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Yet even in inestimable sadness, my prayer is still “Thank God for dogs”

Thank God for dogs



I’ve never met a stray dog that I didn’t want to take home. As a little girl, I felt the same way about kittens, which I dressed in my doll clothes. Kittens who escaped my doll prams dressed in bonnets and booties must have caused curiosity on long ago Halifax streets.
Since my little dog Kiko died last week, I’ve been thinking of the long ago missing pup, Banjo. One day, my good-hearted father, overlooking my mother’s fear of dogs, brought home the cutest black and white spaniel puppy for me and my three siblings. We immediately came up with the name ‘Banjo’ and had to be literally dragged away from the cardboard where Banjo was placed at bedtime. When we ran delightfully to Banjo’s box the first morning after he came into our lives, we found only the cardboard box where we had last seen him. It was early in the morning, and our father had already gone to work. Conferring on this horrible turn of events, we decided to go out into the neighbourhood to find Banjo and bring him back home.

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It was a scene straight out of Breakfast at Tiffany’s, because the search took place during a teeming rain. Only rather than shouting “Cat!”, “Cat!”, we went through neighbourgood streets piteously shouting: “Banjo!” “Banjo!” Me, my two younger sisters and brother never stopped to worry about being soaked through. In the faith given by the Creator to all children looking for lost animals and believing in miracles, we kept right on going. We once spotted what we thought to be Banjo in some park bushes. But were soon disappointed upon discovering it was only another dog and not our cute little puppy. Long ago memory diminishes how our father found out his children were out in the rain looking for their lost puppy, but he happened along and lured us to climb into the car with promises of ice cream, after first convincing us it would just be a temporary break in our search. When he sat us down, he said he had “something important” to tell us. The “something important” turned out to be that Banjo was gone forever. He told us that Banjo would never be comfortable in a home where someone was afraid of him; and tried to stem our tears by saying that Banjo had the full run of a farm outside the city where he would be loved and not feared. I think it was Banjo who started my lifelong love of dogs. Dogs make life more bearable no matter where they are. Somehow the false words of politicians burst like so many rainbow bubbles in the air when you can see a dog stretched out on the sofa, all four paws up in the air. Meanwhile, the only difference between me the little girl and the fully grown woman is that instead of crying “Banjo!” “Banjo!”, ever since Thursday, I sometimes find myself wanting to cry out, “Kiko! “Kiko”. Yet even in inestimable sadness, my prayer is still “Thank God for dogs”.


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Judi McLeod -- Bio and Archives -- Judi McLeod, Founder, Owner and Editor of Canada Free Press, is an award-winning journalist with more than 30 years’ experience in the print and online media. A former Toronto Sun columnist, she also worked for the Kingston Whig Standard. Her work has appeared throughout the ‘Net, including on Rush Limbaugh and Fox News.

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