The Canadian Times

The Rainbow Bridge

K ross — Mon, 13 Oct 2008 23:17:27 GMT

Just this side of heaven, is a place called Rainbow Bridge...

When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge.

There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together.

There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigour; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by.

The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; his eager body quivers.

Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together....

Author Unknown

Goodbye Sam

K ross — Mon, 13 Oct 2008 14:35:24 GMT

Only once in a lifetime will that most special dog come into your life. For me that was Sam.

We've had many dogs over the years and I've loved each and every one of them, but Sam was, and will always be, my special friend.

Goodbye for now Sam. I'll see you at the Rainbow Bridge.

Police Dog Sam

K ross — Thu, 27 Sep 2007 11:21:46 GMT

On a recent summer morning Bonnie, my wife and Sam, our Border Collie, had a number of errands to run in the village near where we live, so they got an early start. However, the first stop had to be the bank, of course, but they were a little too early because the bank wasn't open yet.

As Bonnie waited on the steps in front of the bank, a police cruiser pulled in behind her mini van. The officer got out and took careful notice of her van and appeared to be looking at the dog in the back seat. She mentally prepared her defence for when he would confront her with leaving the dog in the car on a warm day:

It isn't that warm yet;
There's a dish of water on the seat beside him;
All of the windows in the van are open (no he wouldn't jump out because he will be focussed on the bank door and nothing can distract him until she comes out;
Well, nothing except perhaps someone with a Timbit.

The officer approached and started a conversation by asking if Sam was a Border Collie. As it turned out, he was just there to do some banking and he liked Border Collies.

They chatted for a few minutes. The policeman had been with a K-9 unit in a big city police department before going over to the provincial police force. They had apparently had two old Border Collies that were used to help train the new dogs as they came into the unit. He had always been impressed by the inteligence displayed by those two old dogs.

Just before the bank opened and they went in, the police officer asked my wife if Sam had been trained as a hearder, to which she answered, "No, he's just the family pet, and besides, with his Tim-butt he'd be too slow."

The officer looked at her quizzically and she explained that Sam had a tremendous love for Timbits, and it showed ... on his butt. The officer cocked his head to the side, studied Sam briefely and then nodded, saying, "Yeah, he'd make a good cop!"

Guard Dog Sam

K ross — Mon, 24 Sep 2007 18:11:12 GMT

As my wife came out of the grocery store, she was amazed to see an older man standing by her mini-van.

What was amazing about it was that our Border Collie, Sam, who would normally never let anyone outside the family get that close without yelling, was calmly sitting on the seat looking at the man.

As she approached, she finally saw more clearly what was going on. Sam wasn't looking at the man, but rather what was in the man's hand, hanging casually by his side.

When she arrived at the van, the man spoke, "Nice dog." My wife agreed, but told the man that Sam wouldn't normally allow him to get this close to the van.

The man held up the bag that he was holding and asked if he could give the dog one. What he was holding was a small, brown bag from Tim Horton's. This is what Sam had been looking at, and recognized it for what it was: a repository for those tasty morsels of fried dough known as Timbits. My wife said that he could have one and proceeded to unlock the van.

The man reached into the bag and proffered the tasty treat to Sam, who gently took it. Once he swallowed it, he fixed his gaze on that little brown bag once more. The man asked if he could have another and my wife gave her permission. The man handed the Timbit to the dog and while it was being chewed and swallowed, he crumpled up the empty bag.

This action made it obvious that the man had nothing more to offer that Sam would be interested in and so, being back on duty guarding his mistress and her chariot, Sam looked the man in the eye, curled his lip and began to snarl and growl.

The man thought that this was hilarious. He told my wife what a great guard dog she had and went away with a smile on his face.

Several days later, as my wife drove into the same parking lot, a car pulled into the space beside her. The same man got out waving a small brown bag. He came around to the passenger door and helped an elderly lady, who he introduced as his mother, from the car.

He handed the lady the bag and they went through the same routine as described above, only the mother handed out the Timbits this time. When the last Timbit was eaten and the bag crumpled, Sam went into his "guard dog" routine. They both laughed heartily, thanked my wife and drove away.

