Bella's Story - one of my favourite animal stories was originally written October 2013 for our Notes From Paradise blog

Well, this is a little embarrassing. I’ve been asked to tell you about myself, and really I am quite shy. I’m not prone to bragging.  The beautiful brown-eyed blonde smiled impishly at her visitor.  But, since you asked, well, here goes.

When I was a tiny little baby I had five brothers and sisters.  Our mother was taken from us quite suddenly so we never knew her.  

I was so tiny I would fit in the palm of a person’s hand.  Bella’s feathery tail swished softly as she warmed to the idea of telling her story.  One day just after the loss of our mother, a tall woman picked me up in her arms. 

The woman whispered to me:  “You are going to be safe sweetie, don’t worry.  I know exactly who is going to love you forever.” 

I am only 1-year-old in this photo

The next thing I knew I was being handed to a very pretty blonde-haired woman. “Oh, she is so beautiful.  I love her to pieces!  She will be my very special friend.” 

Well, that made me very excited and I must admit I acted just like a very young puppy would, licking her face, and wiggling ecstatically.  It’s all a bit embarrassing, really, but I was so happy to have someone love me. 

She is the person who named me Bella, which means “beauty” in Spanish and since we were living in Mexico it just made sense to have a Spanish name.  One of her many friends thought that my name should have been Sandy, as I blended perfectly with the beach sand floors of their outside living area.  I am very happy she stayed with the prettier name.  I think it suits me perfectly, don’t you?  She smiled, coyly.

After my operation , one ear up, one ear down

As I grew up it took me quite a few months before I could climb the stairs up to the apartment of my two humans.  Because I had very poor nutrition as a tiny baby, I had very weak bones, and my feet would swell when I tried to run or play.   

My female human was so very patient with me, carrying me down in the morning, back up for an afternoon nap, down for playtime, and up again for bedtime.  It really was a nuisance for her as she was also operating a busy resort.  She kept telling me she loved me, and it was not a problem.  Lucky for me she loved me so much!  Her handsome male human was away a lot of the time working in another city, so we were good company for each other.  Now, happily, he is here all the time and I love him as much as I love her.  Well, maybe I love her just a teeny, tiny bit more because she carried me up and down the stairs.

This is our family photo in 2004 

When I was learning my manners, my special treat was a few Cheerios, those little round crunchy circles that people float in a bowl of milk.  I adore them.  I will do anything for Cheerios.  Learning my manners wasn’t a problem at all, it was quite fun, actually.  I have also been told that I am very smart, so smart I even learned to love cats including my first friend Luna, and now my friend Peek-a-Boo.  Luna taught me many secrets that only cats know.   Peek-a-Boo and I have become good friends, and we patrol our property together.  We keep an eye on our humans, and make sure their house is safe.  Any strangers must pass our inspections, especially if they are working at the resort. 

Where's the fish?  Where's the fish?  Pounce!

Some of my favourite activities include a game I invented – I call it pounce.  It’s an exciting game. My humans take me down the path, through the dark, cool caves, and onto a smaller quiet beach.  In the shallow tidal pools I watch very carefully for small fish.  When I see them – I pounce!  I wait, and I watch; then pounce again! I have been told that I look like a fox pouncing on a mouse when I play this game.  I could play for hours. Peek-a-Boo would like to play with me, but she’s afraid to walk down to the beach with us.   

I also enjoy running on long sandy beaches at a place called Tulum. I’d run for miles, dash into the surf, roll in the sand, and then clean my face on a fluffy beach towel.  It was a delicious treat.  I am quite a bit older now, so I don’t do the long runs and hikes that I did when I was a much younger dog. 

Sadly I have had a few health problems in my past.  The first problem occurred when I was about two-years old.  I had a large tumor in my head that required surgery.  The doctor did a fine job of removing the tumor, but as you can see from the photos both of my ears used to be perky, like wings.  Now the right one is perky, and the left one is relaxed.  It makes me much more interesting to look at, I think.  

Playing in the tidal pools on Isla Mujeres

I was such a scrawny, lanky teenager – all legs and feet.  Now that I am a mature woman, I have settled into a fuller, Rubenesque-body type.  I do have other health challenges including skin sensitivities, digestive issues, heartworm, and Ehrlichia, but I won’t bore you with the gruesome details.  And of course as I age, I am gradually losing my eye-sight to cataracts.  It is such a challenge getting older.  I miss the carefree days of my youth.

