkesbury to meet with Kyle Mcphee, whom I’d commissioned to make a leather cover for my novel.

I’m happy to say that Kyle made a wonderful cover and can be reached at kyleamcphee@gmail.com

OUR MIDDLE RIVER FOX

Now, here’s the universal happenstance of this whole situation.

After talking to Kyle and discussing what kind of leather cover I wanted, I left his shop. It’s located in the old customs house/post office/ doctor’s office.

IN FRONT OF OLD CUSTOM HOUSE

When I stepped outside I saw Sue standing on the sidewalk with Buster. She was excited about something and wanted to show me what it was. Even Buster was wagging his tail in a peculiar, but excited way.

BUSTER WANTS IN

They led me down the street to the front of the workshop. And there it was. Drum roll please. My novel cover was being made at the historical ‘BAIN’S CORNER’. Bain is Sue’s last name.

Now ain’t that a rather happenstance place to give my novel a firm place to plant it’s feet?

As mentioned earlier this was Happenstance Number Three, but who’s counting. Eh?

SALMON POOLS TRAIL

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MURDER OF CROWS

24/3/2019

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WOODS ON TOP OF MOUNTAIN

This is a story about a Blue Jay. It’s also a tale about a ‘Murder of Crows’.

You see, a little over a week ago I was sitting in the woodshed listening to the squeaking and rustling of a squirrel and family in the firewood pile. I was worrying about them because I worry about weird things. I was also worried because I had used up most of the third row of firewood and would soon be removing wood from the second row.

HOW DO WE GET THROUGH WINTER?

Now, to be fair to myself, I had explicitly warned the squirrel that she would have to build her nest near the bottom of the first row. If not, then she would risk having her nest exposed. I don’t think she took my advice, because I believe she built her nest near the middle of the second row.

From time to time she’ll pop out of her nest, climb up on the rafters and look down at me. Sometimes she even directs profanity my way as she stamps her feet and gets all worked up.

WHY DON'T YOU TAKE A PICTURE

Anyway, this particular afternoon, I was sitting in the woodshed. Probably enjoying a glass of one of our local Cape Breton brewery’s beer. The brewery is called ‘Big Spruce’ and the organic beer I was drinking is called ‘Kitchen Party’. It’s a pale ale which has a nice poetic ring to it.

So, there I was, sitting in the woodshed, looking at the large expanse of snow covering our property, when I suddenly saw a Blue Jay smash her noggin into a snow drift. The poor Blue Jay was flailing and flapping around and not getting anywhere soon, except to screw himself or herself deeper into the snow.

HARDIEST MAN IN CAPE BRETON

I went into my living-in-the-woods-emergency-action mode. I pushed up from the orange beach chair and waded through the snow until I was looking down at the Blue Jay.

As soon as I arrived he or she stopped thrashing about and I was able to stoop down and touch the bird. He or she never made a move. I was able to pick the jay up and walk us back to the woodshed.

While walking I talked to the Blue Jay. Told him or her that I wouldn’t hurt him or her.

By the way, from this point on I’m going to call the Blue Jay a her.

So I spoke to her and tried to calm her and the Blue Jay actually turned her head and looked at me while I was talking, as if she was really listening. This I found rather strange and humbling. It was a very intelligent reaction from a wild critter.

FOX SEEN THROUGH KITCHEN WINDOW

I carried the bird into the woodshed, sat down, opened my hands and the Blue Jay flew away.

We noticed, after this incident, that one of the many Blue Jays who frequent our Big Stop bird feeder wasn’t very energetic. She hung around the bird feeder or sat on the ground or on a branch and was lethargic, and at one point I went outside and approached the bird and had to nudge her before she’d fly away.

POOR BLUE JAY

So, what about the Murder of Crows thing? Well, a few years ago I stepped out of an arena and was startled to hear an angry flock of crows cawing their feathery heads off. There must have been at least a dozen or more crows on the roof. All hysterically cawing at a crow on the ground who was beating the stuffings out of another crow. It was amazing to see how blood thirsty they seemed to be.

HOAR FROSTED BUSH

I felt sorry for the poor victim so I walked up and kicked snow at the crows and it stopped the fight. The victim flew away and the crowd followed like mad spectators at a golf tournament.

Later on, when I was in the grocery store, the clerk mentioned that those crows are really going at it somewhere in town. I knew that it was the Murder of Crows who were watching one of their own murder a crow at another unmentioned location.

FASHION CONSCIOUS HIKING BUDDY

So, back to the Blue Jay story. A few days ago I was inside when I suddenly heard a mass of crows cawing to beat the band. Going crazy. A blood thirsty mob and Buster and I made a run for the living room window.

PEACEFUL CROWS

Often, when we’ve heard the crows doing this, we’ve figured it was because the hawk was back grocery shopping or there was a cat outside, those sorts of things.

