Hi everyone: Russell the Relentless here, you may remember me from my previous guest appearances here and here. I had hoped to pop up on the blog last weekend to wish all our readers a Happy Canada Day. However, somehow life got in the way. My favourite small human came to stay for the weekend and we spent most of our time chasing each other around the house. Somehow in all the licking I completely forgot about writing.
So, I hope you’ll accept my belated greetings.
What did you get up to this Canada Day? Me, I stood at the end of Burnside to watch the Canada Day parade go by. It’s one of my favourite summer things. And my absolute favourite — the horses. Such magnificent beasts. If I am ever allowed in the parade, I’d want to be right behind the horses.
It’s not just their size, or the way that they turn their heads to look at me. Or even that sometime long ago our ancestors must have galloped through the forests together hunting for fox or wild boar. I confess it’s because I’m rather partial to the taste of fermented grass, especially if it has been fermented in a horse!
Leading up to Canada Day, Gillie and I talked a lot about how to celebrate the day. I’m well known for my overabundance of joy, so I don’t always look at the dark side. But Canada Day is a reminder that this country was created on land taken from Indigenous peoples. We can no longer hide from that, nor from the systemic genocide of Indigenous peoples that allowed settlers to thrive here. It is challenging to know how to celebrate an idea that caused so much suffering for so many.
Nonetheless, Gillie is thankful to have been able to make her home here with her family. An economic migrant from Thatcher’s ruthless Britain, she will be forever grateful for the opportunities that Canada presented. As for me, somewhere, long ago, my ancestors must have moved here from France, in search of a better life. Generalists like me “jack of all trades, master of none” were being bred out in favour of the specialist types — pointers, setters and spaniels. So I am grateful for that priest in St Hilaire , QC who back in the 1940s decided to rescue the breed, and give me and my ancestors a chance at thriving in Canada.
But back to the problem of joy. After the parade, I was so happy that I tried to jump up at the window of a truck pulling a horse trailer. I got a sound telling off from the driver, and from Gillie, who hadn’t noticed what I was about to do. The truck smelled so good, and I really just wanted to lick the driver in thanks for all the lovely smells emanating from the trailer. I felt bad for about a nano second, but then there were so many happy kids around me, I couldn’t stay upset for long.
Gillie and I have talked a lot over the past few days about the difference between being happy and being joyful. Growing up in a church-based culture, it was made very clear to Gillie that her role in life was to bring joy to others. As she grew older it semmed to be an increasingly difficult task; she was often in trouble for being overexhuberant or excitable (yes, we do have a lot in common). And often feeling as though failure to be happy, and thus, in her mind, bringing joy to others, meant that she was not worthy the life. she had been given.
We now look after the small human every Wednesday, and both of us try and find things to do that make him happy. Gillie reads him lots of books while I sit at their feet, and then I chase him and see how many licks I can get before I’m told “Enough”. We also go for walks together.
It takes a long time to walk with the short guy. he can run quite fast, but mostly he likes to spend time looking at things closely, listening to the sound of the birds and the motorcycles, or dragging his sandals through the gravel. He reminds us that joy is to be found in the here and now, in the small things that Gillie and I sometimes miss because I’m no longer completely governed by my nose.
Watching him explore the day lilies reminded us of the blog post Gillie wrote just over three years ago, when the graves of the children had been found at the site of the residential schools.
In the afternoon of Canada Day, Gillie took me for a walk to the community centre to see whether I could walk through the grounds without losing my cool. It was a big challenge, and I almost did it, except when a bouncy puppy wanted to play. It looked like a really fun time. A band was playing, people were dancing and chatting and hanging out in the sun. I couldn’t help notice that many people were wearing orange T-shirts. Gillie said that it’s a way for people to remember that Canada is not a happy place for everyone, and that we need to continue to work on listening to Indigenous people’s truths and to find ways of building a better future together.
Walking back home along the river we agreed that it was OK to be happy on Canada Day, as long as we don’t ignore our history. We are both extremely to be grateful to live in Wakefield, in the heart of a lovely community. We also agreed that joy isn’t actually a problem, in fact it’s absolutely necessary as a balance to the darkness of these times. I for one fully intend to carry on being as joyful as ever. I hope you’ll join me.
“Till the next time I’m allowed on the blog
‘Till the next time I’m allowed on the blog
Yours joyfully
Russell-the-Relentless LOL (lover of life).
P.S. I’m a bit worried about this stiff dog. I stared at him for ages, but he refused to acknowledge me. Could someone please inform the authorities — he doesn’t seem happy at all.
In writing this post, Gillie and I acknowledge the articles by Cody Coyote (Purcell), particularly “Refections after Canada Day – there is no pride in genocide” published in the Ottawa Citizen, July 5, 2024.
Wandering Wakefield 