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.

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.

They chatted as Francis led Sandy through the ticket gate. Raggmopp came from around the side of the Jeep, after marking it has hers. The Old English Sheepdog captured the attention of the volunteers allowing the organizer and the TV dude to walk through unnoticed.
Things were going well. At least a couple of dozen invited agencies were setting up their displays. They had reserved space in three huge tents. Fot the large displas, they could drive their trucks or vans up to the back of the tents to unload. Francis pointed out the breakfast tent and the three of them headed for it. One group were cooking the meat. Another group of volunteers tried to figure out how to get enough electricity for coffee. A fuse or something kept shutting off the power. That was when the lamb came running around the corner and ran into Raggmopp.
They both jumped up and took off out of the tent. You don’t stop and think about chasing a sheep when you’re an Old English Sheepdog. You just go. It is instinctive. At least, that was the excuse Raggmopp was going to use.
“A real live lamb!” It was a dream come true. In a monthly recurring fantasy, the Old English Sheepdog thought she was flying across the field. It was a very pleasant feeling to be just four or five feet off the ground. She usually traveled at a brisk walk. People would wave but no more than they already did. In this world, it was normal to see a flying dog. Ah.
This was the real thing. The lamb though it was pretty good at abrupt changes of direction. Raggmopp let it think so and hung just a little behind the lamb. When a physical activity is this much fun, you stretch it out as much as you can.
Sandy looked at Francis. Everyone watched the two animals race across the field. “They’re fine. Really. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” Sandy really wanted to get the attention away from a possible looming disaster. “Black for me. How about you?”
“The sheep…”
“Lamb, I would guess. Probably more tired now than she was scared. Raggmopp will bring her back.” Sandy was pleased with himself. Being with television people for so long, he could fake sincerity.