With such a rocky start to my life, being adopted has been a blessing for me.  I gained a loving family, who feed me, care for me, and let me share their lives completely.  And I’ll tell you a secret.  She leaned closer to whisper.  I have my own private closet filled with beautiful jeweled collars; collars for Hallowe’en or Christmas, or Thanksgiving, and for my birthday.  I have collars to match my female human’s dresses, and my male human’s shirts.  I am spoiled.  

And here's our recent family portrait !

They also let me share their bed for part of the night.  I like to get into the bed first, kiss both of my humans good night and then leave to sleep peacefully in my own comfy bed.  

Part way through the night I will sometimes sneak into bed for an hour, or when my male human gets up in the morning I’ll make a warm nest with his pillows.  Those extra few minutes of sleep are delightful, full of wonderful dreams and memories of being young again.

I love my life.  Bella looked away, a film of tears in her eyes, thinking how she had aged so much in the last year or two.  I hope I can stay healthy and happy, sharing my life with my people for a few more years yet.   I love my people.  But her life was too perfect to be sad about anything for very long.  Softly thumping her tail on the floor she grinned happily at her visitor.  I wish every dog could be as fortunate as I have been!

                            ______________________

Cast of characters:

Bella – is Bella who lives at Villa la Bella Bed & Breakfast on Isla Mujeres http://www.facebook.com/groups/20100905736/

The tall woman – Alison Sawyer Current who founded the non-profit organization Isla Animals dedicated to helping animals in need.    http://www.facebook.com/pages/Isla-Animals/169657606676

The pretty blonde-haired woman – Ashley Margilyn Blogin co-owner of Villa la Bella

The handsome male human – Curtis Blogin co-owner of Villa la Bella

The water-Spaniel who hated water

Danny Boy - my childhood friend

“Whew! What is that smell?” my dad asked, quickly winding down the driver's window on his 1955 Super-88 Oldsmobile. 

He quirked an eyebrow, looking at mom and the four of us girls, to see who had made that very un-ladylike odor. 

“Not me, not me!” we yelled back at him. Then all eyes turned to our dog, Danny Boy, who was blissfully unaware that he had caused a commotion.

“What? Why are you looking at me?” his expressive brown eyes seemed to say. “I'm just enjoying our Sunday car ride.” He poked his head over Dad's shoulder, out the open window searching for fresher air.

Bradian Townsite - our playground

Danny Boy, a Golden Cocker Spaniel, came into our family the same year I was born. We quickly became inseparable. When I was about six or seven years old I started exploring the hills behind our house in the upper town-site of the gold mining town of Bralorne. 

Danny Boy stayed by my side as I picked a variety of wildflowers, a present for my mom: the fuzzy red Indian Paint Brushes, delicate mauve and white Lady Slippers, the yellow and purple Honeysuckle, and bright orange Tiger Lillies. He hung out with me while a group of young friends and I fooled around the with discarded mining equipment. The group quickly discovered that we could make the body of the rusty old oar car spin around and around, while the four wheels stayed stationary. It was an impromptu merry-go-round until one of our friends, Nadine, slipped between the rapidly spinning body and the stationary frame, painfully snapping her femur. No more merry-go-round. Danny Boy was with us, but it wasn't his job to control our goofy antics, he was there to make sure I could find my way home at the end of the day.

About 1957 - Dad, my sister Judy, and I

He always accompanied us on our family outings, hanging his head out the car window with long ears flapping in the wind. In the 1955 Oldsmobile he preferred to stand behind our dad with his feet on the armrest and the window open wide. 

He was just as happy in the back of a pickup truck, as long as he had one the girls to keep him company as we bounced over rough mountain roads. 

My cousins Rob & Ken, and I. Dad and Granny in canoe - no dog!

But the one thing Danny Boy would not do was swim! He hated water. I can still hear the frustration in my dad's voice, “He's supposed to be a retriever for heaven's sake! And I can't get him to go in the water.” So we swam in rivers and lakes, and the dog watched from the shore. No amount of coaxing was going to get him into the water. As for retrieving, nope not going to happen. In his mind watching four active girls was work enough, he didn't have time for other jobs.

Along with his refusal to swim was the persistent problem with flatulence.  It wasn't until years later that I found out the cause of the problem. Raw eggs! Our parents had taught us to put a raw egg in his food, to make his coat shiny. 
It turns out the raw eggs cause flatulence for dogs – especially for Cocker Spaniels. The poor guy never had a chance!

I will always remember him as a fun, faithful, and somewhat stinky, friend.

Dad as a youngster with his dogs.

“Claire de Loon”

Claire de Loon enjoying our bathtub

A long and eerie wolf-like howl emanated from our main floor bathroom. There was no mistaking that sound. It was the call of a female loon, searching for her mate: “I'm here. Where are you?”

