When I was a young tyke, my family lived in a small town, Quesnel, BC.  It seems a kind of Mayberry and that would make me Opie I suppose.  (are you whistling the theme song “the fishing hole yet? )

Quesnel was a little boys dream. Wild blueberries just outside of town, as a boy I remember playing marbles in the school yard. I tobagganed on the hill beside my house, and there was a creek close by that had wide pools you could cool off in during the summer months. In the summer there was lots of bush near by my house for playing imaginary games of the young boy type. In the winter my Dad made me my own ice rink in the yard, and the snow was deep enough to tunnel under, yes under!

Of course, life for a small boy in a utopia like this includes a dog. My dog was named Tiger, a german shepherd. A good dog,  his thumping tail in the middle of the night scared away the monsters under the bed.

Pets, they get under the skin, and into the hearts of us mortals who love them.  My growing up memories include Tiger, my dog. My kids had their pets, also – Errol Flynn (our cat who swashbuckled his way into our hearts), and Houdini (the bunny who was so soft).

We love them, pets, and they are there for us, God bless them all.