Children had taken up the chase, followed slowly by a few parents. The end of the excitement was near. “Well, the light is on the pot so we could try a cup,” a volunteer offered. Sandy got a second coffee, which he took one back to Eric.
“Thanks. My brother, Rob, is here as well. He’s got a display. He has shingles!”
“You make that sound like a good thing.”
“He makes them by hand for roofs in the Ottawa Valley. Just walk over to where your dog was headed. You’ll find the place.
Sandy found Raggmopp at the breakfast tent and got a cup for Rob Dougherty.
“Was that fun?”
“I need to get into shape,” lamented the Old English Sheepdog. “I want to do that again.”
“We’re seeing Eric's younger brother. He’s got shingles.”
“Sorry to hear that.
Sandy and Raggmopp had plenty of time to tour before the plowing match started. They checked out the displays in the tents. There was a man who made writing paper. He had samples and stock for sale. Someone else proclaimed his items were featured on the television station’s show, Regional Contact. Instead of a half an hour show with 11 stories that were two minutes long, there were only two or three stories. The items were about talented artists, etc. in the TV viewing area. It was the fourth largest TV market in Canada. The show could be seen by roughly a population the size of New York City.
“Jesus Christ”, Raggmopp yelled. Sandy looked and there was a huge carving of the Son of God. “Cute”, whispered Sandy. “Very clever of you”.
“It is his likeness; it’s on a tree trunk”.
“That’s because a human made it.”
“Ah,” said the dog, pretending he hadn’t understood the concept earlier. Another stand, this one smaller, sold copies of the history of the small church on the north bank of the Madawaska River. Sandy found the index, went to ‘Weddings’ and looked up his own.
“Can I help you?” asked the woman.
“Shouldn’t that be ‘may’?”, wondered the dog.
“Yes,” Sandy replied to both. “A wedding I attended doesn’t seem to be included in your list.”
As she checked, Raggmopp suggested, “Maybe they only include the ones that work out. Aren’t you divorced? Hey, Milk Pencils!”
“Gotta go,” explained Sandy as the dog pulled him away form the church’s kiosk.
“Thanks for the excuse to cut out buddy.”
The dog didn’t answer, but continued to pull towards the booth set up by the Dairy Farmers Of Canada.
“Are Milk Pencils made from milk?” the dog asked, when they arrived.
“I believe they are lactose-free,” guessed Sandy.
“Absolutely right.” The woman handed them two unsharpened writing instruments. “Congratulations! You’ve won two black and white ‘Holstein’ pencils.”
As he thanked her, Raggmopp was starting to ask if they felt like leather.
Between tents, sat a man with primitive looking furniture. Sandy spotted at three-legged table and prevented the Old English Sheepdog from ‘spotting’ it in her way. The table-top was a triangular piece of rock that must have weighed 30 kilograms. It was sitting on three legs of Birch with the bark still around. Although the bark was attached, the rock top was not. It was just sitting on the perfectly made base. Neither of them had ever seen anything like it. Sandy paid for it right there, but asked for it to be kept for the next couple of hours.
“No problem. I just don’t want to have to haul it back home,” he said. He almost had to. That afternoon, Raggmopp and Sandy would leave the plowing match, returning to Ottawa without the table.
They wandered over to join a crowd watching a horse. It lumbered around in a short circle; hooked to a turn-still. That device was attached to a saw, causing a log to get shorter. “Who has the time to do that?”, asked Raggmopp.
“They probably don’t have good cable television service,” proposed Sandy. Then he recognized Eric’s brother, Rob Dougherty. A sign helped too.
They watched as Rob sliced thin wedges of cedar for roof shingles. Rob was younger than Sandy but he had an older sister, Donna that had sung in the church choir with Sandy and Eric. Their teacher, choirmaster and organist, Albert Stephen had retired. Before he left the schools, ‘Steve’, had developed a love of music, especially singing, in thousands of pupils in Renfrew County.
Their chat was cut short by an announcement. The Celebrity Plowing Match was about to start. Sandy and Raggmopp grabbed seats with the rest of the audience in the stands. The owner of a new radio station was the master of ceremonies. The station was so new, it wasn’t on the air yet. They just needed some more money. He introduced the most important politician in attendance. Cheryl Gallant was the Federal Member of Parliament for Renfrew. One of only two Conservative M.P.s in Ontario, thought Sandy.
When they were all called up to the stage, the guests were led to their ‘ride’. A tractor pulled the carts on rubber wheels. It resembled a train. They made a couple of passes in front of the stands then were taken to the plowing field.
Sandy tried to make a joke as he sat beside the M.P. but she didn’t get it. Raggmopp also asked for an explanation but Sandy gave up. The train had arrived. The destination was a field that already had one side plowed. With a real farmer standing beside the tractor’s seat, the politician was the first to try steering the John Deere in a straight line. Although he offered advice, for the really bad drivers, he could help steer the machine.
Sandy and the Old English Sheepdog watched. “They’re not using horses,” Raggmopp noticed. “Your mother will be disappointed.”
“Look. I’m going to have a rough time as it is. I think I’ll try to be the winner in another category.”
“What? Worst celebrity plower?”
Sandy answered by looking down as the dog looked up. They both smiled.
A celebrity each from both the country radio and a local television station plowed. Mark Papousek looked like he knew what he was doing. ‘Pappy’ had grown up in Renfrew. TV’s Glenn Schiller, on the other hand, had a more difficult plow.
As luck would have it, Sandy went last. It was perfect. Any contestant coming after him would have a difficult time plowing straight. You have a better chance if you used the row that was just plowed, as a guide for the row you were making. Sandy went out of his way, to go out of the way. Although the farmer tried to take over the wheel, Sandy just kept turning it sharply left and then right about every twenty feet or so. It was tough to head left into the unturned soil. Sandy found the tractor preferred the plowed field on the right, more to the machine’s liking. When they got to the end, it was the worst furrow in the history of the match. It had to be. Probably. They didn’t actually keep records of that embarrassing category but everyone was fairly certain that nobody had ever done it like that.
Raggmopp pronounced, “I knew you weren’t much of a celebrity, but I never knew how badly you plowed!”
As the master of ceremonies started to announce the winner, Sandy and Raggmopp proudly started to walk to the stage. They faked outrage at the decision, and Sandy shouted, “Fixed! I demand a recount; I want an independent, second opinion.”
“OK,” added someone, “You’re ugly too”. The audience laughed. Sandy bowed.
With the Renfrew Celebrity Plowing Match over, and no celebrities having been plowed, Sandy and Raggmopp said goodbye. Another CAPT TV baseball cap was handed out to Frances; they waved goodbye to Eric and headed off.
About 15 kilometres down the road, Sandy turned on the radio. The CBC national news had a story about the loss of timber in a series of forest fires. The anchor said that a report was released on the devastating British Columbia forest fires, “prepared by Gary Philman”.
“So they know who set the fires!” said Raggmopp. “All those trees gone. The Douglas Fir, The Larch, Birch…”
“The table,” exclaimed Sandy as he checked the rear view mirror. “We forgot to pick up the birch and stone table.”

The CBC Radio news had finished. Sandy switched the stereo system to tape so he could sing Christmas songs, along with Karen Carpenter. Raggmopp padded into the kitchen to comment.

