Alan Skeoch

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  • EPISODE 473 PETS: DAISY AND THE TSREADMILL

    EPISODE 473   DAISY AND THE TREADMILL

    alan skeoch
    De. 2, 2021

    Daisy was one of the greatest animals we ever had.  When she died people cried all over Canada.  One man even
    sent a note saying he had to pull over on The Trans Canada Highway because of his tears.  Not many dogs get
    national attention like she did.   You wonder how that happened. right?   Well the story is a bit on the long side but 
    here goes.




    DAISY…THE DOG WHO LOVED THE TREADMILL

    The idea of having a dog running a treadmill never occurred to me.   I bought the treadmill as an artefact.
    As I cleaned and repaired it, our Labrador dog Daisy kept hanging around.  Nosing around.  So I started
    a conversation with her.

    “Daisy, did you know that dogs life you once ran this treadmill?”
    (Swear she knew what i was saying.}
    “A dog would be led up the back while the brake was on…the  treadmill would be hooked to
    a fanning mill or some other farm implement.”
    (Daisy looked deep into my eyes…and listened.)
    “Do you want to give it a try, Daisy?”
    (I swear she nodded…stood at the back  of the treadmill.)
    “Hop on, then.”
    (And she did.  Honestly, that was all the training she had. Zero…)
    “Holy Samoley, Daisy, have you done this before?”
    (She looked at me  almost saying in the silence…”How could I , you got me as a little pup.”)
    “Let’s see what happens when I take off the brake after hooking the handle of a fanning mill to the treadmill…
    just give a minute or  two.  There,all hooked up.  Are you ready?
    (Daisy wagged her tail….I know you won’t believe that but she did.)
    “Ready? 
    (And I released the brake…the treads began to turn as Daisy set her paws up and down.
    And everything worked …the fanning mill was ready to clean grain using dog power…the 
    old machine rattled and the graim sifter shook.  And Daisy wagged her tail looking
    right into my eyes.   Who will believe me?)


    Daisy as a little pup.



    Daisy on the dog treadmill…all ready to go.


    See Daisy sitting on the ground at Sherwood Hume’s Family Farm Festival years ago.
    The treadmill is hooked to a small fanning mill.   All that Daisy needed was an
    audience…perhaps some applause.

    THEN I MADE A BIG MISTAKE…WISH I HAD BEHAVED BETTER
    (“A fine example of a dog owner”…I say that sarcastically)

    We did many shows with Daisy but the best and the worst was at the Hume
    farm.  You have already read the best  Now for the worst. You will not think
    well of me after reading but you will still admire Daisy.  Here goes…

    We had a big crowd around Daisy as the treadmill revolved and the grain screens
    shook.  Admirers all.  Even, I suppose, the woman with the grim face admired
    Daisy.   But she sure did not like me.
    “How could you treat a dog like that? It’s brutal.”
    “Never thought of that.”
    “How long will she have to do that?  Abuse!”
    “I let her work until she drops…” (Wish I had not said that…but the words just blurted out.”
    “You abuse her like that until she drops….”
    “Yep.  And when that happens I go to the dog catcher or Humane Society and get another dog.”
    “Well….we’ll see about that. I’m going to get the police.”
    And away she went.

    Daisy was still turning the machine.  Her tail was still wagging.   Strange that the
    woman did not notice.   The crowd hooted….applauded  either the well intentioned woman
    or my smart assed comment.  It did not really matter.  This was showmanship at its
    best.  

    Did the police come?  No.  We had a group of volunteers, mostly women, who blocked
    the  front of the farm that day lest we had unwanted visitors.  Some men were drinking
    beer which posed a far more serious situation than Daisy’s work on the treadmill.  We did
    not have a liquor licence which would have led to big time trouble.  We wished the beer
    drinkers knew that.  They were like me…well intentioned but stupid.




