Sunday, January 1, 2017

A post about a Zoo animal...but probably not the one you're looking for!

Happy New Year! No year – just like no person – is entirely evil or entirely fantastic so there were some great memories from 2016...but if I were to tally up the pluses and minuses I know with virtual certainty that I have never lived through a tougher year, personally. The only one that even comes close is 1968; that was followed, though, by 1969 and even the first year of Tricky Dick was not as bad as the first year of the Orange Menace promises to be, Oh, and also I turned seven in 1968...so how bad a year could it really be? I'm pretty sure I had a birthday party in my backyard with ice cream and cake. And my brother was born in 1968. Not sure which side of the ledger to put....ahem, anyhow! Onward and upward!

For those of you who have come here looking for the first blog posts of 2017 concerning the animals featured in my calendars, I have good news and bad news. The good news: the posts (both of them!) were actually filed on time and are live. The bad news: I'm trying something new this time around and hosting those particular blog pieces on Wordpress, where all of the rest of my calendar information resides. You can find them here, but before you go I do have a special treat for you in this post.

In November my good friend Sue Maynard graciously allowed me to reblog one of her incredible posts about Hudson from 2012. Well, you lucky people, Sue posted a follow-up after Hudson left Toronto for Winnipeg in early 2013. And she's agreed to let me share that tale with you here as well.

So without further ado, here is Part II of Sue's amazing connection with Hudson, direct from the Mind Reels site. When you're done here, why not go check that out? I think you'll really enjoy it!