“Hey master! I was listening to that news”.

“Yes, there was a big explosion in the Gaza Strip. The first one since Arafat died. Remember him, dog?” said Sandy smugly.

“It was in ALL the papers. The terrorists have already held a news conference. The Fatah Hawks”.

“They sound like an OHL team that still could not beat the London Knights! By the way, do Old English Sheepdogs know where ‘Fatah’ comes from?”

“You mean where, besides the slums of east of Israel, I take it?”

“Yes of course, you mutt. It’s from the first one or two initials of Harakat Tahrir Filistin, ha ta f, only you spell it backwards,” boasted Sandy. He’d have to remember to tell that to John Paul and the Captain’s assistant, Joannie. It was the sort of weird trivia he was able to recall. Couldn’t recognize any of his ex-wives though.

“You mean like Winfrey’s HARPO Productions is Oprah spelled backwards?”

“Ah, yes. That’s it exactly.” Doing well, he thought, Sandy added, “Besides, Fatah Hawks sounds like a baseball team”. It is usually good to end a conversation with humour.

The dog shattered his illusion of intellectual superiority however. “Arafat and his close friends started calling themselves Fatah around the time you were attending kindergarten at Queen Elizabeth School. With his brilliant organization, it remains the largest of the Palestinian factions. The strong arm of the party, the militia, was the Fatah HAWKS.” Raggmopp rested his mouth and walked over to his water.

“Was…”, the only retort Sandy could give.

“Yes. They were disbanded in 1995 and replaced as a militia by the Tanzim. That means organisation; in Arabic.”

“In Arabic?”

I’ve got him now, said thought the dog. “The Hawks had a reputation for total loyalty to Arafat. They had a major role in Palestine’s first intifada.”

Sandy just looked at Raggmopp.

“1987. Looks like Abu Majad is trying to get his name out in the public. He claims Arafat was poisoned.”

“Seems to be a lot of that going around,” suggested Sandy, in a successful attempt to change the topic.”

“Yes, speaking of which. How about some yummy, dry IAMS down here? I’m starving.”

‘Whew. I barely got out of that one’, though Sandy.

“Although, the Fatah Hawks do have a good reputation for providing meals. They kidnapped the Newsweek bureau chief and his photographer Joshua Hammer on May 29th 2004. When he got back to Jerusalem, Knight said, “They actually fed us one of the best meals I’ve eaten in Gaza.”

“Have you been surfing the web again?”

“Hey, have I told you what great opposable thumbs you have? How’s breaky comin’?”

Part One of Two
The Renfrew County Plowing Match

The alarm kicked the radio on at 5:29 a.m. Surprisingly, Sandy had woken up 15 minutes before. Raggmopp gave a little growl from her spot on the couch as Sandy looked past the Old English Sheepdog. The sun had yet to rise.

‘It is still dark outside. I can’t remember the last time I was up this early!’, thought Sandy.

‘That’s not one of the things you have to remember,’ replied Raggmopp. She tried to be comforting, to be supportive.

‘Well, even if it’s dark, we’re going for a walk’ said Sandy. However, the dog stayed on the bedroom’s sofa. Sandy had a shower, dressed and got a coffee.

‘I love the smell of your decaf hazelnut vanilla,’ Raggmopp said as they headed out the door. The house was left unlocked as they headed for the newspaper boxes, three blocks away. The Saturday TV Times was needed so Sandy could leave a voice message for the blind. However, at 6 a.m., the Ottawa Citizen hadn’t arrived so the C.N.I.B.’s Newsline service would have to wait. As it turned out, they arrived back in the late afternoon and Sandy as able to call it in then. A tad late. Meanwhile, other volunteers would be leaving their messages, informing the users of the service of the movies in town, sales at groceries stores and even the obituaries. It was an awkward system that desperately needed a technological miracle that hopefully would come soon. Sandy’s specialty was listing the television schedule from 7 p.m. until 10:30 p.m. . “Debbie Travis’ Facelift is still on cable 49. Golly, that apparent cleft in her chin is probably her belly button! You can be ‘Touched By An Angel’ in the market for $50 bucks or you can catch her on TV, cable 61. He’s still dead and on WPBS tonight at 7; Lawrence Welk on 64.” You get the idea.

