The Truth About Canadians Revealed

I was all set to take the Hammer up to Sundown Lake today. A couple chicken wings from last night's dinner, two pastries, a banana and a litre of tea were packed into my car. Man does not live on beer alone. Then the rain started pounding down just as we left my neighbourhood of stay at home moms and pot growing industrialists. I decided to forego the drive to the lake in favour of a hike closer to home.

Our first stop was a small park at the edge of some farmland on the edge of town. The ground was wetter than a dead seal's ass. After making our way through the empty ballyard I let Hammer have a run in the unkept field of mice runs and long grass. In the farmer's field beside us a couple of llamas eyed the two of us like big eye lashed farm girls. Hammer considered sneaking under the fence to have a closer look at the big dirty animals but wisely chose not to. She is getting braver, as dogs do with time, but she is not that brave.

After Hammer did her dog toilet we continued to the nearby river. From there we wandered along the dyke trail. We saw lots of swans, sheep and cows. Further along I heard noises I did not recognize at all. Hammer's ears perked up as she sought the source of the sound which was somewhat like good punk rock singing. When we neared the sound I could make out the figures of several caged wolves. I had not been along this stretch of the dyke for so long I had forgotten about the wildlife breeder. The various animals are bred for sacrifices by the local old time religious orders.

There are days when I wish I lived in Big Dope City with its libraries and crack dealers. This was not one of them. Most days the company of lazy farm animals and wildlife beats the industry of the rat race like the Canadians beat the Russians in hockey last night. (As an aside I must add an observation passed on to me by an American I communicated with in my computer last night between periods of The Game. He said, "Canadians are everything good you hear about them except when it comes to hockey. Then they are just plain DICKS.")

In the car after our walk was done I ate my lunch and listened to the radio fuckheads talk about the dreaminess of the national election. Lots of people around here are hoping the Conservative sheep shagger will be elected shepherd to us all. It may not be this election but sooner or later the Conservatives will come baaaaaaaaaaaaack.

From the riverside I drove across the swollen river to visit Sonja in Grand Cedar. Hammer likes to visit Sonja and her co-workers where they play ball with her and debate the merits of the various schools of canine psychology. Women and men have very different expectations of their dogs. I'm happy if she does her toilet outside and does not chew off a neighbourhood child's leg. Sonja wants her dog to be the best dog in the whole wild world like our previous two were.

The Hammer is looking like she might just make the grade too. But then everything looks pretty fucking rosy when Canada beats the Russians at hockey.