We found the bird, close to death, collapsed on the shoreline of Bowen Island BC. She didn't resist when I bent to pick her up, tucking her into a sweater for the ride to our house. Loons are large, beautiful waterbirds native to the northern hemisphere, nesting on lakes and rivers and returning to the ocean for the winter months. They have strong, straight bills that can quickly spear an escaping fish, or unwary human hands. Loons have large feet, and short wings, necessitating a long awkward run on the water's surface to become airborne. Anyone who has grown up near a lake or river is probably familiar with their hauntingly beautiful cry.

Arriving at our house we placed Claire de Loon in a secluded workshop near our kitchen, keeping her confined so that we could administer drugs, water and food. The Vancouver Stanley Park Zoo bird specialist suggested using a veterinary syringe to squirt a liquid mash of ground fish, vitamin B, and antibiotics down her throat. He said, “Don't bring her to us. She won't survive the stress of the car and boat trip. Help her if you can, but she's likely too sick to survive.”

1983 releasing Claire de Loon  

As it turned out, squirting the liquid into the sick bird was a two-person job; one to hold the bird and her sharp beak still and the other one to squirt the goo. First one week passed, and then another. By now our resident loon was feeling quite perky. We were able stop force-feeding her, instead we tossed pieces of fish towards her. She caught the food mid-air and greedily gulped it down. The local marina operator was amused at how much we were spending on herring and other bait fish, especially since we seldom, if ever, went fishing.

At the end of the second week we decided to move her into our bathtub so that she could exercise, and preen her feathers in preparation for release. Whenever we heard Claire de Loon call her weirdly thrilling cry, I would quietly crack open the bathroom door to see what she was doing. The sound would stop! When I shut the door – she would start up again. She was missing her mate, missing her freedom. It was time, time to let her go.

We tucked Claire de Loon into a cardboard box, and drove to Killarney Lake in the centre of Bowen Island. It was a perfect place to let her recover her strength. She had fresh water to drink, a big lake for swimming, and lots of fish and aquatic critters to feast on. It was loon heaven.

Loony Happy Dance!

I released her, expecting her to fly away from her captors as quickly as possible but we got an unexpected thrill. 

Claire de Loon stayed nearby for at least ten minutes, trilling her call, doing a loon-happy-dance on the lake! She was happy! We were happy. Watching her brought tears to my eyes.

Later in the day when we were scrubbing out the bathroom to make it useable for us, we discovered the downside to letting a loon recuperate in your bathtub. The acid in the loon poop completely removed the enamel surface of the tub. Ah well, it was worth it to see her healthy and happy.

Dance on Claire de Loon, dance on.

Great you-tube video of loons:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ENNzjy8QjU

“Buck – go get me a beer!”

And he did. With that simple action, Buck, my six-year-old black Labrador Retriever won a spot in my man's heart.

Abandoned Bradian Townsite photo taken in 1980

Lawrie and I, and his then eleven-year-old son John, were spending a three-day weekend near Bralorne, the remote and almost-abandoned gold mining town where I was born. 

We parked our camper truck under the pine trees at our original family cabin situated on the shores of the glacier-fed Big Gunn Lake. Lawrie wanted a cold beer so he decided that he should toss the entire case of beer out into the lake to cool it down.

A half an hour later when Lawrie tried to retrieve a cold beer he discovered his mistake. Freezing cold water. Too damn cold - unless you happened to be a young kid who grew up swimming in that lake.

Our original family cabin on Big Gunn Lake

He looked calculatingly at my dog, Buck, who was sitting beside us, tail wagging and tongue lolling out of his mouth. Lawrie took a small pebble and tossed it into the water towards the case of beer. “Buck – go get me a beer!” he commanded. Buck, always eager for a swim jumped in the water and swam to where the pebble had disturbed the surface of the lake. He paddled around in confusion, then to our surprise dove down, leaving just the tip of his tail poking above the lake's surface.

A minute or two later he popped to the surface with a beer in his mouth!  Wow, Buck the Wonder Dog! Clutching the beer in his teeth he swam to shore where he was greeted with hugs and love and praise. “Good dog, good dog!” “Now, go get Lynda a beer,” Lawrie said, tossing another pebble into the lake. 

Buck the Wonder Dog - retrieving a beer from the lake

Off he swam, no confusion this time, diving down and retrieving a second beer. His arrival on shore was greeted with more hugs and praise.

For the balance of the weekend, whenever we wanted an icy cold beer we simply pointed at the lake and said, “Buck, go get me a beer!” 


And he did, every time – until three days later when our short vacation was over.