It was the start of school summer vacation, early July 1990, at 571 Berry Street in Coquitlam, B.C. Sheena, the youngest in our year-old blended family was ten. She had a school friend Carmella, a dark-haired girl about the same height as Sheena. They were sitting at the kitchen table, working together, making posters. There were frequent disagreements and brief arguments, arguments that appeared to resolve just as quickly as they began.
“We're starting a Dog Walking Service,” Sheena announced cheerfully to her mother. “We're going to walk dogs for people and we're going to raise money for charity,” she added with the name of the charity.
The finished, colourful posters were soon put on several telephone poles in the neighborhood. The girls made smaller, notebook-size hand-outs that they put into the mail slots of people they knew had dogs. They said the proceeds would go to the charity. They put both of their phone numbers on the posters and hand-outs. They waited for the phone to ring. No calls came. A few days passed with no response. The girls decided they would need to be more proactive. They would appeal directly to the neighbours who had dogs.
Our next door neighbours, Al and Eleanor, had an older tricoloured Sheltie named Rascal. I had previously taught Rascal to respond to a gentle, short, two-note whistle. He would come to a certain spot in the six-foot solid-board fence separating our two properties. That particular spot had about a three inch gap at the bottom of the fence, above a square railroad tie. It was lower on Al and Eleanor’s side than ours.
Rascal put his nose through the gap into our side very shortly after the two-note whistle. The whistle meant I had a table scrap treat for him. His black-with-a-white stripe, skunk-like nose and mouth awaited the tasty morsels, like small pieces of meat.
Rascal especially liked pancakes. He could easily devour two pancakes broken into smaller pieces and placed in his waiting mouth. My wife cautioned me about the procedure, which was never mentioned to Al or Eleanor, but Rascal didn't get sick and he ate whatever I gave him.
I liked Rascal. But Rascal was rarely taken for a walk.
Here I will digress for a moment. Sheena actually wanted and would have loved a dog, but our frequent absences and trips to Alberta made it unfeasible to keep a dog. I came up with a solution: a dog one-third owned and shared equally by three adjoining neighbours, all with fenced backyards. We were in the middle. l'd make access openings in the two fences so the dog could freely and easily “commute” to all three backyards.
I even had the responsibilities assigned. One neighbor would feed the dog on their side, Sheena would romp and play with the dog in our yard, and he could do his business at the other's. The dog would fiercely guard and protect all three properties. The other two would look after the dog whenever we were away. It was a great plan, but strongly frowned upon by Jeanie and Sheena, and I never presented it to the neighbours.
But now back to the proactive searching for clients, for the recently formed Dog Walking Service.
Sheena approached Eleanor about the dog walk for charity business. Eleanor agreed. Carmella approached her aunt about walking their dog for charity. Carmella's aunt agreed.
The next day, Carmella arrived at our house with her aunt's black lab on a leash. They walked over to Eleanor’s to pick up Rascal. They put a leash on Rascal. Sheena led him.
Rascal led well enough. He was an older dog, but it was a new experience for him—going for a walk with a somewhat unfamiliar little girl.
The girls were planning quite a long walk to Como Lake Park, around the small lake once, then back home, possibly three kilometres.
About 45 minutes later, Sheena burst into the house. She was sobbing and distraught. “Rascal's gone!” she cried to her mother. “He got away from me at the lake! He pulled his head right out of the collar and ran away and he's gone!” Sheena held up the collar and leash.
Jeanie calmed her down and reassured her. “First, you'll have to go over to Eleanor's and explain,” she said. “Maybe they'll go driving around looking for Rascal. We'll drive around too. We’ll find him!”
Reluctantly, frightened and anxious, Sheena walked over to Eleanor's house. She went around to the back door. Rascal was lying under the deck in his usual spot, his head, with the white line down his nose, protruding.
Sheena talked to Eleanor and gave her the collar and leash. We don't know what was said. Sheena came home smiling, triumphant and relieved, charity money in hand.
The girls decided not to continue with the Dog Walking Service. The posters came down the next day. They gave their money to the charity; it survived without their help.