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Author: Jeannette Ferrara The Write Place
Jeannette Ferrara is a retired teacher who enjoys sharing tales of her family adventures.
Charlie in Charge
I never wanted to go through it again; however, as I listened to my daughters reminisce and then finally plead, my resolve weakened. So when they returned from the farm where they had spent the better part of a day playing with a new litter of lab/border collie puppies, I felt that I was ready to re-visit puppy hood.
"He's going to let us know when it's time, mom," they said. The call came late in March and off they went with the soft puppy cushion that Melanie had sewn.
Since Dusty, our first dog, was a blond, female, cocker spaniel who had lived out 14 happy years with the family, we now wanted a dog that was the opposite. That's how Charlie was chosen. He was all black except for a small white patch on his chest.
He arrived to a full family welcome which continued for days. Everyone wanted to see the new puppy. Charlie certainly didn’t disappoint, hurling himself at everyone who walked through the door, clutching the torn remnants of his puppy cushion or the shredded remains of yet another supposedly sturdy doggie toy.
One day, as Stephanie sat with Charlie nestled in her lap, casually wiggling his rear leg, I leaned over.
"Where is it?" I asked. I could hear the aspiration in her voice.
"If you can't see it mom, you'd better put on your glasses," she hissed.
I peered closer to where she pointed. A small tuft of hair protruded. "That's it?" I exclaimed.
"Well, he's only a little puppy. It will grow with him."
Cousin Marcie however, was not as easily placated. Upon examining the tuft, she burst into laughter. "That's no male dog. Charlie's a girl!"
Unwilling as we were to accept Marcie as a definitive sex determination expert, a visit to the vet confirmed her diagnosis.
I broached the subject of name revision but we all agreed that Charlie suited her. After all, she was such a scrapper that nothing sedate or feminine would do.
There was however, one feminine trait which she possessed: good taste in shoes. Given a choice between Rino's clunky lace ups and Stephanie's delicate, strappy, expensive heels, she definitely preferred the latter. Redesigned shoes a la Charlie, however, possessed neither heels nor straps as Stephanie tearfully discovered.
I never considered that this quality could be an asset until one day I returned home laden with grocery bags. I wound up for the Herculean shove required to penetrate the dense undergrowth of footwear that flourished in the front hallway. Whack! The front door opened with such a force that it bounced off the opposite wall. I looked down. No shoes. "Thank you Charlie," I muttered under my breath.
There was also the placement of other objects in the post Charlie household. "Where did you put them? Rino called from the deck.
"I didn't touch them. They should be on the patio table where you left them." I retorted. Out of the corner of my eye I saw something glitter on the newly cut grass.
"Oh no!" I ran into the yard. Sure enough, there were the remnants of Rino's six hundred dollar, difficult to fill, prescription glasses. Suffice it to say that for every day of the two weeks that Rino had to wear the chewed up, partly missing frames, taped to the partly smashed glass, he developed an extensive, x- rated vocabulary to describe what he would like to do to Charlie. Charlie is still alive only because she can run faster.
Although Charlie loves to consume unfamiliar objects, her greatest passion is food. After virtually inhaling her meal, she is always on the look out for other delicacies. Melanie found this out one day much to her chagrin. After painstakingly preparing gnocchi by hand for a party she was to attend that evening, she left them on the counter and went upstairs to dress. She return to the sight of a flour-dusted Charlie scurrying into her crate. One small piece of gnocchi was left. Now Charlie always knows that it's wrong to steal food. In fact, she's always willing to take a self-imposed time -out in her crate after eating the gnocchi or the pie or the steak or the muffins or the sausages, but she is never willing to stop. Her philosophy seems to be: enjoy the forbidden fruits of life and then be sorry after.
It was clear that Charlie was a dog who required close supervision and a lot of exercise. What better place for her to blow off steam that at our cottage? On the first visit, she raced pell-mell down the steep path to the dock clutching her water toy. Anyone who dared to share the dock with her was forced to play fetch repeatedly until Charlie decided that she had had enough. That only happened when everyone on the dock was totally soaked and completely exhausted.
After that, it was time to explore. No matter how many times or who called to her, she always ran the other way. One day, as I was yet again calling her name to no avail, the phone rang. It was Stephanie in Toronto. "Mom, what's going on up there? I've gotten two calls from people on Mill Bay road. The one woman said that Charlie's been terrorizing her cats. In fact, one of her cats ran up the tree and wouldn't come down. The other man said that he had to lift Charlie out of the water when she repeatedly tried to climb onto his dock. He was afraid that she'd drown."
Armed with addresses, leash, and a large piece of meat, I set off down the road. After apologizing to the poor woman who had by now had coaxed her cat down from the tree and indoors, I walked a little further down the road when I heard someone yell, "Stop that! Put it down!"
Rounding the corner I was treated to the sight of Charlie running in crazed circles on the lawn of a fellow cottager, violently shaking a shoe, which obviously belonged to the man who was speaking. He alternated between hobbling around in the other shoe, and shouting at Charlie to stop, all to no avail.