When Buster and I looked out the window we saw that the crows were in the trees cheering on one crow who was pecking a poor Blue Jay to death. Most likely the Blue Jay who I had picked up about a week before.

By the time I got outside the Blue Jay was dead. Thus the name Murder of Crows.

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LARRY'S SURVIVAL GUIDE TO MANNERS

26/2/2019

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THE RED GATE

How does a person eat in a mannerly way, when in a situation where eating and conversation are in the mix?

I mean, haven’t most of us been told not to talk with our mouth full? I’ve been told. Have you been told?

Not too long ago, I was sitting by myself, in an eating establishment. Suddenly, I heard these words, “Do you mind if I join you?”

BEACH HUT CANTEEN INVERNESS BEACH

“Sure,” I said.

The person sat down at the table, across from me. We then ate, drank and conversed.

You see, the problem is, how do I synchronize the amount of food in my mouth with the amount of food in the other person’s mouth? And, how do I match my chewing speed and power with the other person’s chewing speed and power?

INVERNESS BEACH WALKWAY

The person might, for example, make a comment which requires a verbal response. Wouldn’t a long silent pause after her comment, so I could take the time to properly masticate and swallow my food, not appear rude or disapproving or my showing a lack of interest? So many negative possibilities!

What if I’m gnawing on an over cooked piece of steak? What to do, what to do?

AFTER AN EXHAUSTING DAY OF MANNERS

Even worse, what if she or he asks a question? Maybe one that requires some elaboration? Eh?

And worse still, what if I’m sitting at a table with a whole pile of chewers?

I was once given a tip. Never talk while your mouth is ‘technically full’. Quite a bit of nuance there, folks.

NUANCE

The same person told me to carefully watch the person and synch the shovelling of food into my mouth with the other person’s shovelling regime. One: Fork into food. Two: Observe how much food is on the other’s fork. Three: Shove food into mouth. Four: Find the chewing beat and chomp, chomp, chomp. One two three. Chomp, chomp, chomp. And five: Make conversation in between the fork-loading procedures. etc. etc. etc.

Maybe I should write a book. An Anal’s Guide To Good Food And Conversation.

ICY INVERNESS BEACH

I do have techniques I use to try and solve this problem. I hold my hand in front of my face or I dab at my mouth with a serviette while I speak. I figure that the person won’t be able to see whether I have food in my mouth or not and how much. Sort of an eating-conversation-sleight-of hand.

Unfortunately, I have a soft voice so they probably don’t hear a word I’m saying. Which, maybe, is a good thing.

PUFFED UP CHICKADEE

Speaking of eating manners, here’s another table manners story.

We were visiting a couple in their apartment for the first time. We all politely talked and laughed, but I knew, I knew, that inevitably, it had to happen. The time when we’d have to sit down and eat while still continuing on with our gab-fest.

A MANNERS PIRATE

The table had been previously set with saucers, glasses, tea cups and countless pieces of intimidating and shiny cutlery placed in military order.

The server arrived holding large round plates. Each edible had its own space with plenty of room to spare. A slice of pork in its rounded corner, a baked potato kitty corner to the meat and two overly large hunks of brussels sprouts kitty corner to the kitty corners.

We began to eat. I was nervous. Struggling, once again, to get the hang of the eating nuances. Desperately attempting to watch all three eaters as they forked food into their separate mouths. This person said that. That person said this. Fork in. Spoons stirring and clanging and reminding me of my past wedding reception, while the extra cutlery loitered beside my plate and filled my heart with anxious expectations.

INVERNESS MEMORIAL

I was asked a question. Hand up to mouth or dab, dab with my colourful red napkin and it was at this point where my innocence and ignorance came to the full fore.
You see, when I grabbed my napkin for the conversation dab dab, wipe wipe, I suddenly realized that I was the only person who had a napkin.
But, just to be sure, I double checked. Not another red napkin in sight and it was only then, and only after I’d fully masticated my food and swallowed that I spoke.
“How come I’m the only person with a napkin?” I asked.
The response was quick and sharp. “Because our napkins are on our laps.”

A SNOWY LANE

That was another hard earned lesson and I added this eating problem to my manners’ worry repertoire.

I have, however, just as I did with the chewing and talking problem, come up with a solution. What I now do is look to see what the other person does and if I’m in a group then I use my statistics background to solve this problem. I count how many eaters have a napkin on the table and how many have shoved their napkins down on their laps.

I make the decision based on first past the post. The majority wins. Napkin top-side or napkin under-side, doesn’t matter a whit to me. Majority rules and that’s where my napkin goes. No nuance here.

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DOGGIE STORIES

LIFE HAPPENS

DANGERS OF INSTANT EVERYTHING

GHOSTS, CAVES AND BIRDS

NEMESIS

NEMESIS

MEMORY LIKE A BEAR TRAP

HAPPENSTANCE

MURDER OF CROWS

LARRY'S SURVIVAL GUIDE TO MANNERS

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