    Daisy





    THE DAY DAISY DIED

    AT the time we had Daisy I was a small time journalist and broadcaster on CBC radio.
    Not big time.  My radio slot was around 5 to 10 minutes. Usually my stories were received
    locally in Southern Ontario.  But sometimes they went out to a wider Canadian audience.

    “Would a story about our dog Daisy be OK this week?”
    “Why Daisy?”
    “She died this week.  Dog lovers know how that hurts.”
    “OK”

    So  I wrote a radio script about Daisy.  It’s still around our house somewhere
    as is a tape of the broadcast.   I tied Daisy to our daily life.  “Daisy was more like
    a person than a dog.  Marjorie’s farm relative would have said ’she were the  knowingest
    dog that ever there was.  (musical words She loved us.  She was there as the boys
    grew up.  And we loved her back…took her wherever we went.  She knew as many swimming
    holes in Ontario as we did.  One year we parked Daisy and her big pup Sidney on an island
    in Lake of the Woods  while we took a canoe bound for another island a few miles distant where
    there were blueberries and maybe a bear or two.   We were way out in the open water when one
    the boys looked behind us.  Spotted two black dots in the Water.

    “Mom, look back there…I think Daisy and Sidney are following us/“

    So we turned around and got both Daisy and  Sidney into the canoe.  With
    difficulty.   I say this so you  would understand just how close Daisy was
    to our family.  She did not want to stay behind.

    Daisy died yesterday. We will miss her.

    My story was much longer.  While telling the story I noticed the studio was
    empty.  Usually my producer or radio host or technician were present.  Not that day.
    I was all alone.  Where were they?   Crying in the sound booth behind my back.
    I was crying as well.  My voice broke a couple of times.  Tears do not come easily
    for me but they sure did the day that Daisy died.

    I often think of Daisy.  And the image of  that radio listener on the Trans Canada Highway
    comes to mind as he slipped to the gravel shoulder to wipe his tears.  Any person who cannot 
    love a dog seems slightly less than human.  I mean a dog like Daisy.

    alan skeoch
    dec. 2,2021



  • EPISODE 471 A WINTER DAY BEST FORGOTTEN, NOV. 30, 2021 ‘THE BOB CAT WILL NOT START”

    EPISODE  471     A WINTER DAY BEST FORGOTTEN,  NOV. 30, 2021  “THE BOB CAT WILL NOT START”


    alan skeoch
    nov. 30 2021


    VAZZZZZOOM!  SHAWN GOT THE BOB CAT STARTED…SAVE US ALL


    Overcast sky and snow flying with the wind.  A good day to stay in bed…but there was work to do.
    Too much work to do. I wonder if I can record the day in pictures?



    “All quiet here on the farm…snow on the ground…more snow in the air.”
    “I think I’ll go down to the other place…got a load from Movie coming back.”
    “Lunch at noon.”


    “All hell turning loose down here.”
    “I need the bob cat to get a load of machines to the barn”
    “Not so fast…bob cat won’t go….wet gasoline maybe….damp and cold here which
    is not good for electric starters.”
    “I’ve got a five ton truck at the road with machines to get off, “ 
    “Well look at what we are facing…


    -8 to 10 double axle dump trucks with garden soil…
    -a prefab swimming pool to load and get to West Toronto…
    -a broken down Case bob cat
    to load and get to a mechanic.”
    ”
    “Try that Gas treatment…a fluid ….often works…”
    “VAZZZZOOM…VAZZZOOM.”
    “We are back in business….what comes first?”
    “The guys at the road with the big drill press…”

    And so the work began…continued until the sky got really dark.

    alan

  • EPISODE 480 PETS: TARA THE COONHOUND TO

    Note: Readers are reminded to search their memories about their own pets otherwise this
    exercise is a little too self centred


    EPISODE 480    PETS CONTINUED— TARA THE COONHOUND  and GEORGE the female cat whose name did not fool Tom Cats, etc.


    alan skeoch
    nov. 2021

    DATELINE  1964


    JUST couple more pictures of Presque Neige when she lived in midst of wolves and bears and geophysicists




    MARJORIE loved the Biblical story of Noah’s Ark which she tried to replicate
    in our daily life.  But that was the 1960’s.  First let me tell a story of George
    in the 1950’s.  Before marriage…the teen age years. The story will likely make you angry.


