"Photo Credit to Julie Ann Biggs out on the Mekong River, Cambodia Vietnam Border."

Jack Downey Comments on Canadian Issues to Inform and Amuse.

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A Dog's Best Friend

The plutudious Lady Sask Flatlander, has, for now, finished redesigning the coast of British Columbia. She arrived in Alberta during this autumn's fine weather and insisted on inspecting the wintering grounds of Alberta's official mammal, the Rocky Mountain Big Horn Sheep. (Lady Flatlander tries to get back to her Shawnavon Saskatchewan mansion prior to winter so she can enjoy the delights of the prairie blizzards and the challenge of starting a car at -40F.) Every year, large numbers of Mountain Sheep winter west of the sleepy town of Turner Valley where, on the large alpine meadows, facing south; they find shelter and forage. The Sheep River Game preserve plateau is accessible by a paved road only to December 1st. To see the Alpha Rams in their prime, with their harems of ewes and yearlings, makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. These animals have little fear of humans, so you can walk up very close to them for extraordinary photos. When not browsing up on the slopes, they form resting groups beside the road. The lambs gambol and often come right up to you and then bound away expecting you to climb the rock outcrops of Paskapoo Sandstone or the inclines of coal seams mixed with layers of Mesozoic era shale in frolicsome chase. (The University of Calgary have a ongoing study in progress on these wonderful wild animals.)

Lady Sask has a great affinity for dogs and horses. The residential dog, Fella, (Shepherd -Rottweiler cross) is her constant companion and, like her, loves to ramble about the wild country. They have tasked them selves with bringing Western Canada up to the flat beauty of the great province of Saskatchewan. To date they have pretty well leveled out Manitoba and most of eastern Alberta. BC has thus far resisted her efforts to tear out all the trees and straighten out the coast line so you don't need to take a Ferry to get somewhere interesting. Her submission to the Winter Olympics Committee, to level the Whistler venue for the thrilling Saskatchewan winter sport of Cross Country Skiing, fell on deaf ears. Saskatchewan and Alberta celebrate their Centennials in 2005, but BC wants to hog the attention by hosting the Winter Olympics up on the side of some ugly mountain. They will receive no Flatlander tourist dollars you can be sure of that. The ingrained Prairie motto is "Flat is where it's at" and can be translated to 'If it isn't flat, Hell is where you're at!' That being said, Flatlanders are able to tolerate the Foothills of Alberta only because they know the Chinook Winds are slowly eroding them away.

The request of the Lady Flatlander could not be gainsaid. With her at the wheel of my auto, which was loaded with coffee and other traveling needs, Fella in the back seat, and me as navigator, we maneuvered through heavy city traffic with our peerless driver exclaiming every few minutes that Alberta drivers are worse than the male drivers in Quebec. We stopped and brunched at the Chuck Wagon restaurant in Turner Valley. The Chuck Wagon serves ONLY breakfast ALL DAY. It is farm style with enough grub on each platter to keep a Rancher going 'til the Mad Cows come home. It's a friendly place, actually a converted barn so local folks feel at home. In fact it's so friendly, I even saw a Rancher smile and talk to his wife!

Fed and fueled, we struck off west, driving through the autumn golden aspen and the soft green of Lodge pole pine groves. Cresting the long climb west of the junction of Sandy McNab (sic) Creek and the Sheep River, we came upon the many harems guarded by handsome Rams. Since there was a very large grass covered plateau at the base of the alpine slopes, Lady Flatlander decided that the sheep had chosen a large area that looked like Saskatchewan and so they would not require relocation to the Cypress Hills over in Saskatchewan.

Then our great leader decided to climb up one of the hills to the crag at top to see if she could see the flatland of Alberta and Saskatchewan. I declined the offer to be her Sherpa and stayed with the car and thermos of coffee. When I passed the age of 45, I stopped doing 'Ups". When I was in Nepal I flew over Everest several times and cannot understand the Rock Climbers thrashing around in Yeti country. The same rule applies here. Actually the best and cheapest way to do 'Ups' is to buy a post card of Everest or other 'Ups', write on the back "I was here" and mail it to someone who might be impressed in your homeland.


Sir Jack WAS HERE!

Truly, I was sitting in a lawn chair and drinking coffee while watching the Lady Flatlander and Fella (dark spots on incline) heading up to where only Sasquatch and Eagles belong.

As the daring pair was up on the peak, a Cougar with Kits to feed decided that, rather then go to town for groceries, the groceries were being delivered to her! The Lady Flatlander looked to be a tasty morsel and was chosen over hairy Fella (Not to be confused with Harry Potter), who would have given the Kits fur balls. Madam Cougar selected a shopping cart and started her stock. I, at the bottom (remember I do not do ups, this is another reason why) watched this live drama unfold with glee. I saw my pals at the tippy top, right where Mammy Cougar wanted them. There was no place for them to go to escape except off the cliff as Mammy controlled the down route. She had them trapped like sinners in the fiery furnace. I poured another coffee to calm my nerves and sat back down just in time to see the Rottweiler part of Fella kick in his after burners. He took off after that Mountain Lion like a mad God goes after a blasphemer. Down the cliff over to the eastern side of the mountainside headed for Montreal they went, one barking, one caterwauling, they disappeared from view. Meanwhile, the appetizing piece, Lady Flatlander came tumbling, rolling, running, careening, somersaulting, cart wheeling, screaming down the hill shedding pieces of clothing to distract the long gone Cougar Mom. She arrived at the car in nothing but her knickers, bra, boots and socks. As I poured her a coffee she demanded to know why, as her Knight Errant, I hadn't come to save her. I confirmed what she already knows; "I don't do ups." That's what the Foot Hills Search and Rescue are for. They are based in Turner Valley and are good at bringing the remains of ill equipped foolish Flatlanders out for burial so as not to leave the local "Ups areas" littered with gnawed human bones.(I am really a Knight but still don't do UPs)

I got one of my emergency "Blizzard" jackets out of the trunk, 10 sizes too big, but it protected her modesty and we discussed what we should do about Fella, I pronounced him dead and gone, but, just as we were about to pull out, there at the very top of the mountain stood Fella, tail up, head held high and looking more like King Fella than a dog. He saw us down by the road and started down to his Lady, whom he had just saved from being Elsa the Mountain Lion's dinner. He was a little beat up, but in two days he was prancing to go again. ("Mad Dogs and Flatlanders go out in the Midday Sun".)

On the way back to town we stopped at a Bar where the Lady Flatlander lashed back four double rums, even though her normal is one single. She kept running on about tough old soldiers who don't do "UPS' and dogs that do! Now I know where that old expression comes from "Women cannot let sleeping dogs lie." I deem that I should be given due credit for giving the plutudious Lady a jacket to preserve her modesty. Queen Elizabeth of England knighted Sir Walter Raleigh for laying down his cloak for her to walk on. Princess Elizabeth of Yugoslavia knighted me and nowhere in my contract am I required to take on the Spanish Armada, provide cloaks or do any "Ups." Free advice is my area of expertise and I give it freely.

"Don't Do Ups!"

Here's a song the Foothills Search and Rescue of Turner Valley sing about Flatlanders click here © November 2, 2003 Jack C. Downey CD <BGSOUND SRC="prairie.mid">

© Jack C. Downey CD

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