Hudson Part II – Saying Goodbye and Letting Go

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My first post about Hudson the polar bear cub received a lot of attention – in a great way!  Thanks so much to everyone who read and commented and otherwise showed their support for me, and affection for the bear.  Knowing that the story touched so many people definitely helped to take some of the sting out of saying goodbye to Hudson on his last day at the Toronto Zoo.
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In fact, so much happened that day that I wanted to write a sort of follow-up/addendum post to tell you all about it! My heart is MUCH lighter as a result, and I am feeling the need to write this little bit more, to properly close off Hudson’s chapter here in Toronto, and open up the one he’s beginning now in Winnipeg, because it truly is just another step in his already-amazing journey, and I am honoured to be able to share even a little bit of it.
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So let’s see…we were nearing the end of that final week – the dreaded last day was inching ever closer – and I was still a weepy mess any time I thought about having to say goodbye to “my” bear boy.  Out of nowhere, however, I was contacted by a Mr. Jeff Young, the Wildlife Care Supervisor of the Americas Pavillion at the zoo.  The section of the zoo that includes the Tundra Trek, where the polar bears live.  He told me that one of his staff had passed my Hudson post along for him to read, and he thanked me for writing such a heartfelt showcase of Hudson’s story. He said he enjoyed reading it, and asked if I could call him.
What?
I apparently stopped thinking clearly for a bit, because I told him I’d call him the next day, when I was working at a desk with a phone.  My co-worker…politely pointed out…that this was the “Supervisor of Hudson” and that I should go find a phone somewhere and call the man immediately!  So we went to Tim’s desk to commandeer his phone for a few minutes, and made the call.
Best.  Decision.  Ever.
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In short, the fabulous Jeff Young, on behalf of the wonderful Toronto Zoo, invited us to throw some fish to Hudson during the polar bear Keeper Talk on his last day!
I believe my response was something like, “ABSO-FREAKING-LUTELY”
You know, because I can play it calm, cool and collected maturity with the best of them.
We were given instructions on how to check in when we arrived on the day, and I thanked the man a hundred times and tried not to burst into tears after I got off the phone. Happy tears, that is.  I mean – Hudson was going to look right AT me!  He was going to see ME and smile at ME and…oh my God what if I SUCK at throwing fish?  What if they all fall into the pool because I throw like a girl and Hudson just looks at me in the polar bear equivalent of disappointment and disgust?
(pause)
Nope, it’s gonna be amazing and I can’t wait!!!
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Now, I tried really hard to keep the invitation a secret.  I really did.  I wanted it to be the most awesome surprise ever when Tim and I started Instagramming our fish-throwing prowess and the genuine connection we were bound to make with the bear.  That being said, though, I told pretty much everyone in sight over that day and the next, and the only reason I still managed to surprise my mom with it was because she lives in a different city.  Still, there was no dulling my excitement even without making it much of a surprise, and for the first time, I found I wasn’t dreading the day so much anymore.
Went home on the Saturday night, charged every battery for every camera I own, and cleared off my largest memory card to have more space than I would need for the big day.  Did my weekly Injection of Doom earlier than usual to be sure I’d be well over the worst of the side-effects by the time I had to get up in the morning.  Nothing was going to make me late – I was going to get there EARLY, just in case!
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Tim gamely left his place uber-early and I met him in our usual spot to ride the rest of the way together. We got to the park around 11am, and checked in with Guest Services to let Jeff know we were there.  He met us on the path to the Tundra (I think for the first time in history I didn’t opt to hit the loo before heading to the polar bears, actually), and together the three of us walked back over to where Hudson was currently entertaining a few spectators by playing with an empty bucket.
He sure does love buckets.
Now, I realize that we were with a guy that Hudson knew, and that said guy was wearing the very recognizable zoo staff jacket, but every time the bear runs over to where we are (or as close as he can get with a big pool between us), I get a little thrill out of thinking he’s come to say hello.  So, when Hudson bounded over to grin at us a moment before heading back to his awesome bucket, I was instantly caught up in his web of cute.  I think I even called out a greeting to him, and then I just stood and watched him for a few minutes.
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Finally, I got my camera out and started snapping away – photo after photo, moment after moment – I didn’t want any of it to slip away without being captured through my lens.  I became dimly aware of Tim and Jeff talking, and I was filing away little Hudson-y snippets in my mind as I watched him, but for the most part I couldn’t take my eyes – or my mind – off of the furry ham in front of me.  I didn’t even realize until much later that I went a good half hour or so without even talking to Tim OR Jeff when we first got there!  How rude!  So sorry about that guys! I just find Hudson to be hopelessly distracting sometimes, apparently!  Lol
I do, however, remember Jeff saying that “Hudson has his father’s head”.  Inukshuk is massive, and his young son already has a head that measures almost the same length across as those of the adult females!  That continues to make me giggle, for some reason.
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I was also thrilled to watch as Hudson put the bucket on his head a few times – that just never gets old – and to see him discover a fun new game of his own!  There was a small hill near one side of the enclosure, and it was pretty much solid ice.  After a few failed attempts, Hudson figured out how to push his bucket up to the top of the hill, and then he’d fling himself up there, as well, only to turn around, flop down on his belly with the bucket tucked under his chin…and SLIDE head-first down the icy slope!  It was only a few feet, so not much of a ride, but holy hell, was it cute!
