Stories I Like To Tell

When we moved into our first new house in Ancaster we were young and broke. We had selected an area that was beyond our means and we had bought a house for $15,000 with three mortgages. The house today would carry a value of close to $200,000. We like to believe that the increase in value was, in part, to do with the TLC we gave it when we were there.

We selected this particular house on this particular street because the person that I was working for at the time lived at the end of the street and because we knew some of our neighbours through an involvement I had with kid’s baseball. One of the persons we knew lived across the street from our new home. They owned a really nice little beagle hound that they always kept fenced in and that slept in their basement whenever they weren’t home.

The day we moved into our new house was particularly hot. We had worked from early morning and we were now sitting down among the boxes and packing crates enjoying a break and a cold drink. We had every window and door in the house open to catch whatever breeze we could. As we were totally out of funds, we had not purchased a storm and screen door for the front so it was sitting open to whatever flew or wandered past.

While we were sitting enjoying our break, lo and behold, what wanders through our front door, but the beagle. I knew Jack and Marg, the beagle’s owners, were out for the evening so I was concerned that the dog had somehow managed to get out and was wandering around loose.

Being very fond of animals I wanted to prevent any harm from coming to the dog. Being the new kid on the block, I also wanted to make a good impression as the new neighbour. What a great opportunity.

I took the dog, which looked like every other beagle in the world to me, and walked across the street to Jack and Marg’s house. The house was in total darkness. I didn’t want to put the dog back into the back yard because I felt that if he found his way out before he would likely find his way out again and possibly get into trouble. It was lucky for that dog that it had wandered into the house of a person that cared.

The front door to the house was locked. The back door was locked. Fortunately, the side door that led directly into the basement was unlocked. I figured that is how the dog got out and the wind probably blew it shut after the escape.

I opened the unlocked door and let the dog loose in the basement. Immediately, the damnedest dog fight broke out that I had ever heard. Very obviously, Jack and Marg’s beagle was already in the basement and I had just delivered a total stranger into his home.

As I knew there was no chance that I could ever sort out which beagle was which and as I had no need to jump into a dog fight in a darkened house, I took the only sensible action that could be taken.

I slammed the door shut and ran home.

Wanda and I decided, after I explained what had happened, that we had done quite enough unpacking for one day and that we were well advised to have our doors closed and lights out before Jack and Marg got home.

I know Jack and Marg wound up with only one beagle but I have no idea how they sorted it out or what their thoughts were when they got home and checked their basement. Obviously, you can’t ask.

We moved three times after the initial move to Ancaster but I never again did anyone the favour of returning their dog unless the owner is on the other end of the leash at the time.