    DATELINE   1950

    GEORGE was our family cat after SMOKEY died.  We did not have a family dog
    until Marjorie got TARA THE COONHOUND from the SPCA.

    GEORGE was chosen as a name in an  attempt to fool Tom cats.  To discourage them
    from hanging around as they are prone to do when a cat comes into heat.  The ploy  did
    not work.   George had a bushel or so of kittens which we distributed to homes in west
    Toronto in the 1950’s.   In those years cats were abundant largely because pet owners
    refused or could not afford to neuter their pets.

    GEORGE (Dad set us all a fine example using George as bait)

    Dad gave Eric and I a BB gun about 1953.  At least he put a dollar downpayment on the
    gun and mom paid the rest.  Guns are dangerous things we discovered.
    Dad believed in leading by example.  Rarely a good example .Our house at  455 Annette Street
    was not an architectural marvel.  It has been built without much thought.  No kitchen There was no kitchen
    in our part of the house.  Second floor of three rooms.  Cramped.  A previous owner had tacked
    an 8 x 10 frame oddity on the back of the house which became our kitchen.  There was a small
    window.   And it was here that Dad sat in the dark on Christmas Eve with the BB gun.  Like a sniper
    in World War II, he waited patiently puffing on the dead stub of a White Owl Invincible cigar. Waiting
    for George to spread the word the she was receptive for clandestine visits by the opposite sex.
    In no time at all two or three Tom cats began to howl  on the back fence…”howl”…like the Mills Brothers in concert.
    Then dad poked the BB gun slowly out the back window.  Took aim and fired.  I don’t know if
    he hit anything because mom caught him and chastised him with the usual “Oh Red, you
    fathead, a fine example you are for the boys.  Put that gun away.”  George continued to spread
    the word and the Tom cats continued to howl.  Our cat was personal property.  Others were
    fair game.   George always had her kittens at the bottom of the narrow stairway under our tiny
    kitchen.   One bad result of that was fleas..  We could not get rid of the fleas and I remember crushing them
    between my finger nails as they spurted my blood.  Ah, yes,  lots of nice memories of George.

    DATELINE  1970

    TARA (The hound who never got a chance to hunt)


    TARA was the first dog we had after Marjorie and I tied the knot.  Marjorie got her from the
     the SPCA.   She was a registered Coonhound but not quite big enough for purists.  So she was given to the SPCA to sell or do whatever had to be done.
    Maybe TARA WAS not aggressive enough for She would follow a scent only a short distance always keeping us
    in sight.  She was motherly… liked to mother our two boys as if they were her own kin.  Her gentle nature
    and mothering instinct gave Marjorie an idea.  

    “Why don’t we find a male coonhound?”
    “  Do you want any male, let’s say a Jack Russell
    or a Great Dane?”
    “No, we must find another coonhound…black and tan.

    Aside:  Now I must be circumspect … ie. careful…in what I write says Marjorie.

    “Alan, I found a stud owned by a man in Clarkson…he’s willing.”
    “Is his dog willing?”
    “Of course…I’m taking Tara over today.”
    “Have you supervised a sexual act before?”
    “I told you to hold your tongue, Alan.”
    “Mum’s the word…my mouth will be sealed with duct tape.”

    And so the breeding got underway.  Rather unusual

    “Alan, … something has gone wrong.  The male has turned around…he could hurt himself…Tara is facing
    north while the male is facing south…terrible situation…I  must do something…”

    So Marjorie rushed to the garden faucet…got a pail of water and threw it on the dogs much to their surprise….Marjorie
    was relieved when they separated.