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Eventually noon rolled around, and the Keepers assembled to start the polar bear talk.  Now, I am very glad that we were going to be able to go up into the Keeper Box after the initial talk was over, because so many people had arrived to see Hudson off that Tim and I had to get up on the rocks between the bears and the wolves (again, no judging) just to be able to see! Good crowd, cold day, handsome polar bear.  What more could anyone want? ðŸ˜‰
Tim’s taller than I am, and he was up higher, so he videotaped the talk on my camera for me, while I just craned my neck trying to see, and yet not fall off the rocks at the same time.  Do NOT try this at home, kids!  There’s a reason for those signs!
Luckily, I avoided any potentially nasty spills, but I felt a couple of close calls while we were up there.  Soon, however, it was time for us to join (Brandon?  Brendon? There are so many of them, and now I can’t remember which one he was!) the Keeper in the Keeper Box.  At last!  Tim kept hold of my camera to take pics, and let me be the fish-thrower du jour, which was tres gallant of him, no?  Jeff held the door and up we went.
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There was a red bucket hanging at waist level with three good-sized fish in the bottom.  Hudson was pacing along the edge of his rocky platform, grinning at all the people who’d come to watch him get fish tossed to him.  I picked up the first fish and watched until he turned to pad back in our direction. Finally, Hudson fixed his black diamond eyes on the Keeper Box and bounced excitedly to let us know he was ready for more.
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I’d tried to pay attention to how the Keeper was throwing the fish during his talk, but with three of us up there, I didn’t have the same space to wind up with.
That’s my excuse, anyway.
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The reality is that my first fish barely cleared the pool, and landed on the ice that had formed on the shore a couple of levels below where Hudson was standing and waiting.
Is that dismay, disappointment or disgust I see in his eyes?
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None of the above!  The bear was drooling up a storm (he drools just in the anticipation of food more than any creature I’ve ever seen – with the possible exception of my nephew when he was a baby), bobbing his head some more, and honking out his assertion that I could do better than that, and that he would wait for the next one.
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That’s when I realized – I had never heard Hudson’s voice before!  Always when we’ve gone to visit him, he’s been behind glass (or we have) and I could never hear him talking!  Apparently, the Keepers have never heard him shut up – he’s a vocal guy!  THAT was almost enough to make me cry right there, getting to hear his Wookie-like honking as he wandered the exhibit, waiting for me to produce more fishy goodness from that red bucket in front of me.
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I fished out the second fish (see what I did there?) and focused on making a better throw of it this time. I’d noticed that the Keeper had chucked them higher up on the rocks so that Hudson would have to climb up to get them, and thus be visible to more people than he was down by the edge of the pool.  So I heaved the fish treat and managed to get it up a couple of levels, which was a couple of levels higher than the first throw – not too shabby!
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Pleased with myself, I pulled out the third and final fish in the bucket, and waited while Hudson ate the one I hadn’t botched.  He seemed to like wandering across the exhibit, making sure no one was feeling left out, and that everyone could see him from where they were standing.  He especially wanted them to know he was eating fish, and that he had an amazing bucket to show them after the fish were done!  When Hudson came back to our end of the exhibit, I paused to take some pics on my phone, commemorating the moment for myself, and for all time.
Then I got what I thought was a good grip on the fish’s tail, pulled my arm back as far as I dared, and snapped it forward, intending to make this the best throw ever.
Well…
I may have squeezed the tail too tight, and my gloves may have already been covered in fish goo, causing the fish to fall from my grip too early in its throwing-arc.  I felt the fish slip out of my hand and watched in horror as it sailed too far to one side – and beaned the bear in the side before sliding down to join the fish from the first tragic throw.
EPIC FAIL.
Sorry, Hudson.  That…should have gotten a do-over!
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Luckily, Hudson did not appear to be angry at me, or anything.  He wasn’t about to go get the other two fish while we were all standing up there with the red bucket, though, so we watched him for a few more moments before letting him off the hook and leaving the Keeper Box, red bucket in tow.  I thanked him before turning to leave, though.  Got a little choked up again for a second, too, so surprised Jeff with a thank-you hug when I stepped out of the box to where he was waiting.  Made me feel better. ðŸ™‚
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Not wanting to take up more of Jeff’s time than we already had, Tim and I thanked him some more and then headed off to re-orient ourselves and visit the other animals in the Tundra Trek before heading to another area of the zoo.  My camera was so cold from being outside that, when we went to see the orangutans, I had to wait several minutes for the fog to clear on my lens before I could take any pictures.  We got there to hear that Keeper Talk for our first time, though, so that was pretty amazing, too.  And we saw another Keeper training the soft-shelled turtle, which was incredible.  I am not sure why it never occurred to me to think that a turtle could learn anything, but there you go.  Absolutely amazing.
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The otter was asleep, the lemurs were asleep…the meerkats are quickly becoming another favourite, though, I have to admit!  I adore those little guys!
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And the gorillas!  Charles was sitting in a bucket of his own over by a window when we went in!  I’d never seen him that close up before!  By his facial expression, I am pretty sure he was lamenting the state of the human race, but…what an experience, being in the presence of such a wonderful, intelligent creature.  It was overwhelming.  We’d gotten to that pavillion shortly after they’d been fed, too, so we were able to watch young Nassir work treats out of a tube filled with holes, too.  He took a break to see what his dad was up to when Charles was on the move at one point, but mostly he just hung out and worked for his reward.
