I didn't realize what an impact he had had on my life until he was gone. I often took him for granted, defied him and throughout my teenage years I purposely angered him. He was my father and he died suddenly and unexpectedly on February 18, 2002. When I was about 15 years old I thought there couldn't possibly be two people on the same planet farther apart in mindset than my father and I. We continually argued and locked horns on every issue in life except one, dogs. We both adored dogs.
When I was about 3 years old, dad was a deliveryman for a major oil company and made his rounds throughout Ontario. One delivery stop he made on a fairly regular basis, had a little beagle puppy constantly on a chain. Dad had made several comments to the station owner about the way the pup was kept until finally the owner told him to take the puppy home himself, and dad did just that. Cleo arrived on the scene at about 4 months of age and stayed with us until her death at 13 years of age. Cleo often chewed when the family was out so dad decided she should be confined. Keep in mind this happened in the 60's when there wasn't an awful lot of information out about separation anxieties and proactive methods of redirecting chewing behaviours. Dad began to build Cleo a 'house (crate) within our house. I asked if we could put curtains in the windows he was cutting out, but he said no, it was important for her to be able to see out. He promised that I could oversee her bedding though and had me go ask mom for some blankets. When dad was finished the house, I so admired his handy work. It was big enough for two beagles, had a fancy up and down sliding door, two windows and was ever so cozy inside, like a clubhouse. Cleo loved her new house and ran in with great enthusiasm because dad always had a handful of milk bone biscuits.
In 1968, dad was working as a caretaker in a Scarborough high school when a young man arrived with a box of black puppies. Dad arrived home later that day with 'Bonnie', a 6-7 week old female Labrador mix. Initially, Cleo was not overly impressed with dad's new foundling, but within a day or two, the 'girls' were bonding nicely. I remember neighbours and friends coming over to see Bonnie and making a fuss over her sweet puppy smell and silly puppy ways. I felt Cleo was being left out and told dad that I thought she was feeling ignored. He suggested that three of us take a walk, and from then on I took notice that dad made a point of telling our visitors that Cleo would like some attention too.
I always dreamed of becoming a veterinarian and told my parents this often. Unfortunately, I became an obnoxious teenager who decided that popularity and playing sports was far more important than schoolwork. As dad read my report card he pointed out that future veterinarians had to achieve better grades. Dad always had a way of pointing things out. I was often caught up in my own world of friends, boys and sports and dad felt I was starting to shirk my dog responsibilities. One day as I was rushing out the door to go the mall with my friends, dad stopped me in my tracks by remarking "You know, people who love their dogs usually spend time with them".
In 1981, Bonnie died suddenly of a massive stroke. Mom called me at my friend's house to tell me what had happened and I immediately raced home. My parents were sitting at the kitchen table in complete silence. I made a cup of tea and joined them. We sat together quietly mourning the loss of our beloved Bonnie.
About a year later, Argus a 3-year-old golden retriever took up permanent residency with our family. Argus' background was always a bit of a mystery to me and my dad never really talked about it much, so I asked my mom. She said that dad had known Argus since he was a puppy and had always loved him very much. Argus' owner was a good friend of my dad's and was training him for obedience and had set high expectations for him. One afternoon, Argus' owner was proudly showing a small audience how well he had trained Argus to come when called. He left the dog on a sit-stay and went a fair distance away and then called him to come. Argus got up, looked around and happily ran to dad who was standing in the crowd. Shortly after that dad received a call asking him if he would be interested in giving Argus a permanent home.
In 1985, dad added a second golden retriever to the home and named him Major. Argus and Major were inseparable from day one. When Major was a year old mom suggested that dad take him to obedience classes. Although dad loved and seemed to understand dogs he was never much of a 'dog trainer'. As the class whirled around the room in heel position, mom and I watched painfully as Major dragged dad in a zigzag pattern of his own making. In fact, one of the neighbours on my parent's street commented to mom one day, "Oh, I saw Bill taking the dogs for a walk to the park. He went by at such warp speed though he was a bit of a blur".
In 1994, Argus' old, tired legs finally gave out and dad took him to the veterinarian to be put to rest. Mom said it was one of the hardest things dad ever had to do; the two were indeed soul mates.
Five years later Major was put to rest at 14 years of age.
At that point, dad decided he would not adopt another dog and he stuck firm to that decision, despite my subtle hints at the many wonderful homeless dogs who would love his companionship.
Over the years, dad and I still didn't agree on much, but alas, agreed to disagree. We were always on solid ground though when it came to dogs and the way they should be treated. I never told dad how much I loved him, how much he taught me, or how I admired him, but being the wise man he was, he knew.
Dedicated in honour of William Ivor Kidd born July 31, 1927, died February 18, 2002.