    Have you ever heard of the term “locked”?  I thought not. When dogs have sex they “lock” …one faces one way, the other
    the opposite.  Their sex does not usually entail a pail of cold water.   But it worked.  Tara got pregnant and had 11 puppies
    one of which was the stud fee.   The others all went to non hunters as mentioned in an earlier episode.  Maybe worth 
    repeating.  





    “Do you hunt?”
    “Of course, Coonhounds are great hunting dogs,”
    “Not my coonhounds.  Sorry…no puppy for you.”
    “Why not?”
    “Many  reasons the foremost of which is the sad life lived by a neglected hound in a barn near us…  chained up inside for
    most of the year.  Never gets free until hunting season.  One week.  Most of the time He paces the circle of his life in the darkness of the old stable. .  Not going to happen
    to Tara’s pups.  Sorry.”



    We kept one pup that we named SHADOW.   HE was as lovable and obedient as Tara until a
    car got him as he bounded home to see us one spring day.  All of us were devastated including his mother.
    That’s him looking at you in the picture above.


    SPARTACUS (the gelding and both coonhounds out for a ride on a November afternoon._)

    Just to get these stories straight, Marjorie is the prime mover with regard to animals..  I am just a witness.  In the 1960’s Everything seemed to
    happen all at once.  Marjorie got pregnant … not in a locked manner.  Then she adopted Tara at the dog pound.  Then she
    got Spartacus, her gelding. Rescued by a friend from the horrors of an estrogen farm.  We still  had the cat, presque beige, and
    i think we had a couple of chameleons that got loose in our apartment never to be seen again.   In due process Marjorie got pregnant 
    again and had to sell Spartacus as bouncing around on a horse is not good for babies.

    We were not an unusual family.  Most of our friends also had babies, dogs and cats.  The horse may have been an exception.  Seems that the term
    extended families meant animal adoptions.


    TARA watches Marjorie and Kevin.  Her thought?  “What is this baby bottle routine…unnatural.?


    “Alan, can’r you find something to do other than babysit while the dogs and I take Sparky for a run?”


    So I began collecting horse manure…piled sacks of the sweet smelling crap on top of our Renault 16.

    “What in hell’s half acre are you collecting that for?”
    “Horse manure is best for growing mushrooms….piling it in a huge box at home…need a couple of tons.”

    The mushroom venture was a failure…produced one mushroom and that was tiny and warted looking.
    But I enjoyed the venture.   Sweet smell.  But had a bad effect on sale of our car which went to a scrap
    dealer I seem to remember.

    PET STORIES WILL CONTINUE IN FUTURE EPISODES…WHETHER YOU LIKE THE STORIES OR NOT


    Names of PETS yet to be renembered

    DAISY
    SONNY
    SAM
    SPARTACUS
    ORONYATEKHA (TIKHA short form)
    SYDNEY
    CINDERS
    WOODY
      -and others
    FAYLA  (The hero dog)
    NORMAN



    Here is Andrew and a dog  I do not recognize speeding on a skateboard in Ohio



    BELOW IS A WONDERFUL PICTURE TAKEN THIS MORNING…NOV. 28,2021…AS OUR FIRST SNOWFALL ARRIVED


  • Fwd: EPISODE 480 THE CASTLEFIELD INSTITUTE… WHERE OLD FRIENDS MEET NOV. 29,2021



    From: “alan skeoch” <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>
    To: “John Wardle” <jwardle@rogers.com>, “Marjorie Skeoch” <marjorieskeoch@gmail.com>, “alan skeoch” <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>
    Sent: Saturday, November 27, 2021 6:28:22 PM
    Subject: EPISODE 480   THE CASTLEFIELD INSTITUTE… WHERE OLD FRIENDS MEET   NOV. 29,2021



    Note: I INITIALLY SENT THIS NOTE TO A FEW PEOPLE…I.E. THOSE WHO MIGHT BE INTERESTED.  QUITE A RESPONSE SO

    I AM SENDING IT TO USUAL GROUP…A REPEAT FOR SOME OF YOU.  TRIGGERED BY RESPONSE FROM KENT

      AND RON AND OTHERS.   MOVIE PEOPLE WILL NOT BE INTERESTED I  FEAR…UNLESS THEY WANT TO MAKE
    A FEATURE FILM!!!

