December 14, 2005
PIT BULLS AND OTHER STORIES
CAPT TV
On the way to the television station, they had to detour through Valley Stream Drive to avoid a police investigation. A woman had been hit while trying to cross five lanes of traffic on Baseline Road. She was heading to the only collection of stores for miles, but there was no set of traffic lights where the bus had let her off. Sure, she could have gone east for two tenths of a kilometre, crossed and returned, but nobody did. In fact, a camera crew interviewed a woman doing the same nearly fatal walk an hour later.
“Do you know that another woman tried to cross here this morning, just like you? She’s in serious but stable condition after being hit by car.”
The pedestrian looked stunned. Perfect television. Show the viewers what terrible thing happened; show them how it could have been prevented; and show people doing the same dangerous thing. It was the third pedestrian VS car in a year. The cars always won.
They got back onto Baseline at the corner with the drug store and resumed the drive to the CAPT TV station. As the drove through the back of the building’s parking lot, they noticed Paul’s car. He always parked in the same spot, the most distant spot from the entrance doors. “I get a bit more exercise”.
Raggmopp, who noticed everything, mentioned the car. “Paul’s here. It seems that he’s car is always there, whenever we arrive or leave.”
Sandy agreed. “I think he lives here. If his wife calls him at work, I remind him of her name while she’s on hold.”
“He’s OK. You are the one who can’t remember current or ex-wives, Master.”
They parked in their normal row, close to the doors. That way Sandy didn’t have to remember where he parked. He’d lost the car a couple of times. Once when he left it on a street in the Glebe. They’d gone to watch a football game. “I remember there was a corner store at a corner of the street.” was his excuse.
They walked along the front of the building, past the new radio station that had moved into the building. Security was waiting for them in the lobby.
“It’s Friday!”
“Yes, and here’s Raggmopp.”
The Old English Sheepdog accepted the welcomes and hugs as they moved slowly to reception and Flash.
“Hey, Raggmopp. Want to help Sandy with the mail.”
It was a game to the dog, but she helped by carrying the news releases, etc. in her mouth. Sandy carried the heavier items with one hand and swiped his card to enter the elevator to the second floor.
The Captain was with Joannie at the secretary’s desk. He was checking his itinerary for the weekend, frowning until he saw Sandy.
“Ah, you can fill in for me at the Motley Crue concert tomorrow. We have a box full of contest winners starting at 6:30 p.m.”
“How about Becky? I’ve agreed to do the Kemptville College ‘Royal Celebrity Milking Competition’ tomorrow.
“That won’t take all day.”
“No but then I was hoping to get to M.C.’s fundraiser in Perth as well.”
“Ah, good point. Well, tell her the warm-up band is on at 7:30 p.m. Ken Craig says the ‘Cru’ will hit the stage at 9:15 p.m..” When he was in high school, the concert promoters had given Ken access to the first three songs that each band played. He had taken some great photographs while he stood in front of the stage with the security guards. But it was more than just a way to catch music. When he left town to go to university, Ken had organized concerts for his school. He learned enough to come home and take over the organization. This summer he had brought the Rolling Stones to Lansdowne Park for a great show outside on the football field. The Captain had a beautiful enlargement of Mick Jagger in his office from that event.
“You’re milking celebrity cows?”
“Yes. I can only think of a few. The store with “Elsie On The Door”; the steer singing about HP Sauce, and when it comes to a Royal Celebrity Cow, only ‘Cow-Milla’ comes to mind. Actually, I think she’s pretty.”
“That’s what happens when you get older. Older women start to look attractive.”
“You make it sound like a bad thing.”
Raggmopp had left the conversation, and was roaming though the newsroom, checking out the waste baskets. Everything smelled so good. People throw away so much food!
Paul and John were singing, ‘How Much I Love You, moo moo moo moo moo.’ It was supposed to be a cow singing like Dean Martin, to a bottle of meat sauce.
“I think that was a bull, not a cow,” corrected John. “If you’re trying to get milk, there’s a big difference.”
They talked about which of the stories each thought should be included in the newscast at 6 p.m.
“A court in the area devastated by the giant Tsunami, has awarded ‘Baby 81’ to a couple today.”
“A report described the family as leaving court for their home in an U.N.I.C.E.F. vehicle. Lots of room in one of those white and pale blue vehicles.”
“Four wheel drive too.”