Being able to skip the 15 minutes on the phone, meant they were able to leave early. Sandy and his loving companion hopped into the front of the CAPT TV Community Cruiser. It had been parked outside overnight because it probably didn’t fit into the garage. Sandy hadn’t even tried to get it into the garage. The television station was a wonderful part of the community and he was proud to have it parked for all to see. Besides, the neighbours would see it and wonder what was going on.

The Old English Sheepdog had her harness on before getting into the jeep. Sandy then hooked the seatbelt through it to secure her. It would keep her from moving around and hopefully protect the dog in a collision. Better than nothing.

Sandy caught the CFRA News from the top of the show as anchor Norman Jack introduced, “…the news for the HORSES of Rideau Carleton Raceway.”

‘Why don’t they have news ‘for DOGS’ as well?’

“I don’t think he means the news is to be heard by the HORSES of Rideau Carleton. They are listening; just paying for it.”

‘Well, if the horses aren’t going to listen, they might as well pay for news for dogs!’
‘Besides, where did the horses get the money to buy commercials? Tell me that!’

“Can you find another station?” said Sandy, successfully changing the topic.

The anchorman on CBO Radio One was introducing a story about proposed changes to hunting. Before he threw to Ron, a reporter in Thunder Bay, the anchor said that the largest group of hunters in Ontario had agreed with the Ontario government’s idea “of a Métis Controlled Hunt”.

‘Oh I don’t like the sound of that,’ said Raggmopp.
“He didn’t mean that people would be hunting other people,” defended Sandy.
‘It is just a short step from hunting Métis to trying to kill and stuff talking Old English Sheepdogs.’
“Shush. I’m trying to listen to the news.”

Changing the radio station again, they came across an American report on President George W. Bush. While recently signing a defence spending bill, the U.S. President declared America’s terrorist enemies “never stop thinking about new ways to harm our country and our people…and neither do we.” This report added the explanation from White House Press Secretary Scott McClellan who noted, “even the most straightforward and plain-spoken people misspeak.” He added that the terrorists know what Bush means.

‘Any Canadian news?’ questioned the dog as he switched stations. She found a story about the health talks in the capital. Canadian Press along with Broadcast News reported:
“There was a flash of excitement today during the Federal Provincial Health Conference in Ottawa. A crowd of federal–provincial officials, journalists and security guards was given an impromptu PEEP show as they milled outside the national health-care summit. The unexpected performances came from guests at the Westin Hotel across the street from the convention centre where the talks were being held. The spectacle began in the morning when a woman appeared topless at a window in the hotel. Another woman came to her window on the seventh floor several times wearing only a bra and a black-thong. Cheers went up from some in the crowd below at each of her appearance. One person decided to link the show to the outcome of the talks. As he put it, “white bra means there’s a medicare deal, black means there’s no deal and nude means we’re all coming back tomorrow.”
‘Reminds me of the signals the Cardinals give while deciding on the next Pope,’ reflected Raggmopp.

Thirty minutes later, they were passing the new traffic lights at Renfrew. As Highway 17 headed downhill to a bridge crossing the Bonnechere, (bone-Cher), a house stood out, perched high on a cliff, to the right. They took the second right once they got over the river, and followed the Storyland signs. They were permanent. There were also temporary and pointed the way to the Renfrew County PLOWING Match.

‘Shouldn’t that be spelled, ‘poUGHing’, asked Raggmopp.

“I know what they mean,” Sandy defended. He expected the volunteers who organized the event to be wonderful, and Sandy was right. Francis was waiting at the main gate. She hopped into the back of the Jeep.

“You’ve got to be Sandy. And who are you?”

Raggmopp, they both replied. Saying the same thing happened rarely so they both turned to look at each. Then back to the woman, closing the back door from the inside.

She hadn’t caught their looks; no one could hear Raggmopp except Sandy; and she just gave directions. “Head straight down to that man and he has a special spot for you.”

As the CAPT TV Community Cruiser got closer to the next volunteer, she added, “Call him Eric; he’ll be impressed.”

With his arm reaching out the window, Sandy yelled, “Eric? Is that you Eric?”

“Sandy and his Old English Sheepdog, Raggmopp!”

‘Dougherty’, said Raggmopp.

“Eric Dougherty!” Turning to look over his right shoulder, Sandy told Francis that it had been more than thirty years. He hadn’t seen Eric and his sister since all three had sung in the Trinity St. Andrews United Church junior choir.

‘It was so long ago, Jesus had only five disciples.’ The dog kept trying to be funny but the concept of time was difficult.