    Just a note about our Castlefield Institute…and our free swinging discussions of world affairs


    EPISODE 480   THE CASTLEFIELD INSTITUTE… WHERE OLD FRIENDS MEET   NOV. 29,2021


    alan skeoch
    Nov. 2021

    The Castlefield Institute has been in session for several years now.  It has even survived the Covid 19 shutdown
    thanks to this daily Institute news letter which circulates to members. (and some non members)  John Wardle founded the institute to honour John
    Ricker now well into his nineties and sharp as a tack.  Usually we meet in person once a month.


    John Ricker once said “I have come to like dogs better than humans.”  …. which is not true .  The dog we all knew was named
    Montesquieu  one of the leading forces in the French Revolution. A John Ricker hero.  A painting done by Paul underscores how close John Ricker
    was to  this little white dog who often stole sandwiches and cake when members of the institute were distracted.


    Wilf started us off on the right foot with a bottle of champagne to loosen our tongues.


    John Wardle read letters of greeting from Phil Sharp and Bill Saywell and Bryce Taylor and verbal regrets from Sam Markou.


    Then the toasts began and the laughter…and the stories some of which might actually be true.

    The Institute members spent time discussing the impact of Covid 19, the state of the American nation, the local political scene
    in Toronto and the future of our world.  Jumped around a bit.


    Milton really warmed us all up with tales of the University of Toronto history department some years ago.  Seems most of the profs
    had a weakness for Scotch Whisky.   Milton’s comments were spell binding at times when he got serious.  At other times however
    he let his natural humour surface.   



    The kitchen cabinet meeting before the formal meeting began.


    John Ricker…musing.


    We have all walked our way through our slice of history…and wondered at the meaning of it all.  We can lament some things and rejoice
    in others.   And laugh at those who puff themselves up.  And cry for those who cannot do so.


    In a serious moment, one of the Institute members asked John Ricker “John, I would be interested to know how your mind worked
    in 1945 when you returned to Canada after the terror a a tail gunner in a Lancaster bomber…after knowing that many of your 
    friends had been killed…what was on your mind after the war was over    You were still a kid really.  You had career choices.  Why did you decide to become
    a history scholar?”

    “I wanted to understand the forces that allowed so many people to fall into crucible of war.”  (paraphrase)



    And when all was done…a case of wine appeared with a bottle for each of us.  Merry Christmas.  “If you do not take a bottle then
    John will have to drink it all.”



    I tried to grab a bottle for Sam Markou and Phit Sharp but was stopped..  Not trusted.



    Paul did the painting of John Ricker and his dog.   He is also the author this year of a major book on aboriginal history.  (title?)



  • EPISODE 479 SOME ADVICE ABOUT AUCTIONS: NOT ALL ARE GREAT…FROM STORY 2017 TITLED “DON’T PULL MY LEG”





    From: Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>
    Sent: 02 October 2017 01:13
    To: Marjorie Skeoch
    Subject: DON’T PULL MY LEG! …”I NEVER PROMISED YOU A ROSE GARDEN”

     

    EPISODE 479     DON’T PULL MY LEG!…THE UNDERSIDE OF THE AUCTION CURCUIT (STORY WRITTEN IN 2017

    alan skeoch
    Oct. 1, 2017


    ON Oct 1, we got up at 6.30 a.m. and then drove for two hours to get to Mitchell’s auction barn.
    Maybe I used the wrong term.   It was not a barn.  it was a long tin encased shed open at both ends.
    Not very charming.  Worse than that, I spent the previous day cleaning up the truck for our first Sunday 
    auction.  Like going to church wearing our 
    Sunday best.    We had been sucked in by advertising.

