Radio Free Kaslo, September 21, 2018

There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love.

Washington Irving

 

 

This is the saddest broadcast/podcast I’ve ever done.

Our beloved pal, faithful companion, beacon of gentleness, kindness, joy, and trust, Scoutie, has left us.

 

For those of you who didn’t know him, you’ll have to trust me when I tell you Scout’s was a very special spirit. I have had the signal honour, the great privilege, of having shared some time on this plane of existence with a line of Very Special Dogs. Topper, Jody, Gandalf, Freja, Archie, Gracie — each of them wonderful, each of them loyal, loving — and greatly loved.

What set Scout apart — his unique gift — was his kindly, unwaveringly gentle approach to everyone and everything. In a world so full of anger, vitriol, and mistrust, Scout was the perfect antidote, a daily reminder of all that is right on this good, green Earth. We live in Kaslo, in the middle of a vast alpine wilderness. Scoutie moved through it, was of it, but always with a light touch.

He was constantly on the lookout for friends, not foes. He loved waltzing down the sidewalk on Front Street, popping into Home Hardware for a treat, saying hi to the gals at the credit union, basking in the admiring comments, pets and scratches from tourists gobsmacked by his good looks and happy demeanour.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Just as he loved scampering along the Kaslo River trail, chasing geese at Kaslo Bay (with half a heart — it was never his plan to actually catch one), running circles around Jannie and me (preferably with a stick in his mouth) for the sheer joy of it all, or sitting stoically under The Squirrel Tree in our backyard, staring up at the chattering little bugger, waiting patiently for it to drop at his feet.

Which it never did.

Scoutie, dear, blessed, loving Scoutie, is now resting peacefully beneath that very tree. His cat pal, Charlie, knows he’s there, and visits from time to time. Maybe the squirrel will finally climb down and pay his respects as well.

I hope one day, in the grand scheme of things, I’ll have the pleasure of sitting on a cosmic couch, watching a Ducks game, Scoutie stretched out beside me, his beautiful, furry face on my lap. I hope I’ll once again have a chance to tell him how much I love him.

Until then, this will have to suffice.

 

I have sometimes thought of the final cause of dogs having such short lives and I am quite satisfied it is in compassion to the human race; for if we suffer so much in losing a dog after an acquaintance of ten or twelve years, what would it be if they were to live double that time?

Sir Walter Scott

 

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