To be concluded in Part Two

Her appointment with the New Guy was scheduled for 1:30 p.m., but she was never on time. A time/event pool had been created. About two dozen of the station’s employees had given Flash the times when they thought she would show up. From his vantage point at switchboard, he would determine when she pulled in. Besides announcing her arrival, the winner could also be proclaimed.

The New Guy would already know. His office on the second floor was above the main doors and he could see whoever pulled up. He would help her present another award to their News Director. The New Guy was always nervous when the Owner arrived. Sure the station made money, always had, but each of her visits, left a bad taste in his mouth. Maybe it was her Camel Lights.

Becky was in the newsroom when everyone heard the announcement. “Congratulations to Joannie”, said Claude. Groans could be heard from the reporters who turned to look at the Captain’s secretary. She stood and bowed as an editor shouted, “Fixed.”

“I shall enjoy my free lunch tomorrow. You may all come by Table Four and I shall accept your platitudes.”

“Don’t over do it”, warned the Captain. Even 1:45 p.m. would have been OK but Evil Aunt Mary was almost 30 minutes late. A camera was waiting to shoot the presentation, making it late for an interview downtown. A reporter had already left in a cab. She was quite happy to be getting to know the author before she had to interview him in front of the camera.

The afternoon news meeting would be interrupted when the Owner walked in, but if the Captain hurried, he could have it wrapped up before she appeared. After all, she had to visit ‘Carpet City’ first.

The New Guy had raced down the stairs and was at hand to greet her. “An honour, Ma’am.”

“Yes, it is.” She never would have thought that she had an ego problem. It just seemed proper to agree with people when they made such accurately flattering remarks. “Let’s get on with it. I’m hosting a reading club this afternoon at the house.”

Relieved that he wouldn’t have to suffer another one-sided conversation with her for a half an hour, the station president led the Owner to the elevator. From there, it was a short walk through the second floor security door and into the newsroom. The Captain could see her as the New Guy opened the door at the back of the room. He ended the meeting and left the raised platform they called ‘The Bridge’.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. …”

“Please. Call me ‘Aunt’ Mary, Captain.”

With a small cough, he invited her into his office. While walking past Joan’s desk, the Owner observed how happy the secretary looked. “Why thank you, (cough) Aunt Mary. What a beautiful day.”

“I’m here to give the city’s favourite TV news anchor the Pat Windsor Award.” Windsor had been the head of Coca-Cola, a city Mayor for ten years, and then a federal cabinet Minister for Foreign Trade. Although the United States of America was Canada’s biggest trading partner, Windsor had travelled the globe and visited too many developing countries. Near chronic diarrhea complicated by constant official meals of fruit and alcohol, left Windsor with painful cramps, a dry mouth, wrinkled skin and always thirsty. He was so dehydrated, the cabinet minister was rumoured to have turned to dust and blown away when death came. Joan didn’t believe any of it.

The camera was all set up in the Museum. It was the Captain’s office but he spent most of his time at work, up on the bridge. This room was mostly used when greeting officials. The Captain kept smiling as Evil Aunt Mary lit up a smoke before the ceremony even began. The cameraman decided to roll anyway. He had plenty of Beta tape and battery power for the camera. After all, it just would not do to have anything go wrong when the Owner dropped by.

“I remember Windsor telling me that Defence was the job that no one wanted. However he had hoped for it since he thought a helicopter could ferry him back and forth from Baldwin! Once he found out how old and falling apart they were, he changed his mind. Actually, they make good weapons. I understand one copper forced a destroyer to return to port.”

“Yes. That was when it took off, gained ten feet and crashed landed; back on one of our own ships.”

“That was it. Well, shall we do this then.”

As Evil Aunt Mary was handed the plaque from the New Guy, she hesitated as she turned to the Captain. “What am I doing here?”

“Are you alright?”

“Who are you? Where am I?”

Joan who was watching from the open door, reached for her telephone as she heard the Owner describe a heavy feeling in the right arm.

Joan who was watching from the open door, reached for her telephone as she heard the Owner describe a heavy feeling in the right arm.

“Do you think anyone would take her organs if she donated them?

“No one will get a heart donation from her. She doesn’t have one!”

“All those years of smoking. Argh!”

They may have been a cynical bunch but at least they didn’t start a final Evil Aunt Mary pool. She would have won anyway. The Owner wasn’t having a stroke, but a T.I.A. instead. A Transient Ischemic Attack has the same cause and symptoms of a stroke except the results are temporary. She would probably live for years after this scare. With any luck, the sudden thought of dying would improve her personality; at least for a couple of months.

here is an interesting link
CJOH

Let's see what this looks like !
try again