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What a day. What a series of days, actually. My mum went home early yesterday morning, after which Amy and I took a nap - we had a party to attend yesterday evening and waking up at 5:45am doesn't leave one perky enough for dinner and drinks with the Primate of the Anglican Church of Canada. Even after catching some Z's we were just barely awake. So, so sleepy. The party was held in the very posh Governor's Room at the Liberty Grand. The Liberty Grand used to be an exhibition hall for the Ex, but is now a venue for swanky banquets and whatnot. Huge chandeliers, candelabras on every table, polished marble, statues and filigrees and...you get the picture. The food followed the atmosphere - very high-end and very good. The company was also lovely - we sat with people from St. C's, all delightful, and even exchanged words with ++Andrew himself. (He's the Primate, which isn't a sort of monkey, in case you're wondering.) The event was a fundraiser for the Primate's fund, so swank was the rule of the evening. It was a bit of a culture shock for me, since a couple days earlier my mother and I had to fight for a table in the plywood-walled and cement-floored Big Fat Burrito, in Kensington Market. The food there is also good, but that's where the similarity ends. I think the capper was desert - a huge chocolate marquise, sprinkled with (yes, you're reading it right) gold leaf. We ate gold, for crying out loud. The oddness was not over. Leaving that posh setting, Amy and I boarded a streetcar. As the car turned up Roncesvalles and entered the home stretch (as in, there's our home) the driver slammed on the brakes. A dog, an Airedale, had wandered into the street and almost been flattened by the Red Rocket. When we got off he was sniffing his way up the street, poking into doorways and among trash cans. We caught up with him and looked for tags. None. A collar, but nothing on it. (Dog owners: get tags for your dogs!) The poor pooch looked pretty well cared-for but scruffy, as if he'd been lost for a day or two. He was groomed, but a bit ripe, as only a dog can smell. We had to get him off the street (lest he wander into traffic again) but he was reluctant to go with us. So I went to the corner store and bought a bag of doggy treats, with which we bought his friendship and following. Honestly, dogs are so easy. "I don't know...you're a stranger. Can I trust you? What's that? Bacon snacks? You're my best friend! I love you! Let's go, wherever you want to take me!" Actually, I'm like that, too, so I can identify. Anyhow, we got Izzy inside, (Izzy, as in Israel, as in wandering lost for 40 years) and called the Humane Society. Seems they no longer do pick-ups, at least not at 11:00pm. So sleepy, so close to bed, but so far from the Humane Society...oh, well. Amy dug out some rope, fashioned a leash, and off we went. It's a good thing that Amy had been through obedience school training (for her family's dog, not for her) because she knew just how to get Izzy to obey. He walked along nicely beside her, sat when she wanted him to and generally behaved himself. Now I'm wondering about what else I share with dogs. Observation: When you take a dog on the streetcar, everyone thinks they have the right to maul (pet) him and talk to you. This is among the top reasons why I don't want a dog - too social, too great a conversation-starter. I suppose a really mean dog would counter this, but then you have a really mean dog and who wants that? Izzy was very good, very patient. He rode the streetcar like a pro and when we got off (clear on the other side of Toronto) he heeled and walked along as if he was our pet and we'd been walking him for years. The Humane Society got him all excited - lots of other dogs and cats to smell! I filled out paperwork while Amy was yanked all over the lobby. "What's that? Wow! And what's that over there? Neat!" His excitement trumped any loyalty he might have formed for us...or for our bacon snacks. As he was being led away (we hope for a bath...pee-yew!) he cast nary a glance over his shoulder. That's gratitude for you, eh? Oh, well. It was just about the perfect cap to the evening. One minute we're in a posh dining room, eating gold; the next we're shivering on the street and feeding bacon snacks to a scruffy, lost dog. Ah, Toronto. |
