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08/18/2005: "Canine psychogeography"
I flew up the Christie hill north of Davenport tonight. I'm glad I have good gears on my bike, and I've been trying to conquer the hill with harder gears lately. At the top of the climb, I noticed a flattened animal, repeatedly run over. It was very very flat, buy easily identifiable as a rat. We have rats in my neighbourhood it seems. This is slightly concerning, but I guess having an abandoned industrial space across the street from my place might be the reason for the rodents.
Just as I ride onto my driveway, my cell phone goes off. My friend Trevor is calling.
"Matt, I need a big favour. Quickly."
He asks me to jump into a cab immediately. He'll pay for it, he assures me, but I need to get to the foot of Parliament and Lakeshore as fast as I can. "I lost my dog and I need your eyes."
* * * * * * * *
Earlier tonight, Trevor and his dog L.C. (which stands for Lucky Charms) went down to the spit of land where Tent City used to be. The property is fenced in and the dog can run around off the leash. The space offers some privacy and a place for Trev to get his fix for hanging out in isolated areas of the waterfront.
So tonight L.C. is off sniffing at something when a firework goes off in the Cherry Beach area, just east of them. LC is a Lab-Sheppard mix, but for some reason a chicken-shit of a dog who is easily scared by popping sounds, especially fireworks. The dog turns and makes a b-line for the nearest hole in the fence, and keeps running. Trev takes off after her.
He scours the area for 25 minutes calling out for the dog. He finally calls his wife Dring who jumps into their car and heads down to search with him. In the meantime, two other friends are summoned, including myself.
After an hour and no sight of LC, Dring gets a call on her cell. The concierge of their condo asks to speak to Trevor.
"Hello Trevor -- is that big dog of yours with you now?"
"No, we've lost her on the waterfront!"
"Our security cameras seem to show your dog is lying down in the parking garage by the door to the stairs."
* * * * * * * *
The cabbie is psyched about driving me fast across town. When I jumped into the cab I told him we had to get to Parliament and Lakeshore "very very fast" to look for my friends lost dog. "I'll get you there in 10 minutes," he says. "I'll help you look, too."
Trev calls me back while me and the cabbie are waiting at the stoplights of Bathurst and St Clair, only a few minutes from my place.
"The dog is back at the condo!"
"What the fuck are you talking about?" I ask.
"She ran home!" Trev yells.
"This is like the Littlest Hobo!" I yell back.
The dog ran all the way back to Yonge and King. Yonge and fucking King! From Tent City! Over eight lanes of the Lakeshore, pass the Gardiner on- and off-ramps, through the St. Lawrence community, across the Esplanade, over Front Street, and Wellington Street, across Jarvis and Sherbourne and Church. As an encore, she walked up the parking garage ramp. She finally sat underneath the PUSH FOR HELP speaker by the stairwell, and waited there until Trevor and company arrived. Trev and the dog have never walked to Tent City, and tonight he had driven his in-laws van to the area.
