網誌
2008年12月22日 上午3點48分32秒The Guardian （1）
Winter, 1995
My rifle felt heavy in my hands as I waded through the blizzard towards the house. My mind was on the verge of breaking, and my body was nearing exhaustion. I suddenly realized that I had narrowly escaped death, but David was dead.
Something was wrong.
I struggled in the snow towards the fences and saw Lance through the gates that I had left open. Lance was standing in the yard. His shepherd eyes gleamed with anger and fury as he stared at me. Something bloody hung from his mouth. He wasn’t moving.
Blood had splattered all over the ground. I ran towards Lance and saw flesh hanging from his teeth. Tiny little shoes lay at Lance’s paws.
Kevin’s shoes.
My four-year-old.
I ran past the dog and bolted into the house and began screaming Kevin’s name. He wasn’t there. I ran up and down the stairs crying and screaming for Kevin.
Lance.
Kevin.
Flesh.
With no other thought in mind, I ran out of the front door. Lance still stood there in the yard, facing the fence. I cocked my rifle, pointed the gun at the back of the shepherd’s head. I closed my eyes, and pulled the trigger.
Summer, 1988
I remember I was twenty-two when I had graduated from college and began to work. With some help from the family, I had purchased a cozy two-story house with a huge yard in countryside Alberta. To make some extra cash, I decided to lease out the lower story suite. I placed some ads up in the local newspaper, praying for a good tenant. Within a few days, I had found the perfect candidate for the lower-level suite.
His name was David, a first-nation Indian who had also just finished studying. Like me, he began working as soon as he obtained his college degree. He was a very handsome man and had the character of a heroic movie-Chieftain. He was very polite and always smiled. I liked him from first glance and soon, we became very good acquaintances.
David enjoyed hunting, and an adept hunter he was. I do not remember any time when he would return home empty-handed. He was hardworking and much persevered. He always knew how to prepare and preserve his games, and would hunt enough for the two of us to eat for a long time. I never bought meat since, but always enjoyed finding some fine wines to accompany the meals. We ate wild game every day, with the occasional vegetables and the all-too-frequent alcohol. Life was good.
David had one dream – he always wanted a hunting dog. Besides earning enough money for necessities, David didn’t have much cash to spend on a pure-bred hunting dog.
Our birthdays shared the same year and the same month. Though I never really remembered my birthday, I always remembered David’s. In the end, we celebrated our birthdays together.
Autumn, 1988
The first year when David moved here, we spent our first birthday together. I had wanted to get a dog for David for some time, and decided I’d get him a German Shepherd. It was the last day of November. I drove for 3 hours and arrived at the establishment of a well-known breeder north of my home. Many police officers chose their canines from here, and many local hero-dogs came from this breeder.
The owner of the establishment was a pleasant old man. He was a tall and stout man with deep features, dark tone and a pleasant smile. He used to work for the Royal Canine unit as a trainer. His handshake was firm and confident, and his polite demeanors were inviting and warm.
In detail, he told me the full family history of the eight-week-old Lance. Lance’s grandfather was very famous in the police-canine lore – he had helped capture many fugitives and had an excellent record of being an amazing police dog. When Lance’s grandfather passed, many police officers held a solemn funeral for his service. Because Lance looked so similar to his grandfather, he was given the same name as his heroic predecessor.
Lance had just been bathed, and my heart melted as I took the eight-week-old puppy in my hands. His fluffy coat felt soft to the touch, and his eyes glimmered with curiosity and innocence. He whimpered softly and licked my face. He was a little shy when I held him close to my chest, and gently struggled, wanting to run away.
His coat wasn’t completely dry, and he was shivering just a little bit. I took off my coat and wrapped it around him, leaving only his tiny head poking out of the clothing. I was worried that the wind-chill might get to him, so I made sure I wrapped him securely.
When we were finally outside, Lance raised his head and licked me to thank me. The way he stared into my eyes left an image in my heart which I will never forget. From his eyes, I could tell that he had chosen me as his owner. It was hard for me to realize that a dog, at only eight-weeks-old, could express such gratitude and affection. Since then, he had always listened to me, and we never conflicted.
The breeder was choking slightly as he bid goodbye to Lance. He had taken care of Lance a lot, and hoped that Lance would end up with a great owner. He gave me a few hundred dollars of discount off Lance, gave me a satchel full of Lance’s favorite food, and many of his chew toys. As I took off with the little puppy in my car, in the distance, I could tell that the breeder had tears in his eyes.
To be continued…