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I swear – and Tim saw it, too – one of the girls (I think?  I can’t tell them apart yet) made her way over to a side area where a Keeper had something for her.  I believe she ate a piece of food, was handed a small towel or napkin-like object – and then wiped her lips with it before sitting in front of where we were standing at the window!  I’m almost certain of it!  I actually told Tim that I wished we could just go into the zoo and sit with the gorillas and, like, read a book, or something.  Do something quiet, and just be around them.  They’re so peaceful and calming to me.  I always feel better being around them.  Just, not usually when there are a bunch of other people around, because they are NOT calming to me!  Lol
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Eventually, it was time to go have our usual awesome lunch, and then head back to the Tundra to say goodbye Hudson.  Walking up what I had come to think of as “Hudson’s Path” started making his imminent departure feel much more real, and a lump rose in my throat yet again.  There weren’t many people up at the glass this time, and when we got up there, we saw why.  Apparently, the lad had tuckered himself out putting on the Show of Shows for us all morning, and was now dozing peacefully over in a corner by the inside windows.  Within moments of our arrival, his black eyes blinked open, looked right at us, then drooped closed again and he went back to sleep.
Bless.
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I could actually just sit and watch him sleep for a good long time, too, so we took some pics of his cute self from outside, then moved inside to wait in the short line leading up to the window he was passed out in front of.  By the time we got that far, Hudson’s paws were twitching in dream sleep, and Tim remarked that we’d never seen him sleep so soundly before, either. It was a day full of firsts – and lasts – for us, I guess!  I love his big bear paws, too, so I took a few shots from mere inches away – one of which I am actually considering printing out to frame and hang in my home.
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Turning from the window of the sleeping bear, Tim and I simultaneously made the decision to head home, and leave our last memory of him like that – curled up in happy, bucket-loving and fish-eating dreams.
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I still cried like a baby in the loo before hitting the Zootique and getting on the bus, but still…everything felt much lighter, and not having to actually say the word “goodbye” was a huge help.
As was Jeff Young inviting me throw the boy some fish, and Tim letting me be the one to do it.
Since that day, a co-worker has asked me to send her one of my favourite pictures of Hudson from my collection so that she can try painting him for me.  I sent her this one to try (she’ll sharpen it up, too), because it’s the first time I felt like he looked right at me:
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The Polar Bear Habitat in Cochrane, ON (where Hudson’s half brother, Ganuk, has been painting up a storm, and their huge dad, Inukshuk, had been residing, until his recent, temporary return to Toronto to spend time with his girlfriends) re-posted my initial Hudson post, and linked to my album of photos taken that last day.
Assiniboine Park Zoo, Hudson’s new home, did the same, and not only assured me that Winnipeg is ready to welcome the boy with open hearts, but they’ve been very good about posting pictures of his safe arrival, the announcement for his first day on display (Valentine’s Day!  How perfect!), and they even built a huge ice sculpture as part of his grand welcome!  How cool is that? Literally AND figuratively!
And the Toronto Zoo…they continue to meet and exceed any possible expectations I could have as a member, but this whole thing with Hudson has been a dream come true for me. A somewhat surreal dream that smells vaguely of fish and happiness, but a dream nonetheless.  I can never thank Jeff and the zoo enough for embracing me into their community a little bit, and it is our intention here at the Mind Reels to keep putting out the occasional post about the amazing experiences we have while we’re there.  ’cause don’t forget – the pandas are coming!!!
Hudson's mom, Aurora, and a reindeer
Hudson’s mom, Aurora, and a reindeer
Because there’s always something.  I learn something new with every visit, and sometimes I just have to write it all down and share it with everyone.
Disneyland is widely lauded as the Happiest Place On Earth and, to be sure, it is one of my very favourite places to be.  But, for Tim and I both, I think our most happy place really is the Metro Toronto Zoo.
Even without the polar bear cub of love.
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I don’t think I can ever properly convey my thanks to everyone at the zoo who rescued Hudson as a newborn and helped to raise him through the first year or so of his life.  Nor can I ever give enough thanks to Jeff Young for letting me be a part of the cub’s last day on display in Toronto.  It meant more to me than you’ll ever know, and more than helped to make saying goodbye to him so much easier than I thought it would be.
Though Hudson the Polar Bear Cub is most definitely missed here in Toronto – and not just by yours truly – I know we all wish him all the best in his new home.  Tim had to help me come up with a different route to take when we go to the zoo now, because Hudson was our first and last stop of every trip for nearly the past full year.  So some things will have to change, of course.  As they do.
But nothing – no amount of time nor distance – can change the fact that the Little Bear Cub Who Could has made an impression on my heart.  So much so that I may even find a way to go visit him again someday.  I’ve learned a lot about polar bears because of him, and one thing I learned is that they have an incredible sense of smell.  They can smell a seal exhale through a hole in the ice from a kilometer away, and go find that breathing hole to hunt down their next meal.  So, the way I figure it is that Hudson knows me now.  He caught my scent on that cold day in January when I feebly tried to throw treats his way.  He looked me in the eye and felt the love I’d been emanating toward him all year long.
And he totally went back and got those other two fish.  His tummy always wins. ðŸ™‚
Hudson can be seen starting TODAY (Happy Valentine’s Day!) at the Assiniboine Park Zoo, in Winnipeg, Manitoba.  Tell him I said hello!
Fresh off his flight, Hudson arrives in Winnipeg, January 2013
Fresh off his flight, Hudson arrives in Winnipeg, January 2013

