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