My pal QuaQua will be my final furever friend
You can save this article by registering for free here. Or sign-in if you have an account.
Reviews and recommendations are unbiased and products are independently selected. Postmedia may earn an affiliate commission from purchases made through links on this page.
Warning to people who dislike dogs: Don’t read this column. Life in the 70s is going to lapse into personal canine history. I’m a dog lover, and I’ve had a few of them.
QuaQua was one of the best: a smart and diplomatic miniature poodle who made me happy every day I was with her. And she was happy with me.
The dog loved her master. She enjoyed being with me, hanging out beside me watching TV. We were pals.
Enjoy the latest local, national and international news.
Enjoy the latest local, national and international news.
Create an account or sign in to continue with your reading experience.
Create an account or sign in to continue with your reading experience.
Don’t have an account? Create Account
And she’s gone. I’ve lost my latest dog, and I’m almost certainly too old to acquire another four-legged companion. (Unless I shop at a taxidermist. But that isn’t going to happen.)
I had to have my latest dog put down in late summer. QuaQua had illnesses that could not be cured.
The woman delivering the final verdict was an excellent veterinarian whom I’d dealt with for many years … and for more than one dog. She delivered a fatal injection, and I spent time alone with my dog, watching her gently fade away.
A sad occasion.
This 76-year-old has been a dog lover since my earliest childhood.
I was born in Saint John, N.B. The city, in 1948, was where a baby boy could be parked on the occasionally sunny street, accompanied only by a dog who sat as a sentry next to the cradle.
No one tried to kidnap the baby. And no one bothered a large-sized protective canine.
Those were the good old days followed, sadly, by bad old days.
My mother married outside her Jewish religion. My father was a good-looking fella who was three years out of the Second World War army service and in the process of becoming the franchisee of an Irving gas station.
I can’t go into the details because my mother never talked about it. By the time I was five, the marriage had headed south and my mom and I went west.
Her father lived in Montreal. So that’s where we moved.
My mother got a job as a bookkeeper in what was then a healthy garment industry. We lived in a small apartment that didn’t allow dogs.
I had some difficult early years. No father, no dog, no ability to speak and/or understand the primary language of the province to which we had relocated.
One of my neighbours had a great dalmatian. It was the only dog on the street. We kids loved it. Then we went back to our “No Dog” apartments and duplexes, watching Lassie and Rin Tin Tin on black-and-white television.
My five years at McGill University included government financing for a single-parent student. I moved downtown and lived with a girlfriend. We loved dogs and rescued one from the SPCA.
Great dog. But the romance fizzled; the dog went to a friend.
I was a hopeless pot-addled student who wrote for the university newspaper — which changed my life.
I was lucky to get a newspaper job at the now-defunct Montreal Star. I was even luckier to be hired by the Montreal Gazette when the Star folded.
I got married. We had a daughter. And a succession of great dogs — all of them Boston terriers.
We loved our child. We loved our pets.
Our relationship, however, didn’t last. My ex and I separated when our daughter was in her late teens.
But life continues, right? My daughter excelled in university; my ex remarried.
And I hooked up with a great partner. Each of us had a miniature poodle. As I wrote a couple of years ago, the four of us were a cute quartet.
Then canine illness happened. QuaQua, at 15, had issues that couldn’t be fixed.
And so once again, I had to have my dog put down. An injection, then maybe 10 minutes of watching my beloved dog passing away.
I love my partner’s dog.
I pet every friendly dog I meet.
I admire them on Facebook and on TV.
But that’s it for me and pets. QuaQua was my beloved four-legged ball game.
— Mike Boone writes the Life in the 70s column. mchlboone@gmail.com
Postmedia is committed to maintaining a lively but civil forum for discussion. Please keep comments relevant and respectful. Comments may take up to an hour to appear on the site. You will receive an email if there is a reply to your comment, an update to a thread you follow or if a user you follow comments. Visit our Community Guidelines for more information.
Find the pillow that best suits your budget and sleeping style
Girlfriend Collective, YETI, Best Buy and BURGA, to name a few
Take advantage of these Amazon Canada deals before they’re gone
Three buzzed-about beauty products we tried this week.
365 Bloor Street East, Toronto, Ontario, M4W 3L4
© 2024 National Post, a division of Postmedia Network Inc. All rights reserved. Unauthorized distribution, transmission or republication strictly prohibited.
This website uses cookies to personalize your content (including ads), and allows us to analyze our traffic. Read more about cookies here. By continuing to use our site, you agree to our Terms of Use and Privacy Policy.
You can manage saved articles in your account.
and save up to 100 articles!
You can manage your saved articles in your account and clicking the X located at the bottom right of the article.