Were these people driving around town for days, with a bag of Timbits in the car, hoping to spot my wife and Sam?

Sam Is Our Tim Detector

K ross — Mon, 24 Sep 2007 14:57:00 GMT

No matter where we are, in our home town or a strange city, if there's a Tim Horton's outlet near where we're driving, he becomes very attentive, sitting up on the back seat of the van and watching in all directions until he spots it.

He then sits very quietly, almost holding his breath, waiting, straining to hear the sound of the signal light lever being moved. When it is, he's all over the back seat like bad weather; jumping and carrying-on, knowing he's going to get that tasty morsel known as a Timbit.

Sam is a normally sedate 8-year old Border Collie who just can't control himself when it comes to those wonderful little balls of fried dough.

However, if the vehicle should continue on it's way without the signal light being activated, his ears will drop and his head will hang as he watches that magical place of Tim's pass by and disappear from sight.

Sam's Favourite Thing

K ross — Mon, 24 Sep 2007 13:08:14 GMT

Two of Sam's favorite things are water. Yes, I said TWO. He loves to drink water, splash water, swim in water, play in the sprinkler, even attack the stream of water from the garden hose.

He also likes ice, which of course is also water. Give him an ice cube and he'll bat it around like he's playing hockey, he'll toss it in the air and try to catch it like a ball, but will eventually crunch it up for a snack.

Sam is an 8-year old Border Collie.

Sam's most favorite thing in the world, however, has very little to do with water. His favorite thing is the Timbit. For those of you who are not Canadian and have not come in contact with the franchise, Tim Horton's is a chain of coffee and donut shops which originated in Canada and has recently moved into the United States. One of their products is the Timbit. This is a small ball of dough (the hole from the donut?) which is cooked in the same manner as the donut.

When Sam was a very small puppy, my wife and I stop at one of these shops for a coffee. As we approached the drive-through window, the young lady who was about to serve us the brown nectar laced with sugar and cream, spotted the puppy in the back seat looking at her through the window. She made a fuss over the puppy who was "Oh, so cute!" and as was the policy at this particular outlet, asked if he could have a plain Timbit. Of course, with the utmost innocence, we said that he could.

From that day on, he expects that every time he goes in the car, he will get a Timbit. And he usually does. However, not always knowing if the particular outlet that we are visiting or if the server at the window endorse this tradition, we always order and pay for his timbits, which frequently results in his getting extras once they see him in the car with his head stuck out the window, drooling down the driver's shoulder and sleeve. At one local store he is known as "Drippy Bob", so named by the manager.

Sam

K ross — Sun, 23 Sep 2007 23:44:23 GMT

Sam is an eight-year old Border Collie who is becoming a grumpy old man. I must admit though, my wife and I are mostly to blame. You see, he's had a very difficult life.

It all started about eight years ago - coincidence. We went to visit my aunt and uncle for a couple of weeks holiday. Actually we went to spend a couple of weeks at their cottage on the Trent River. They were breeders of Border Collies and we knew that they had a litter in residence at the time. However, having a 120-pound German Shepherd/Husky cross named Taz, we were adamant that we were not going home with a puppy!

So, when we got Sam home . . .

Yeah. When we saw him, we just couldn't say no. And it seemed that he took a liking to us as well, even big ol' Taz.

So, it began. You see, his troubles started with the training.

Oh, not his training. He learned very quickly. House training was a breeze. In addition he easily learned to come, sit, stay, lay down, play dead, roll over and shake a paw (the right paw with the command 'shake' and the left paw when asked 'Are you a boy scout?'). The problem, leading to the eight-years of frustration causing him to be a grumpy old man, is the fact that he's smarter than we are, and our training has been a terrible burden on him.

Now I know, you're saying that we shouldn't blame ourselves, but a few weeks ago we discovered the awful truth. My wife had 7 or 8 ladies in visiting. A couple of these ladies, sisters, were friends from her school days and two of the other ladies were their mother and aunt, who are in their eighties. Well within maybe fifteen minute, he had everyone playing with him, crawling around on the floor fetching his toys from under the furniture and throwing them for him to catch or chase.

I feel so ashamed! It's taken eight years for us to be trained to the same level.