Raggmopp was back and whispered to Sandy. “They could probably keep a Pit Bull there as well; as long as they took it out in public and…”
“Raggmopp, let’s go over here,” Sandy interrupted. They logged on to a computer at an unused desk.
“CFRA’s Norman Jack went from mentioning a drive-by shooting on Grenon Avenue to the lack of death today in Iraq.”
“Really? That’s an odd placement of stories. I think it is still safer to live in the Britannia area of Ottawa. International news?”
“There’s always Baghdad. Today it’s another kidnapping. They want $250,000 or a Jordanian businessman will be killed,” said Paul.
“He’s not Canadian?”
“No. Iraq has had about 200 kidnappings in the past 12 months. Most pay and are then released,” said John. “Of the eight taken every two weeks, only one is killed.”
“What else is there?”
“Ah, bare breasts! Two women were detained in New Zealand during a Royal Visit. One had written across her chest and stomach, ‘Get your colonial shame off my breasts’.”
“Did Prince Charles see them?”
“Not likely. That woman was grabbed by two uniformed police officers while another woman who was feeding a baby, was escorted away. The future King of England was surrounded by Monarchists. All he could see were local children playing Hopscotch. At least that’s all his people will say he saw.” “Any vis of the women?”
“No and going topless may not be against the law there.”
“Yes, it’s not illegal in Ontario. But I bet they’ll be some topless babes at tomorrow’s Motley Crue concert. OK, it’s still early; we’ll see what else happens this afternoon.”
Meanwhile, Sandy had researched the Pit Bull story.
“Alan Neal of Ontario Report said there have been ‘a number of Pit Bull attacks in Ottawa’. I wonder how many?”
“Three,” answered the Old English Sheepdog. “Two or three. One dog did two attacks, so I can see where he might have trouble figuring out how many.”
“Here we go,” said Sandy. “Canadian Press sent this ‘URGENT’ story out at 15:25 ES. When is that?”
“You don’t have to join the army to figure it out. CP filed it at 3:25 p.m.; I suspect Eastern Standard time,” explained Raggmopp. “What did it say?”
“Toronto: Ontario’s controversial bill to ban pit bulls has been passed in the provincial legislature. Under the law, only people who already own pit bulls can keep their pets as long as the animals are neutered and muzzled in public.”
“Ah, just two sentences,” observed the dog. “When you try to shorten a story, you could easily be misinterpreted.”
“Here’s a longer version at 15:58 by Jennifer Graham. She did the Ontario Update and wrote twice as many sentences.”
“Four? Is it better?
“A little. Her last sentence concludes with ‘…but those dogs will have to be neutered, as well as muzzled and leashed in public.’ ”
“Hum, OK. At least the ‘in public’ could just refer to the phrase after the comma. It’s a hope,” said Raggmopp.
“That’s settled. Let’s call Becky and warn her of tomorrow’s concert.”
Next stories: The Motley Crue concert
and the Kemptville Royal Celebrity Milking Competition.
Posted by Gary MacDonell at 01:56 PM | Comments (0)
December 10, 2005
Drive To Work
Drive To Work
The radio came on at 7:30 a.m. with the station set at CBC Radio One. Sandy stayed in bed while CBO gave the local Ottawa news. Anchor Hallie Cotnam described the new provincial law concerning Pit Bull dogs. “They will have to be neutered and muzzled in public.”
“Ouch,” said Raggmopp. The Old English Sheepdog, was stretched out on the couch in the ‘Master’s’ Bedroom.
Sandy chuckled. “You caught that one, eh?” He turned and faced the dog. Sandy’s bed and Raggmopp’s couch angled towards each other. Just a small table keeping the furniture from touching. There was only room on the wooden folding stand for a box of facial tissue and an L.C.D. clock. The numbers on the clock were largest on any device that the electronics store sold.
Raggmopp heard the movement. She stretched, and then slowly relaxed, as she rolled toward Sandy. Breath rolled over breath. The room seemed filled with warm, moist air. Friendly and relaxed.
Quietly, they continued listening to the rest of the news as they woke up. Once it was over, Sandy had a few minutes before turning on another radio station. He tried to catch the Bear at 7:40 a.m. They replayed The Late Show With David Letterman’s Top Ten List.
Raggmopp resumed talking about the poorly written story.