This also turned out to be the same man who had lifted Charlie out of the lake. He was not amused. Drastic action was required. I knew that Charlie would just run the other way if I called her name so I swallowed my pride and resorted to bribery.
"Charlie, come and get a treat," I called, holding out the hunk of steak. Although that brought Charlie running to me, she was still under the impression that she could keep the shoe in her mouth and eat the steak at the same time. It took a combined and determined effort to get the shoe back and Charlie on her lead. I apologized profusely and guaranteed that it would not happen again.
"Well, the only way that it's not going to happen again is if we tie her up or keep her on a lead," said Rino. So that's what we did. As we were walking Charlie one night, on her lead, we met three unfamiliar people on the road. Before we could open our mouths to introduce ourselves, they all spoke as one, "Look it's Charlie!" What a way to meet your neighbours!
When Charlie arrived, we all thought that we were the ones in charge; however, Charlie has since made it abundantly clear that she is indeed top dog, leader of the pack and definitely in charge.
Adventures in Thailand
Our First Coup
Quick, insert the card. The green light flashes. The door opens. We're in. We both head to the bed and collapse, exhausted. Thank goodness the room is large, luxurious, clean and cool. Everything that Chiang Mai isn't. We are in the north of Thailand having just completed a temple tour. This huge, new modern room with its king-sized bed seems to inhabit another world than the one outside our hotel window.
Rino flicks the remote. The BBC World News buzzes. We're nearly asleep when the headlines slice through our drowsy haze.
"There has just been a military coup in Thailand. Tanks are moving in to secure the parliament buildings. A curfew has been imposed in Bangkok. Tomorrow has been declared a holiday. Schools and business will be closed. Prime Minister Thaksin, who is attending meetings at the UN in New York, is expected to return as soon as possible."
We gaze at each other in disbelief. What now! Rino flicks on the Thai channels. All they carry are the same still photos of the royal family, nothing else.
Tomorrow we are scheduled to go elephant trekking roughly an hour's drive north of Chiang Mai. Will we now? We are too tired to worry about it and fall into an exhausted sleep.
The first thing we do the following morning is to turn on the television. All the stations are dead.
The phone rings. It's Stephanie. "Mom are you okay? Everyone has been calling. They're worried. What's going to happen? " We assure her that we're fine and that we'll be in touch when we are better informed.
We have the same sumptuous buffet breakfast that we had the previous morning. After, our guide, Dan, is waiting. Yes, we are going elephant trekking. It's business as usual.
"Don't worry about that. Nothing is going to happen. No one wants violence," he reports.
Outside the hotel, everything is the same. People are going about their normal routines. There are a few soldiers posted at some major intersections. They are smiling, their machine guns dangling carelessly like toys.
Dan seems happy about the coup. The drive north gives us an opportunity to discuss it. "It's a good thing. We don't want that Thaksin here. He can stay in New York. He's corrupt. He's used his power to make money for himself and his friends. The king is going to grant permission for military rule until an election can be called," he stated.
"I think you trust your king more than your elected government," I suggest. He concurs.
"Did you know that the king of Thailand is the longest reigning monarch in the world?" he asks. "Two months ago, we celebrated the 60th anniversary of his reign. Did you notice a lot of people wearing bright yellow T-shirts with a crest? They're wearing them out of respect for the king. That's the colour and crest of his flag."
Indeed, we had noticed that, and the fact that pictures of the king and royal family are everywhere. He is, in fact, the grandson of the famous King of Siam played by Yul Brynner in the movie. I also noticed that he seemed to live in opulent splendour in a huge palace in the heart of Bangkok.
This, however, does not seem to bother the Thai people who live in comparative squalor. There are numerous shanty towns cobbled together with old rusted pieces of corrugated metal and scraps of wood. There are people, with children, begging in the streets everywhere. There are crowds of street vendors selling trinkets to tourists for a pittance. The majority of people are very poor indeed.
The Thai Bhat, which we bought at a rate of thirty-two to one Canadian dollars before leaving, could now be purchased at a rate of thirty-four to one. In short, the coup was definitely not a good thing economically.
When we returned to the hotel, the television was back up and running. We watched with interest. Apparently, this was the eighteenth coup in Thailand since the end of the Second World War. This seemed to occur even though Thailand considers itself to be a democracy; the only one, in fact, in the whole of Asia. Why couldn't they just dissolve parliament and call an election I wondered?
The BBC reporter answered my question.
"Even though this is a democracy, it is very fragile. If an election were called tomorrow, Thaksin would probably win again. Corruption is rampant. That is why the military moved in."
Thankfully, Thaksin did stay away. He seemed to know that all this would unfold and had arranged to meet this family who were already in London.
There was no one to challenge the authority of the military. The coup was bloodless. Every day there were news clips of soldiers and tanks, festooned with yellow ribbons, surrounded by adoring fans who presented them with gifts of food and flowers. The papers reported that tourists from Singapore were booking tours just so they could witness it all personally.