Saturday, December 31, 2016

The Story of the "Black Arrow"



Allan John Craig meets his son, Steven Allan Craig
May 17, 1961


Throughout the 55 years that my father and I co-existed on this planet, the condition of our relationship at virtually any given moment could have been described as "It's Complicated". We struggled to understand each other – at those times when we even bothered to try to understand each other – and we each went through long stretches of passive non-contact with, if not aggressive avoidance of, the other. There were myriad reasons for this – or, at least, explanations – but they are not important to the theme of this story. For although our mutual compulsion to stick with a problem long past the point of diminishing returns, refusing stubbornly to "let it go" or to move on to (perhaps) more pressing issues until the conundrum had been beaten into submission, caused great frustration for those who loved us (including each other, much of the time), when the Circle of Life had nearly become complete for my Dad this single-mindedness that only an Engineer and his son can truly understand to be implicit in each other created a positively miraculous final exchange between us at the precise moment it mattered more than anything else in the world.

This is the story of the "Black Arrow" and how one of the tiniest details of Allan John Craig's final days on Earth cauterized any and all wounds we – each of us – might have otherwise carried still bleeding into the Great Unknown.


In the late afternoon of Wednesday, November 9, 2016 I received a phone call from my father's wife, June. It was an unusual time of day and week for her to be phoning me, so it was with not a small amount of trepidation that I answered the call. As I had suspected, she was phoning to deliver news about my father, who was living in a nursing home in Bowmanville after suffering several strokes more than two-and-a-half years earlier. As I also suspected, it wasn't good news she was bringing to me: earlier that day Dad had eaten his lunch but slipped into unconsciousness soon after that and was still in that state when she phoned. The prognosis was not very good at all, but then again there had been more than a handful of these calls over the past 30 or so months and somehow Dad always managed to find a way back. This time, however, something just felt different. June told me she was too tired to stay with Dad any longer that day, and that she was heading home. She suggested there was really no reason for me to make the trip to Bowmanville until or unless I heard from her again. I promised to keep my phone beside me from that point on until I next spoke to her, and we said our goodbyes.

Very early the next morning – a little before 6 a.m. – I happened to be looking at my phone when June called. I answered on the first ring and she began with, "Steven, you won't believe this...." I laughed and asked her if Dad had made yet another comeback? She replied that he had woken up that morning, asked for water, and was talking to the staff. She suggested I meet her there a bit later in the morning and I did exactly that, heading to Strathaven immediately after making a quick stop at the Zoo. June had mentioned that they had moved my father to a different room – a private one – but it had not yet sunk in that this was a Palliative Care room which would represent the last stop on his life's journey. When I arrived at the hospital and inquired after my Dad, I was directed to the end of the hall and it began to dawn on me exactly what his new location – right next to the Nurse's Station – actually meant. I swallowed hard and stepped into the room.

June was there already, but my Dad was not exactly in the condition I had been expecting. He was unconscious again and his breathing was very shallow, ragged, and troubled. It seems likely he'd have been in a coma at this point (if not actually already deceased) had he not possessed two functioning pacemakers within his vascular structure. I watched him struggle for a while as I talked quietly with June. After some time had passed, I was absently gazing out the window when June suddenly said, with some urgency, "Steven! He's trying to get your attention!" I quickly looked over at my father and noticed that not only was he awake, his eyes were peering at me very intently, as if his next words were of the greatest importance and I could not be allowed to miss them. I smiled at him.

"Hi!" I said, with some glee. "How are you doing?? I'm so happy to see you awake, Dad! So happy!"

I'd seen that look before. His own mother – my grandmother who had been my favourite person ever to walk amongst us – had shown that stoic determination when she willed herself to sit up in a wheelchair for several hours as my ex, my Dad, and I showed her her new great-grandson, barely four weeks old at that point. When the day was done, she returned to bed and never left it again until her death nearly seven months later. She was determined to be sitting up when we arrived if it took everything she had, which it very nearly did.

This look on Dad's countenance and in his eyes was almost precisely the same. I knew whatever followed was the single most important thing in the world to him at that moment. I was absolutely not going to miss it. He began to gesture with his right (functioning) arm in the general direction of his closet and uttered several words, the only one of which I was able to even slightly decipher was the final one, "....arrow". For quite some time I had been virtually the only person who could understand his verbiage to any degree, and I managed to work out what he wanted far more often than I could not. This, though, was different. There was some urgency to his words; they flowed from his lips in much greater abundance than they had in months, and he kept turning away to look to his right – which made it very difficult for me to read his lips or pick up any nuance. On top of that, it is extremely likely that he had suffered yet one more stroke the day before which made it even more difficult for him to form the sounds he wanted to. It was obvious to me, however, that I desperately needed to work out what he was trying to tell me; it was also immediately obvious to me that he understood that I was the one person who could understand what he wanted to have done and that he had been waiting single-mindedly for me to arrive just so he could summon his energy and deliver the message – whatever it was.

"I'm sorry, Dad," I said. "I think I heard you say....arrow? What was the rest of it?" I glanced over at June but she was still looking at him. He began to wave off to his right again.

".......black arrow." I managed to work out the penultimate word this time. "...black arrow, Dad? Is that what you are saying?" I looked again to June for help. "Is that what you heard? Do you know what he wants?" June shrugged and told me he really wasn't making much sense at all since she had arrived that morning. It was certainly possible that what he was trying to tell me was equally nonsensical, but the intensity of his eyes when he first saw me convinced me otherwise. I turned back to my Dad.

