She came to visit unexpectedly, and I loved having her with me. Who else but Grandma to sit with the dog while everyone else takes a breather from the deep freeze. They said they were flying out to sunny Jamaica, or did they say Florida? It didn’t matter where they were going, I would have Duffy all to myself, for two whole weeks.
‘Don’t you worry about a thing, girl, we are going to have a good time,’ I assured my friend. After some petting, and a few goodnight cuddles, I led her to the bed I’d prepared for her in the kitchen, and she immediately curled up in the extra-large comfy basket.
‘A few more gray hairs, I see. I know, who am I to talk?’
Good old Duffy, the ever-loyal black Labrador who remains as gentle as she was as a pup. Her fifteen years have now forced her to become a lazy old soul, and she doesn’t enjoy running as much because of the arthritis in her back legs.
I had been given the necessary instructions with regard to her feedings and medication. My son felt the need to go over these details a couple of times before he left with his family. Honestly, when he starts raising his voice as though I were deaf, or repeating the same information over and over again, he makes me feel like I’m in my mid 90s instead of 73. It’s true that I sometimes forget a thing or two, but my recent episodes of forgetfulness do not spell early senility. Perhaps he and I ought to have a serious chat soon, before he starts hinting at my move to a retirement home, where I know I wouldn’t be as happy as I am living in my downtown rowhouse.
When I came downstairs each morning at the crack of dawn, as usual, I would catch Duffy in full stretch, and snoring on the living room sofa. She was no fool, she knew exactly where to go for the ultimate comfort once the coast was clear at night.
If I pleaded with her long enough, she would rise for a hearty breakfast, and then we’d go for our first stroll of the day. Once around the block was all it took. Had I been smart, I would have offered to sit with her at her country home where she is free to roam, and do her business on the many acres surrounding the property. No poop bag required.
As I’ve been walking for miles each day for several years now, I thought such an exercise program for Duffy would do her a world of good. During our first week together, I made sure she stayed out a little longer each time. It took us three days to do one mile, and another three to reach our goal of two miles. I let Duffy set the pace, and she sniffed, and paused to her heart’s content. I didn’t dare insist on the fast pace I was accustomed to; I just tagged along. In spite of the bitter cold of this past February, we both looked forward to our special outings.
A couple of days later, I thought Duffy had undergone sufficient training to handle a three-mile trek. We were heading out the driveway when my neighbour, Fred Peabody, stepped out on his porch to ask where we were off to. I was thinking that Fred should change his last name to ‘Busybody’ when I replied that we were merely taking advantage of the sunshine for a longer stroll.
‘Are you sure that dog can handle long walks on salty city sidewalks? She looks kind of tired to me,’ Fred shouted as I kept walking.
‘We’ll do great, not to worry.’
I suppose Fred means well, but just because we’ve shared a driveway for 30 years, doesn’t give him the right to monitor my every move.
‘Why don’t we show him what we old gals can do, Duff?’
As we set out from Lebreton Flats to Confederation Square, I was astounded at the length of time it had taken us. What I normally did in fourteen minutes had taken us forty-five. When we finally reached Bank and Sparks Streets, I noticed that Duffy was no longer enjoying the walk.
Seeing her exhaustion, I opted for a sit-down on the Sparks Street Mall. I found a bench free of snow, and I watched Duffy’s sitting position stretch into a complete roll-over on her back with all four legs sticking up, like she did at home when she was in a dead stupor. Funny how she could assume a totally relaxed position just about anywhere, anytime. Maybe I should take a few pointers from dear old Duff. It would be nice to get a good night’s sleep once in a while.
After nearly thirty minutes of tolerating the cold on our behinds, I thought we might be able to resume some kind of pace. I decided to walk the last block of the Mall to Elgin Street. The sooner we started heading back, the better it would be for Duffy, but she suddenly had other plans. She wouldn’t move.
‘This isn’t the time to play dead, sweetie, there are lots of people looking at us rather strangely.’ In fact, onlookers were practically giving me the evil eye as they watched me pushing her from behind on the sidewalk, even though I was being as gentle as I could. If I tried coaxing her to go forward by using her lead, she’d go backwards instead.
Duffy finally started to walk again, but her back legs seemed to be cramping up, so I decided to slow down the pace even more. By the time we’d crossed Elgin Street, and reached Confederation Square, at long last, she looked like she was in extreme pain, and I couldn’t bring myself to cheer her on anymore.
I was in a fine mess now. I couldn’t go on, nor could I go back, and who could I call for help? Certainly not Fred! He’d never let me forget about the mistake I made taking Duffy on such a long walk.
‘Alright, Duff. I need time to think of a plan to get us out of this jam,’ I said out loud. ‘But first, we need to find another bench.’
I had to halt traffic as we crossed over to the Old Union Station, making an even greater spectacle of animal abuse. My mind was shifting into overdrive as I feared an arrest from a RCMP officer on horseback, prompted by the Prime Minister’s Office that overlooks the Square. I probably deserved some kind of punishment for all the pain I’d caused Duffy. Walking this far from home had been a really stupid idea.
