From the Editor

Kiko and the “window monsters”

  My little pooch Kiko never did get used to all the strange men at my windows.  A crew of workmen had been doing major work on the outside windows of the downtown high-rise where I lived, until late August. They had been at it since March.   Standing on a wooden platform secured by ropes, they were at the windows every weekday. When they weren’t actually working at the windows of my apartment, they were passing by them several times a day on the way up or down the building exterior. 

  When he first became aware of what must have been to him “the window monsters”, the 12-pound Yorkie-bichon-frisee mix called Kiko--the one who rarely barks--would go ballistic, running from the bedroom windows to the front room ones, barking furiously all the way.  My apartment on the 15^th floor faced south.   Because of my profusion of plants, the Venetian blinds were never shut, and in almost any weather, the windows remained wide open.  Even after months, Kiko’s reaction when the window monsters appeared were similar to what mine would have been if I happened to spy little green men from Mars peering in at me.  During the long months they were on the job, Kiko, nicknamed “Mr. Boo” never got used to them.  If one of the workmen happened to be working at the portion of the window close to the telephone I use, the little dog would go frantic--braving all to go right up to the window to beat against it with his tiny paws. 

  The first few times he spied “the window monsters”, his reaction was most revealing.

  Kiko would run to fetch me in whatever portion of the apartment I happened to be in at the time.  When in the bathroom brushing my teeth, he would run a continuous course from the windows back to me.  “Shush, Kiko, it’s only the window men again,” I’d tell him.  First he’d turn his little face upwards with a quizzical look.  When I didn’t follow him to go to look, this would be followed by another expression that seemed to say, “What? Are you crazy?  I’m telling you there’s a couple of monsters right there at our windows, and you’re going to finish brushing?

  It was during this period in our lives that for the first time in eight years, Kiko and I found ourselves on our own.  Thus, these days, both of us have more time to study the other’s personality traits.

  Traveling with Kiko in the car, when Brian Thompson and I made the long drive down to North Carolina, proved interesting.

  We left Toronto on a chilly Sunday morning in May. Some 13 hours later, we were in balmy and beautiful Wilmington, North Carolina.

  Kiko, who had been taken for walks on several stops during the long trip, had acted no differently.  But when we reached our final destination, he strained at the leash, very much like an overexcited human tourist.  Tail straight up in the air and nose to the ground, he went sniffing all over the landscape.  After each sniff, he’d turn around to look at us with that quizzical look on his face.  It was as if he were saying, “All this way from the northern land of the dandelions, to the southern one of magnolias?  Why a trip this far, and what else is here for me to see?

  Days later when we were looking from the car window for the alligators we were told could be spotted in a certain pond, we knew from Kiko’s reaction, they were not just in the pond but everywhere along the banks.  The pooch picked them out by instinct and scent long before we actually saw them ourselves.

   Noting there were no signs warning people “Watch out for alligators”, Brian and myself, were a little nervous.  But the look on Kiko’s face said it all. “Don’t even think you’re taking me for a walk in this wretched swamp!”

  We loved it in indescribably beautiful Savannah, Georgia, but as northerners just coming through another long Canadian winter, found the heat somewhat oppressive.  Our fur-coated friend who absolutely loathes the heat refused to nap during long drives in the car, which had been his habit of seven years on much shorter trips. Yet, the minute we shut the door on our hotel room, up on the bed he’d leap to catch up with nod.

  When we moved to the Toronto beach, Kiko seemed a tad unsure of himself.  There were no lurking window monsters and no long waits for the elevator just to get us out of the high-rise and over to the patch of park in the downtown neighbourhood we called home for 14 years.

  It took four months for Kiko to believe that this was not just another long trip and that long walks on the beach were his everyday.

  Late summer evenings in the backyard where logs in the chimnea crackled and the skies above offered an odd display of shooting stars were lost on Mr. Boo.

  On evenings outside, instead of sniffing out the trees at the edge of the backyard, he seemed to cower down in whoever’s lap he happened to be in.

  It took this city slicker a long time to determine why.  One night, some American friends sat out with us on the patio after a barbecue.  Of a sudden, my friend Steve gave a nervous start.  When I looked his way, he said. “Kiko just brushed up against my foot and gave me a start.”

  “That’s impossible,” I said, “Kiko’s across the table sitting on Brian’s lap.”

  When we shone the flashlight down on the ground of the patio, there were several raccoons at our feet—the smallest was twice the size of our favourite canine.

  We almost broke bones shoving past each other, trying to be first to squeeze through the patio screen door.

  On another evening, the reaction was even more frantic when we spotted a skunk nearby.

  No wonder Mr. Boo seemed so antsy when he was out on the patio.

  It’s now been six months since Kiko and I have been on our own.  Each day that goes by is a little better than the one before it as the shock of the deportation of someone whose life we shared for eight years lessens with the passing of that great healer, Father Time.      

  Meanwhile, a little dog that people say looks “just like Benji in the movies” when they see him cavorting down at the beach, is teaching me something: Animals know so much more than we think they do.

Canada Free Press founding editor Most recent by Judi McLeod is an award-winning journalist with 30 years experience in the print media. Her work has appeared on Newsmax.com, Drudge Report, Foxnews.com, Glenn Beck. Judi can be reached at: judi@canadafreepress.com