A resounding chorus of swelling shrieks, that, from a distance, sounds like a group of terrified screams. This is the soundtrack and most frequent audible backdrop to Ross River. This town is not known for many things: There’s no mayor, no landmarks, and the town sign has a dilapidated old car ridden with bullet holes at the entrance. But many people remember Ross River as “the place with the dogs.”
There aren’t any bylaws, so far as I know, limiting the number of dogs a person can own, as in most municipalities. There are indeed some residents who house nine and ten dogs, all in a dog yard behind their homes. At one point, I was living in a house flanked by nine dogs on our left and another ten right across the street. Not fun. And when one dog goes off barking at something – real or imaginary- they ALL get going in the chorus.
Aside from the dozens of dogs chained up in dog yards, Ross River is known for its pack of wild dogs. Dogs that start out as puppies, that are cute and therefore attractive as fun pets. But then people sort of forget to take care of them, letting them roam free and fend for themselves with the other rejected and neglected canines. It literally becomes a dog eat dog world. They congregate outside the restaurant, waiting for scraps. They wait outside of the school for their “owners” to collect them at the end of the day. They roam the main drag of highway, with increasing aggression the hungrier they become. I’ve been warned not to bother going for jogs in town because the wild packs of dogs would be apt to nip at my legs, if not attempt to gnaw the flesh from my bones!
Lately, there have been a pack of dogs in our neighbour’s yard howling between the hours of 11:00 p.m. and about 4:00 a.m. Not the kind of night music one might request to be lulled to sleep with.
Yesterday on the way back from walking our puppy in the woods, one of the residents stopped driving his John Deere lawnmower down the road and expressed frustration at the nocturnal barks. In fact, his words were,
“I can’t take it anymore. The next time I hear it, I’m going to go running out of my house with either a shotgun or a bat and I’ll gladly beat the dog to death.”
Hmm. I’ll chalk it up to another day in Ross.

Labels: dogs, Ross River

Now that I’ve settled into something of a routine and figured out some of the parameters of my substitute teaching job, I figured I’d entertain at least a couple of the job offers thrown my way when I first arrived in town. Among them were ambulance driver, health centre secretary, librarian, computer class teacher, youth programs organizer and jail guard. Since school’s only in session 9 a.m. to 3 p.m., that leaves time to fill. And with little to do recreation-wise and a husband whose job sees him out of the house, I thought it’d be best to fill the empty hours with something ore productive than watching The Hills and Shot at Love.
I thought I’d go over to the head nurse’s house across the street to talk to her about helping out as sort of an on-call health centre secretary whenever they needed a backup and community librarian, filling in. What began as a quest to diversify my work portfolio ended with chains around my ankles and violation of my private parts. But, let me backup and explain this.
When I knocked on the nurse’s door, she asked me to come in.
“Quickly, just scoot in here, I’ll keep the dogs out.” She has ten dogs. They appear to be German Shepherd-Husky mixes with some weird mutts thrown in that she’d collected over the years.
I told her I wouldn’t stay long as I could see she was cleaning house for dinner guests. I explained that I was interested in helping out, and asked how I would go about applying formally. She had a bit of a confused, displaced look and quickly explained where I could drop off resumes and what forms to fill out. Then she started showing me around her kitchen for some reason.
“This is where the carrots are, they love carrots, they get all excited when they hear me say the word.”
Her dinner guests?
“I keep the chewees and treats up here, and you can give out as many as you want.”
Does she mean “you” in the generic way?
She had me follow her out back where five of her dogs live, to introduce me. I figured, why not? I might as well meet my neighbours, canine or human.
I had five giant dogs jumping at my back, my face, my arms.
“Don’t be afraid to be firm with them,” she advised.
I felt one large dog’s snout forced strongly between my legs from behind, kind of like a bicycle seat.
“Thanks so much for offering to watch them while I go into Whitehorse this week.”
Um, what?
“Oh, did your husband tell you? You’ve been conscripted!”
No, he most certainly did not. But he sure does have some ‘splaining to do.
“Anyway, here’s the puppy food and the dog food. The cats are in this room and they don’t require much care.
The other five dogs, I learned, live in the front yard tethered to industrial-strength posts with industrial-strength chains.
“These guys are all pretty strong, and I keep them on the chains otherwise they tend to scrap.”
As she toured me around, pointing out water bowls and behaviour tendencies, the excited dogs ran circles around me, resulting in my ankles being encircled by their chains.
She handed me a key, thanked me again, and pointed out the emergency phone numbers where I could reach her.
“Sound good?”
I walked back across the street wondering if anyone would notice if I cared for these ten giant dogs by spraying water towards their dishes with a hose from a safe distance away. I’ll send husband to do the feeding.

Labels: dogs