On Omens

Striker

Omens can be bad or good. Here's an example of each. First the bad one. 

Before Striker, a black lab mix, I had Buddy, a golden lab mix. Buddy and I were returning from a camping trip to Hecla, our favourite place on earth, when we stopped at Winnipeg Beach for a break at their dog-friendly shoreline. We passed a man who was leaning against the base of the water tower. 

“Can I pet your dog,” he asked.

I nodded.  “Buddy loves attention.” 

“Such a beautiful dog.” The man smiled. “I had one very similar. They don’t live nearly long enough. Enjoy him while you can.” 

Buddy

Buddy had no known health issues, yet he died a month later. Now Striker is 12 years old and slowing down. Dogs never live long enough.  

Now onto the good omen.

After one of my regular swims a few months back, I was relaxing in the sauna when a woman I hadn’t seen before came in. The sauna is usually a quiet place where we respect each other’s silence. But this woman was chatty. She shared how she’d survived breast cancer and that she was happy, strong and grateful to be back at the pool. It was a strange conversation … quite one-sided. I’d never met the woman before and I’ve not seen her since.

Turns out that now it’s me who has breast cancer and I start treatment tomorrow. Today, though, I go for my regular swim. It’ll be a while before I can go again, but hopefully, not too long. I can’t wait to meet that woman again. I’ll have something to tell her … about being happy, strong and grateful … and about omens.

Orphaned Dogs

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Caged family pets highlight the emotional pain of the invasion that’s underway in Ukraine. Our family has always shared the house with pets and they’ve been sources of great joy and of gut-wrenching pain. Anyone who’s mourned the passing of their family dog will relate. Even when my mom was on her death bed, she'd eagerly share it with our yellow lab cross—inviting him to jump up and snuggle with her. Dogs have an uncanny ability to connect with human emotions.

Ukrainian Dog looking for Love & Food

With Ukraine constantly in the headlines, I’ve been returning to my trip photos trying to figure out if the little villages I visited are under attack. So far, it appears, so good. Then I found this dog photo. Ah, yes, the yellow dog. Every time we filled up at a particular gas station, he was at our van, waiting for a cuddle and a handout. Orphaned dogs were also often hanging at the backdoors of restaurants or at bus stops. The unlucky ones ended up on the side of the road, like squirrels here in our suburbs. 

Tip, our old family dog, & role model for Zenta

My mom’s family dog inspired Zenta in my book The Kulak’s Daughter. Both my mom and aunt remembered their dog who ran after his family as they were deported during collectivization and who greeted them the following year when they made a brief return. 

When I spoke to elementary school students about my research in Ukraine, one student asked if I’d found Zenta during my trip. Perhaps it was a great grand-dog of Zenta’s who greeted us at that gas station and gave me the power I needed to keep researching and writing these stories. 

How many dogs will be reunited with their Ukrainian families when this current war ends? How many families will be reunited with each other? God, let it end soon. Let the broken families heal.

Remembering Dogs

It's been a year since my good old dog, Tip, passed away and I think I'll rearrange things here and give him a smaller presence on this blog. His forget-me-nots in the garden (by the fence which he so loved to mess up) will bloom in the spring. I want to say that his departure from my life helped me understand what my character, Olga, was going through when she had to leave her dog behind after the family was exiled to Yaya, Siberia. My mom remembers her family dog, Mopsi, and how he chased their wagon when they returned from exile. It's these kind of details that go straight to my sentimental heart.

It was interesting ... I read an earlier draft of my book to my daughter's grade six class, soon after my trip to Ukraine back in 2004. One of the boys asked whether I found Olga's dog while I was over there. (More than seventy years had passed!) But I didn't tell him this, I just said, no, I never found her dog, but I found other dogs - orphans - all over the streets of Zhitomir. They often hung out near the back doors of restaurants, hoping for table scraps. Back in 2004, there was no humane society - no place for orphaned dogs.

One dog was often at the gas station where we regularly filled up. Filling up there was a big procedure. We'd have to get out of the van and wait around for half an hour. I think it was a propane-fueled van. This dog was so docile - so eager to please. He'd have made somebody a great pet.

In the small villages, outside of Zhitomir, many houses had a dog tied to a short chains near the door. A chained dog is not a friendly dog. I wouldn't want to be a mail carrier out there.

So now I look forward to spring and Tip's perennials. While in Ukraine, we followed a trail of perennials. They were the clues to the past lives of my grandparents and other family members.