"One more time, Dad? I think you're saying something about a black arrow? Is that right? What about a black arrow?" He didn't indicate that I had heard him correctly, but I knew my Dad very well: the fact that he didn't angrily indicate that I had not heard him correctly was good enough for me. He repeated the words – complete with the same gesturing – and looked back at me for a moment, before once again slipping into unconsciousness.

Frustrated – but filled with a determination I had not felt in a very long time – I sat back in my chair and began to chew on the problem. June was able to shed no light on it whatsoever, but I think she had the opinion that it might have come from a place of delirium or perhaps sudden senility. I continued to work through possible ideas in my head. Could it have been a shirt – an Arrow brand shirt? Maybe a black one? Did he want me to have it? I went over to the closet but, as this was a new room for him, it was virtually bare. Still, I studied it for any sign of an "arrow" no matter how seemingly insignificant. I knew that my Dad could be troubled by the smallest of details being "off" and once he was troubled there was little else to be done for him than to fix the issue. I went back to my seat and wracked my brain.


At some point June began to tell me about the new laptop they had purchased for my Dad just the week before. His old clunker had become absolutely irreparable and she wanted to improve his quality of life in any way she could, even though he could barely use the keyboard (his dominant hand was useless) and a mouse was difficult for him to aim accurately. Still, he needed to feel some connection to technology, as he had been the "guru" for many of his neighbours in their previous home in Bobcaygeon's "Port 32" retirement community. June mentioned that there had been some frustrating issue concerning forgotten passwords when she and Brad, her middle son, had delivered the laptop to Dad and tried to help him get online. (I found out much later that the password had been for the internet "stick" access; at this point I had thought it was for the computer itself.)

As she told me these things I smiled at the sleek, slim, blue-coloured laptop. I wondered if Dad had reacted to its light-blue skin, or the thinness of it. I wondered if the keyboard was equally tiny and whether this would pose a problem for his big, meaty hands. I then frowned a bit as I considered the very real possibility that he would not ever use this laptop again. This was unpleasant and counter-productive, so I pushed it away and went back to attacking the problem he had posed for me.

As I continued to look around the room for any clue, my eyes once again fell on the laptop, sitting on the bedside table to his right. To his right. Exactly between his arm and the closet beyond it. When he was awake and gesturing, I had not yet noticed the low-profile computer located just beyond his hand. Could there be any connection between the laptop and a black......



Oh. My. Goodness. I took in my breath sharply and my pulse quickened. Could that really be it? I asked June if I could open Dad's computer for a moment and take a look at it. She told me to go ahead, so I walked unsteadily over to the table and lifted the lid of the laptop. The screen sprung to life and a log-in screen was displayed. Was this the log-in screen they had been unable to get past last week? I shrugged and forged ahead, simply hitting the "enter" key. The desktop appeared and Windows 10 began to run. I took a deep breath, reached for the mousepad, wiggled it a tiny bit, and watched as a cursor appeared on the screen.

An arrow. A white arrow. The cursor on the screen was a tiny white arrow. One thing in particular had been different about all of my Dad's computers and my own: he had always had a black cursor. Always. 

I opened up "Settings", found my way to those for the mouse pointer, switched its colour to black, enlarged it one or two sizes, and gently closed the lid again. I turned to June and said, "I think I figured out what he wanted. Let's see if I'm right when he wakes up."


It took a while for that to happen, but I kept my eyes glued to my Dad's face during the entire wait. When his eyes flickered open eventually, I stood up in front of him. "Dad! Hi! I need to tell you something," His gaze moved to me and recognition came to his eyes. So I quickly gave him my news,

"Dad, I want you to know that I figured out what you wanted me to do. You wanted your cursor to be switched from white to black, didn't you?" There came a slight nod, almost imperceptible. "That's what I thought! So I fixed it for you, Dad. I made your cursor a black arrow and I enlarged it a bit so you can see it better. Ok? It's fixed." I was probably grinning at him like a lunatic at this point, but the only reaction he was able to muster was the faintest of smiles curling up from the right side of his face. His eyes, though. All I needed to know was in those eyes. Those eyes made it the biggest, brightest, most spectacularly glorious smile I have ever beheld in my life.

Then those eyes closed and he was unconscious once more.


In the next couple of hours on that gloomy Thursday, he occasionally uttered the single word "water"; sometimes it was "more"; once or twice he said "tired" or "hurts". He had been silent and unconscious for quite some time when I finally went home late that afternoon. Sarah and I returned very early the next morning, Friday, November 11th. Most of his immediate family was there with him. He passed away at 11:21 that day, not once regaining consciousness while we all were there at his bedside.