‘It’s a good thing you can’t talk, Duff, because I wouldn’t want you discussing this situation with your master when he gets back. That would be the end of your visits with Grandma!’
We managed to make it to a bench near the Rideau Centre where Duffy stretched out at my feet. It was as though she knew we would be staying put for a while. I called a couple of friends, but my calls went straight to voicemail as they were at work. If I’d left a message, no one would believe the predicament I was in anyway, so my best option, I thought, was to call the Ottawa Police Service. Don’t we pay these people to help those in distress?
When I got through on the police station’s general number, I asked if a police cruiser could be dispatched to come to our rescue. The woman who took my call joked that it wouldn’t happen even in my wildest dreams. I was tempted to say that if I were on the Most Wanted List, free transportation would be arranged, but I refrained, worried that the woman might hang up on me. At least she offered to notify the Humane Society about my location, and she assured me that someone would be there shortly to pick us up, and drive us home.
My feet were getting cold, and I was hungry. Had I known it was going to take us this long to get back home, I would have packed a lunch. Duffy was getting lots of friendly pats while I contemplated boarding the rear entrance of a city bus. Why not? I see people doing it all the time. I was actually thinking about faking blindness with Duffy as my guide dog, but with the string of bad luck we’d been having, the ruse might not have worked. Waiting to be rescued by the Humane Society made more sense.
After more than an hour’s wait, the Humane Society van arrived. I felt a surge of relief, and showered the attendant with thanks as we both lifted Duffy into the back of the van. He explained that she would have to be caged for safety’s sake, and once she was settled in for the ride, I quickly took my seat in the driver’s passenger side. Then the attendant got in, and asked me where I was going. When I started to give him my home address, I could see he had zero interest in my directions. He was laughing when he said he wasn’t about to take ME anywhere because his pet mobile wasn’t insured for passengers. Duffy would be driven to a nearby veterinary clinic, he explained, and I would have to make arrangements to pick her up from there later. To add insult to injury, he wanted his $50 pick-up fee in cash! Well, after our long wait for him in the wretched cold, I viewed this as an excellent opportunity to let off some steam.
‘IF YOU CAN’T TAKE ME ALONG, I MOST CERTAINLY WON’T LET YOU TAKE MY DOG,’ I shouted.
I thought it pointless to mention that I didn’t have any cash on me, and I was near tears when I moved from the passenger seat to the back of the van to free Duffy from the portable jail. Surprisingly, she was fully cooperative, and we made our exit, followed by a strong slam of the van’s side door.
‘Talk about lousy service! When we get home, girl, we’ll be filing a complaint with somebody about this.’ Meanwhile, the Humane Society attendant drove off, leaving us stranded still, and choking on the fumes from his exhaust.
It seemed that by this time, I was experiencing more pain than Duffy. Not only was I tired, hungry and cold, but the arthritis in my own legs caused me to walk with a limp. What a pitiful-looking pair we made.
We managed to walk to Nicholas Street where I knew there was a taxi stand and more benches. At least we still had a glimmer of hope. Nothing doing. The cabbies much preferred to stand by their NO PETS policy, rather than offer us a lift. Even the guarantee of a generous tip once I got home didn’t sway a driver to change his mind. Boy, did I feel like an old woman at this point. Yet, it didn’t stop me from trying to hitch a ride. But after some twenty minutes of exaggerated moves on the sidewalk, I had to give that up, too, as I seemed to be scaring the motorists away.
‘Repent, repent, for the Kingdom of God is near … Repent, repent …’ chanted a sad-looking fellow in need of a bath, and a hospital bed. He circled Duffy and me a few times, as we started to head back to Rideau Street. I looked up at the sky, and reminded our Lord that we had suffered enough for one day. Feeling myself getting grumpier by the minute, I wanted to scream at this poor man to get lost, but knowing I didn’t look much better, I kept quiet. Much to my relief, he eventually latched on to someone else.
It was time to swallow my pride, and call the friend I had been feeling too embarrassed to call.
‘Fred, it’s me.’
‘Where have you been all day? I knew something had to be wrong when you didn’t make it home for lunch.’
‘It’s a long story, Fred, one I can tell you later. For now, would you mind coming to pick us up?’
‘Just tell me where,’ he said.
It was almost suppertime when Fred arrived at the Nicholas Street taxi stand, where Duffy and I had gone back to wait. My toes and Duffy’s paws were numb from the cold by then, and the discomfort made waiting for Fred seem like an eternity. Once he pulled up beside us, we couldn’t get in his warm car fast enough.
I was lectured all the way home, of course. Too tired to defend my actions, I let him carry on with his many variations of ‘I told you so’. When he finally stopped to catch his breath, I put my hand on his arm, and said: ‘Thanks, Fred, what would I ever do without you?’
The next day, my friend Duffy and I were back to walking around the block.
Lise Cloutier-Steele is an Ottawa writer and the author of the 2025 Edition of There’s No Place Like Home: A guide to help caregivers manage the long-term care experience, available from www.ottawacaregiver.com.
