Whisky arrives in Canada

This was the weekend we’d be hoping for: Whisky arrived in Canada, safe and sound, and does not seem fazed by the journey!

She always was aloof, but it all came back to us when she greeted us out of her kennel on the trolley at Arrivals, matter-of-a-factly. A quick sniff of acknowledgement, then on to look at other new surroundings. It is probably a blessing that she accepts huge changes in her life so easily!

We really lucked out, after all the bad luck we had with this dog. September 2011was supposed to be the big reunion, but when she ran away in Daejeon, we thought it had all been for nothing. As luck would have it, kind souls we’d never even met volunteered to foster her for the winter after she was found, AND bring her back to Canada with them In April. This was no small favour: it meant trips to the vet to get renewed rabies vaccines, transport to the airport, and arranging all the quarantine procedures in Canada, after twenty hours of travel.

Martin and I have moved to Canada for the foreseeable future, but all that was for the dog, too! In Korea, we discussed where to settle in the West, and we were both kinda pulling for England – well, I intended to move to Europe somehow, and the first step would be getting the dog into to UK.

Not an easy task.

Great Britain has strict policies about animal immigration, since they have managed to keep rabies off the isles. Responsible perhaps, but a little excessive – we calculated the costs (in POUNDS) for many months of solitary quarantine: along with the plane ticket and stamps of approval from British vets, it would be running us thousands.

A quick check into the Canadian procedures: $35 at the gate.

Just like that, we were moving to Canada.

The plan was to get a Puppy Passport, which meant staying for six months until we had enough paperwork to take Whisky anywhere. We did not think through our plan for our own careers quite so carefully, but we had plenty of time to procrastinate while we travelled the world.

Leaving Whisky in April 2011 was hard, but we had a plan to fly her to Canada in September once we reached my parents’ as home base, even though we predicted no kind exchanges between our Jindo and their Bichon Frise. We had kind friends in Daejeon taking care of her. The thing about ex-pats in Korea is that they take their little time off enthusiastically, jetting away to exotic places as soon as they can. This was what we were doing, but now we’d passed off responsibility for dog-sitting onto generous friends-of-friends, who also wanted vacation.

Whisky did not seem too upset by the change of hands. Who knows what had happened to her in her previous life, but she always seems grateful for a kind word, pet, or bowl of food; even while apprehensive. We were just relieved to find that another couple was willing to help us out from abroad when Whisky was stranded for the winter. Regulations stipulate that dogs are not to fly to Canada in the winter, when long stints on the tarmac might prove too cold.

In the meantime, we were putting in our time with the cold, and Canadian dogs. Martin had found a winter gig up in South River, Ontario – the far northwest corner of Algonquin Park. It was working for a dog sledding company: his background in outdoor education made him a perfect guide, and my being Canadian got me absolutely nowhere. I worked at the shop packing the expeditions, but I was secretly jealous of the guides taking their teams of dogs out on the trails, even if it meant ridiculous hours for them, strenuous physical labour in the freezing cold, and very little pay. Martin and I rented a house just down the road from the dog yard: close enough to hear the howls of the 400 Alaskan Sled Dogs.

They are magnificent creatures. Working with these brilliant, strong, adoring beasts made us both fall even more in love with dogs. Every few days Martin had a new favourite, and he started to philosophize about training techniques, kennel set-ups, pairings for breeding and working it all into his future. Mushing very much gets into your blood. Most guides would bring home a special member of their team, and it wasn’t long before we had Patti sleeping on the floor of our small solar-powered, woodstove-heated cabin.

She was a strange-looking dog: too slow for her job, she’d been demoted as a race-dog after whelping a litter and now contentedly trotted in point or swing for the company expeditions. She was often traded onto client teams for her good nature with both people and other dogs. She could show puppies the ropes, and ignore big aggressive males. The importance of this was not lost on us when we thought of Whisky joining us again.

Patti was fat, and has oversized paws and ears. Her snout is too pointy, tipped with a pinkish nose, yet she has the barrel chest of a Malamute. She has very sad mud-coloured eyes and a pitiful howl. Martin fell for her when no one else noticed her, in the back of the yard. We asked her previous owner for her history, and he was happy to hear she was being adopted; she’d always been such a sweetheart. Despite the general consensus that Patti was the ultimate underdog, Martin saw something solid in her; a calm assuredness and playful nature. She took to being a house pet almost too easily, as Martin was still running her for the whole season. She loves her warm, soft bed, and is submissive without being timid. We call her the little white dog.

There was much discussion about how Whisky would get along with Patti. Patti is the best scenario: patient and unaggressive. Whisky, on the other hand, had once taken our friend`s beagle by the throat and tried to shake him to death.

Last night was the big introduction. Patti had been at the yard over the weekend while we drove four hours south to Pearson Airport. We had kept Whisky tied out back at my parents`, and closed in our room at night, away from the Bichon. Whisky accepted that she was our dog again, just like that – it warmed my heart. She was wonderful on the drive back north, gazing out the window at the highway.

I wish I could know what she thought about: how new Canada seemed after twenty hours of travel. Does she understand how far she is from Asia? Does it all smell different? Is it quieter, cleaner, vaster, wilder? She listens to birds with interest. She still dislikes wading, even when the water barely covers her dainty paws.

Home at last, I immediately drove out to pick up Patti and bring her in. We`ve had quite a few dogs visit us and stay the night with other guides who crash at our place. The sled dogs all know each other. We had gotten used to their work ethic, their approachability, their size. Whisky is tiny. We`d both forgotten how small she is – the Koreans would exclaim over her, and we`d say she wasn`t really so big for a real dog, but she really is just knee-height.

Patti went immediately up to her, and Whisky snapped, which earned her a quick correction. Martin, for a guy who grew up without dogs, has really become an excellent dog man. The right mix of discipline and affection got the two of them following him, not each other. Patti seems a little baffled over this strange visitor, but they are both in the house, and they animate when we`re walking around or call them over. Patti probably thinks this is short-term. Whisky is interested in Patti, but keeps her distance so far. What is really promising is how affectionate Whisky has become with us, coming over for pats and repeating tricks we taught her in our old apartment in Daejeon. Her sitters did a wonderful job of socializing her.

Patti, curled in her lazy ball, dreams away, while Whisky sits regally and watches me type with solemn patience. I feel like the day might come when they play together. Until then, we devote ourselves to this little two-dog family, nomadic and quirky as always, looking on towards the next destination: a place with a fenced-in yard, we hope.