But he passed away knowing that the very last exchange of words he and I shared had resulted in my solving one last puzzle for him – and this solution would never be undone. Nobody else could have worked that out, in all likelihood; he knew this and that was precisely why he waited for my arrival with dogged determination and put every ounce of strength he had left into delivering the request to me. He had faith in this Engineer's son to be able to work out what he needed and fix it for him. And I didn't let him down, not this time: no way was that going to happen.

I fixed his problem. And then he died. And in the complicated, frustrating, inconsistent, selfless, glorious, aggravating, worrisome, ultimately loving relationship that threaded itself between us all through my life, it would have been absolutely and inarguably impossible to have reached a more perfect conclusion.

I will treasure that memory for the rest of my life. It sums up both my father and myself in a way no other story could.

Thank you for this legacy, Dad.

And thanks to all of you for sharing this story with me.


My Dad, my Grandmother, my son, and me - 4/29/89

Thursday, December 1, 2016

2016 Connecting with Animals Calendar – December Story



Beautiful Kemala enjoying her Christmas tree

For the past couple of years – ever since the Amur tiger exhibit was co-opted to make room for the giant pandas – the Toronto Zoo has had only Sumatran tigers on display. Tigers in general are the largest of all feline species; however, the Sumatrans are the smallest of all the tigers (albeit with the largest canines). This is not to imply that Sumatran tigers are small, but rather to point out how impressively huge the largest of all tigers are. The smaller stature of the Sumatrans is of great benefit to them when they are navigating through the dense rainforests in which they live. Their orange and black stripes are an excellent camouflage as well, giving the illusion of beams of light alternating with patches of shadow on the forest floor. 



Hari enjoying a snowy day
There's another important reason that tigers who ordinarily dwell in colder climates are larger: it's known as Bergmann's rule and it applies to most species. But, as you can see, the tigers at the Toronto Zoo have no trouble handling the winters in this latitude. Sometimes I am asked why Sumatran tigers aren't bothered by our Canadian winters, and there's one pretty simple answer to that question: they've never been to Sumatra. They don't know any better! And cats, especially, have a long history of being able to adapt to almost anything nature can throw at them. If you look at the photo on the left and compare it to the one above, it would be easy to think that I've confused one of our tigers with the other. But I've checked very carefully and I can assure you that the tiger representing December 2016 in my calendar is, in fact, Kemala – who is considerably smaller than Hari. The top photo was taken at the very beginning of a February that eventually broke all sorts of local records for low temperatures, so Kemala had developed a very healthy beard, mane, and overall fur coat. Hari's photo, on the other hand, was taken early in a different winter and the temperatures had been fairly moderate to that point. 



Kemala's frosty breath catches the sunlight
Hari and Kemala spend most of their days outside in the winter months, because their dens have a heating system built into them and because they simply prefer it. They do go inside overnight, but come the next morning you will most often find them lounging in their warm straw, or chasing an elusive sunbeam on top of their dens, or even just burying their faces into a fresh fall of snow. I think I might actually prefer seeing them in the winter; the orange of their fur is a striking counterpoint to the white snow, or the dull brown of the dead grass. And, of course, they are both incredibly photogenic: if you can eliminate the fence surrounding their enclosures, it's extremely difficult – if not downright impossible – to take a bad picture of either one of them. Hopefully, once the pandas have departed in early 2018, we will re-acquire an Amur tiger or two who will majestically prowl their own exhibits at the other end of the Zoo. One can never see too many tigers in a day, that's my motto. Well, it should be my motto, at least. 


Tiger...of the woods
Hari's full name is Harimau kayu which translates from Malayan into English as...Tiger Wood(s). All I can say is: we didn't name him. We tend to call him just "Hari", which more or less means "Ti". But he's truly a magnificent beast and he and Kemala are centrepieces of the Indomalayan boardwalk which leads from the rainforest pavilion up to the African savanna portion of the Toronto Zoo. They are almost always on display; if you are extremely fortunate (usually this only happens during the spring or summer) you might happen upon a keeper demonstration or even some new enrichment items for one or both of the tigers. But if not, it really doesn't matter. I could stand in the window of the Indo pavilion and just watch them sleep for hours. In fact, I'm pretty sure I've done exactly that on more than one occasion. 

But then, maybe that's just me. I am, after all, a "cat guy".


Well, that wraps up this year. Thank you all for joining me on this journey! I intend to do this again next year, but I hope to be more timely in my posts. Also...there will be twice as many of them. If you don't know why yet, then please check out my 2017 Calendar page for a sneak preview. 