“That sounds painful. Don’t they normally do that procedure in some back room, at a veterinarian’s or at least a veteran’s? A former soldier would have some experience with a sharp a sharp knife. Do we give them any other weapons?”
“I think she meant that the dogs would have to be neutered and while out in public, they would have to be muzzled.”
“Hey, don’t ‘muzzle’ the anchorwoman. Maybe she didn’t write it.” The Old English Sheepdog was pretty sharp with languages. Sandy was reminded of the excellent writing of CTV Ottawa’s Leigh Chapple and Norm Fetterly.
“You know what I meant,” smiled Sandy. He didn’t actually say the sentence out loud. If he consciously thought about reading the dog’s mind, they could have these conversations quietly. Sometimes with people around, Sandy just concentrated on talking with the people. Raggmopp however loved to describe her expert observations so Sandy sometimes ended up including the dog in conversations with people. Not too many humans ever figured out that some of a conversation was with the dog.
At least two others had the Ability. Evil Aunt Mary always had been phenomenal. Sandy was just as good with dogs, but Evil Aunt Mary could handle horses better that anybody. “It’s like you can talk with them” people would say. She just smiled. She had made a fortune from it.
Cousin Becky was the youngest and Sandy felt that she would be great.
“How embarrassing is that,” continued the dog. “All the other dogs watching this painful surgery. ‘Hey! Who’s Mister BIG now?’ It would add insult to injury.”
“Ah, accurate comment, my girl.”
“I’m taking all my work to Dr. Anne at the Carleton Place Veterinary Hospital. Back room.”
Sandy had to agree the dog. Later when he heard a different radio station say the same thing, he made a written note to check the news wires. Who said it first?
Sandy left the kitchen with a large black in his right hand, and Raggmopp followed him outside. The coffee was a mixture of hazelnut and vanilla. They walked around the crescent and counted the garage doors that were left open. Since it was Friday, garbage day, there would be at least a dozen out of 74 homes with a space enough for an Old English Sheepdog to pass under.
Friday was also the day the dog went to the television station. As they dove to work, Sandy kept changing radio stations.
“…twins were separated from Zimbabwe.” As Sandy pondered what CBO’s Lawrence Wall had tried to say, Raggmopp piped up.
“Isn’t a visa all you really need? And money of course.”
“Let’s try JACK FM.”
“We play one hit after another. Kind of stupid to play they all at once.”
They were stopped at a red on Woodroffe Avenue heading north. Suddenly a small red two-door car shot past them on the right; the buses-only lane. Sandy had noticed him coming up, in the right exterior mirror. The guy had a black toque and no facial hair. Raggmopp had noticed Sandy’s attention and caught the Ontario licence plate.
“Marker AVCS 309. No hubcaps.”
Of the three traffic lanes, the guy would pull up behind the long line of stopped vehicles, in the middle lane. There was, of course, an almost equal line of stopped traffic in the lane on the left; the ‘fast’ lane. He would stay there until the light was about to turn green. While it was still red, he’d turn right into bus lane, shoot up to the intersection, and hit it at a fast speed as the light turned green. Then he’d cut back into the middle lane, on the left, cutting off the cars that were just starting to move at the beginning of the line.
Sandy thought about the guy racing to Baseline. He had watched one day as a silver car, Ontario plate 892 XAN, drove through the red light. She’d crossed six lanes of traffic that day. Now this guy was headed for the same intersection. This was why he should attach the camcorder to the car’s ceiling or something. People meeting by accident. Although, in the back of his mind, Sandy figured that the only crashes the video camera would capture, would be his own.
Every Friday, they took the car to Top’s Car Wash. Mr. Henry was always surprised to see the Old English Sheepdog come walking through the building.
“Has anyone ever told you that you are nuts?” He had come out from his office to chat with them at the counter.
“Well, in one visit with my psychiatrist, I was wrapped only in cellophane! He said to me, ”
“Wait. Let me guess. ‘I can clearly see you’re nuts’ ”.
Raggmopp looked up. To Sandy, she whispered, “That is so old.”
They joked some more then headed into the garage to get the clean car.
The guys drying the car, really loved the dog. They didn’t hold back from petting her either. Sandy tried to drop by when the car wash wasn’t busy. Like during rain storms.
The next stop was the CAPT TV station.
Posted by Gary MacDonell at 10:21 PM | Comments (0)