One of the unfortunate aspects of growing old is that memories fade over time. Each night I fall asleep and when I wake up, some memories have become dimmer. Fortunately, even if there are gaps and scenes that become blurred around the edges, emotional memories persist over time. While I am now more than 70 years old, I have crystal-clear memories of my first friend back when I was four or five years old.
I grew up in the countryside outside of a small prairie town – Canora, Saskatchewan. My home contained an oil-burning stove, a couple of beds, a kitchen table and three chairs, and a few pieces of furniture. Dirt patches made up the front yard and sides of the house, the back yard was on the edge of a marsh, and one side of the property was a woodlot. There were no children my age to play with and visitors were rare. About a mile away, there was a train track that led into town. I was free to wander the property on my own and as long as I didn’t encounter a bear, a skunk, or a pack of feral dogs, everything was fine. While I was lonely on a few occasions, I was fortunate – I did have a friend, my very first friend.
Tyke was a small tan Cocker Spaniel puppy. Together we explored the world, had adventures, and while I don’t remember everything, I remember spending days exploring the woodlot and walking through areas I am sure Tyke and I were the first to explore. We saw and heard birds, chased butterflies, picked wildflowers and mushrooms, and managed to avoid the skunk and snake we once encountered. These were epic adventures, and we supported each other with immense bravery and resourcefulness. It was on one of these woodlot outings that I discovered that Tyke was a fierce warrior dog when I blew the seeds of a dandelion towards him and he snapped at the seeds to keep them from flying away. He attacked those little parachutes with great ferocity. Tyke and I spent days and days and days in that woodlot.
We weren’t always outdoors. We had to come inside for meals or when we were cold or wet and the indoor ritual we created had to be observed whenever the conditions were right. There was a pale green sofa up against a wall in front of the living room window. In those days of steam locomotives when a single train passed through town each day, Tyke and I would stop playing or resting and run as fast as we could to the sofa when we heard the whistle. I would jump up, place my hands on the back of the sofa, and watch the train go by. Tyke would leap onto the couch beside me, put his paws on the top of the sofa, and watch the train with me. I’m pretty sure he didn’t know why we did this several times a week, but it was something special that we did together and maybe he knew it was important never to miss a passing train. After the train vanished, we would return to whatever it was we had been doing.