What a year this has been. If you feel the need to burn anything that references 2016 when it's over, I don't blame you a bit. But let me make this one small suggestion: maybe keep the photos and just burn the calendar portion. :)

Best of luck for the New Year! See you in 2017.

Monday, November 28, 2016

2016 Connecting with Animals Calendar – November Story



Aurora daintily reaching for that precious snack

As I mentioned at the end of last month's post, this is a first for my calendars: a polar bear being the featured animal in a month other than December or January! (You'll understand why I used the photo for December that I settled on when you see it.) But there's something else a little special about this shot of Aurora (dear mother of Hudson, Humphrey, and Juno) that sets it apart from every other photo that's appeared so far: I was using a borrowed lens this day. My dear friend and co-Volunteer Peter Lynch urged me to try a macro lens that belonged to his daughter, likely hoping to see some really interesting close-ups down the road. Well, I did try. And I did take a few macro shots that I was happy with, but nothing calendar-worthy. However, it was a tremendous lens and, as such, the best "glass" I had in my kit on the day I attended this noontime feeding and keeper talk. So I left it on my camera and just used it as an ordinary zoom lens...with stunning results. I've kind of been reluctant to discuss it until now, though, because the quality of this photo makes it obvious to me that I really should invest in some faster, sharper, better-quality equipment. You know, someday. Sigh.



A clearly stressed Aurora 
But for now, I'll just have to continue with my "Brute Force Photography" and use my patience as the most-effective tool in my kit. It's still serving me very well, as (spoiler alert) will be very obvious in 2017's calendars. I was at the Zoo so often this past spring and summer because of the myriad babies that were popping up all over the place, and I spent many hours waiting for one or several of those sleeping beauties to wake up, if only for a moment, so that I might finally get just one shot of them doing something. It was all worth it in the end, trust me. It's not a problem I've really ever had with any of the polar bears, though. Even when they are sleeping they are supremely photogenic, as Aurora is so kindly demonstrating in the picture shown here. In fact, I have so many shots of all of the various polar bears in full-on lounge mode that I could do a pretty popular calendar of just that subject matter!





Nikita dreaming she's a table
I do think that Aurora spends more time "supine" than the others generally do (for one thing, it's her preferred method of swimming: the backstroke); however, her sister Nikita and occasional friend-with-benefits Inukshuk certainly have no problem with allowing the sun to warm their bellies on a regular basis. Now that Hudson and Humphrey are temporarily back in the fold – and Juno is still here – it's become quite clear to all who love these huge marine mammals that polar bears are, in general, just extraordinarily happy to be alive. Their unabashed joy so readily apparent whenever they are leaping onto their favourite pool toys does not diminish whether they are 16 months or 16 years old. For many of my winter shifts as a Volunteer over the years I will try to sign up to work at the polar bear exhibit because I don't mind the cold at all and the solitude that comes with the lack of visitors at that time of year affords me a very Zen-like experience as I watch these fuzzy goofballs frolic around their exhibits.


Feelings....wo-wo-wo-feeelings... 
These bears are so adorable, that virtually anything they come across can become a "toy" with a very minimal amount of effort. Or...at least appear to be a toy when captured in a still shot, such as the one at left. Inukshuk loves his veggies – he frequently would eat his head of lettuce (yes, seriously) with his eyes closed and a blissful expression on his face. This particular day he was savouring a carrot that he was fiercely clinging onto with both paws. Well, at least that what he probably wanted us to believe. But I knew better: Inukshuk was clearly daydreaming of the career as a lounge singer that he had always wished for himself. He'd probably do an awesome, stripped-down rendition of "Cold as Ice" if he had half a chance. Or "Winter Wonderland." Or perhaps "There's No Business Like Snow Business." Or anything by Seal.

Ok. Sorry. I'll stop now.


In any event...Inukshuk and Aurora have produced some absolutely beautiful offspring, each of whom has acquired the playful gene from one or the other of them. Here is Hudson, at 14 months old:





And here he is at five years old, after returning to Toronto last month: 





And a couple of Humphrey, first at right around a year old:






And the second at a little over three years old, upon his return with his brother:






And, for good measure, one of Juno – who's not actually gone anywhere yet:





I'm really looking forward to spending a huge chunk of the upcoming winter with the three siblings. Juno is getting more adorable every day. Hudson was always a huge fan favourite with a giant personality and that doesn't seem to have changed. And Humphrey....well, what can I say about Humphrey. He and I have had a....special relationship. I'm going to see how close we can get again.


Humphrey and Grumpy P sharing a moment


One more month to go! Hope you've enjoyed the stories and extra photos this year. I hope to do it again next year – and more consistently! 
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