When we arrived in Bangkok, our guide insisted on a visit to the tanks parked outside the parliament buildings. As we stepped out of the van, she motioned to a soldier perched on one of the tanks.
"Stand here," she instructed him. "Now," she directed. "Stand on either side of him. I'm taking your picture." Rino said that she would make a good general. She laughed.
It was our first coup.
Elephant Trekking
The volunteer lay flat on the ground, attempting a smile as he eyed the towering mass. A curt command and the long nimble trunk swung into action for an intensive massage of the most vulnerable area of his anatomy. The audience, especially its female members, shrieked with laughter. The volume amplified as the
trunk retreated to be replaced by an enormous paw held motionless in the same tender location. As he emerged unscathed from his experience, we marveled at the control and training that this elephant exhibited.
We were at the Mae Ping elephant camp in northern Thailand and had just witnessed a fascinating show. The elephants had played soccer, basketball, painted a picture of three flowers in a vase, demonstrated bath time in the river, and bowed in unison among other astonishing feats. After the show, we had an opportunity to interact with the elephants. Many of us fed them bamboo shoots and bananas.
The Asian elephant is somewhat smaller than its African cousin. It does, however have a larger head and brain and is therefore smarter and easier to train. There is a strong bond between the Thai people and elephants. Judging by the number of elephant sculptures which adorn everything from temples to shopping malls to street corners, it is clear that elephants hold a revered place in society. In the past, elephants were used to lift teak to the river from logging camps. Today, because this has been outlawed, many domesticated elephants are fighting for their survival. As a result, the government has introduced "The Elephant Camp" where tourists can interact with elephants in a natural setting. Proceeds go towards upkeep of the camp and the elephants.
After the show, it was off to the hitching platform for a chance to ride an elephant through the jungle. Most of the elephants, including ours, are female. Her handler perches nimbly on her neck, his toes alternately tweaking and caressing her ears as he guides her along the trail. As I lurched clumsily from side to side in the relative comfort of our chair, I marveled at his agility and balance. I am also amazed at how well trained and sure footed this elephant is as she picks her way through the slippery, water logged trail without hesitation. Her motion is smooth and even. The towering, broad leafed trees provide a cool, dark canopy from the midday sun.
Glancing ahead I spot two substantial trees right in the middle of the trail. "We're not going through there are we?"
"Relax Jeannette, this elephant knows what to do. It's probably walked this trail a thousand times before," Rino replied.
"Yes, but it's the first time for me, " I responded testily.
Instead of walking around the trees as I anticipated, the elephant slipped deftly between the narrow opening, its feet overlapping as it moved in the same smooth, fluid motion.
"Wow, that's amazing," I exclaimed as I turned around to view the narrow opening through which we had come.
We could hear singing. Two women, who were riding the elephant behind us, approached. We had met them before the trek, when everyone was anxious to discover from which far away place others had come. The one woman was plump and middle-aged with flamboyant red hair and dramatic cat's eye glasses. Announcing that she was from Mexico, she then settled into her chair atop the elephant, lit a cigarette and favoured everyone along the trail with a selection of Mexican songs. Where was Stephanie when you needed translation?
After completing the trek, we arrived at the river to begin bamboo rafting. Our raft was exactly that; seventeen bamboo poles lashed together with twine, nothing more. The seat was a hard wooden bench about eight inches wide and five inches high. It was a long way down. Thankfully Rino and I were the only passengers. The two river guides each held long bamboo poles to steer the raft. Little effort was required as the current took us rather swiftly down stream.
As I pulled down the brim of my straw hat, to keep myself from baking in the midday sun, I thought of Katherine Hepburn riding down the river in the African Queen. I wish I looked as good. All was quiet and peaceful. The time passed quickly as we watched the elephants enjoy some down time in the grasslands surrounding the river.
The last portion of the tour was oxcart riding. Our ox was hitched and ready when we arrived at the dock down stream. The lounging driver alerted himself quickly. I heaved myself into the unyielding wooden seat in the back. All that was missing was the wagon cover I thought. Wasn't this how the pioneers traveled west?
Unlike the elephant trekking which was surprisingly smooth and comfortable, the oxcart was rigid and unyielding. Every bump and rut reverberated up and down my spine. In fact, it was amazing that the wheels did not sink in the many, deep muddy holes along the trail.
Halfway through the ride, our discomfort increased immeasurably when we were pursued by children from the local hill tribe selling trinkets. The driver stopped obligingly so we could inspect their wares. Even though we did not want anything, we succumbed to hard sell tactics and bought one of the colourful hats and a couple of bracelets. That was our mistake. Long after the driver set the cart in motion, the children continued to run and shout after us in the hopes of making another sale. Trying to ignore their cries was much more painful than any of the bumps or ruts. We felt helpless and used. How do you respond to such overwhelming poverty?
Dan, our tour guide, was waiting for us at the end of the trail. As he lead us back to the van, we felt humbled and unworthy. How wealthy and elitist our lives must seem to them.
One of my friends once said, "To be born in North America, is to have won the cosmic lottery." To visit Thailand, is to be reminded of this on a daily basis.
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