    So here is a short story…a conversation with an imaginary friend who wants to go to a farm auction.
    A person like Voltaire’s
     Candide…innocent, naive, daft.

    CONVERSATION

    “Sorry but I don’t think you would want to go with us to a farm auction.  It’s a mugs game…auction searching.  Not pretty at times, downright disappointing at other times.”

    “DON’T PULL MY LEG, YOU JUST DO NOT WANT ME TO COMPETE WITH YOU AT THE AUCTION”.
    (Comment by s person like you…a person who wants to go to a farm auction:)
    I WANT TO GO…TO FOLLOW YOU…”

    “Are you sure!  I mean are you really sure you want to go to an auction?   I mean are you ready for disappointment?”

    “Yes, yes, yes…I know the difference between an advertisement and reality.”

    “Well, take a look here…we drove a long way to get to this auction and we only stayed for an hour…”

    “Oh, but I would have loved it.  I would have bought something. “

    “Just what would you have bought…pick and choose below.”


    “CLUES that this would not be a stellar auction…look at the back of these heads…mostly men…virtually all men.  Looking for old motors…pieces of motors…grease from motors…the smell of motors.”


    “Why are we here Alan?”

    “I hope to get that grindstone…but must admit the situation is not promising. Someone just paid $200 for an old bag cart.”

    “Alan, the auctioneer just sold an old Crokinole board for $100.   Worth about $5 tops.  This is not a good place.”


    “Always something to admire Marjorie…look at these exposed gears.  Imagine one of the kids getting his or her finger stuck in there.”



    “Alan, you are after that dog treadmill…I know it.  We already have one.  And the auctioneer is getting $50 for old signs…the mill will be …”

    “OK, I agree, let’s hit the road.”

    “You don’t usually give up that easily, Alan, why … WHY?”

    “The geese just flew over.  Even they did not want to land here.  There heading south as should we.”


    “But first let me try to capture the mood of the sale.”

    “Nude manikins, you mean?”

    “Nope, look beside the manikins…those are two real wooden legs….those legs could tell a real story.  Some poor soul wore them.  Perhaps a veteran from  World War II…perhaps he
    was the man who owned all these things.  There is a story here…”


    “Now, I know you want that turnip seeding machine….”

    “True.”


    “Alan, the auctioneer just sold an old Coca Cola bottle for $10….and look at those other bottles.  Crown Royal bottle!”

    “That Crown Royal Bottle is worth 20 cents at the liquor store.”

    “just try to bid ten cents…just try.  I haven’t seen anything selling for less than ten  dollars…most things in the fifty or sixty dollar range.”


    “Ahah!  Another story here.  This 1929 Plymouth.  Seems to be in fair condition.  Comes complete with spare parts…spare wheels…even a 1966 licence plate.
    And it has ownership papers..  What would you bid?   “


    “We are heading home.  I noted that the fellow with the six quart basket thought he got a treasure of some kind.  Look at the way he is carrying…cuddling…his purchase.”

    “Marjorie, could we stay around for the nudes…and the wooden legs?”

    “Sometimes you do foolish things, Alan.”

    “But all our friends want to come to farm auctions…maybe some are here already.”

    “If they are here, they are hiding and quietly turning their ignition keys to make a stealthy escape…”

    “JUST AS WE ARE ABOUT TO DO.”




    NICE LOT OF PUMPKINS AT THE ROADSIDE ALONG THE WAY…

    “Marjorie, do you think the movies would be interested in a pair of wooden legs?’

    “Keep your eyes on the road…we are heading south with that flock of geese.

    alan skeoch
    Oct. 1,k 2017