Archive | Crediton

How to start a new life

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Advice from Mom
By Rita Lessard

The most popular month for people to get married is June. I suppose people figure if April showers bring May flowers, then June will bring good weather that is neither too hot nor too cold. This is a good time to start a new life with someone you love.
It has been said that white is a colour that symbolizes happiness and good luck. Black on the other hand, would symbolize bad luck and unhappiness. I can understand why so many brides choose to wear white, so why do the grooms wear black? You’d wonder, wouldn’t you? Wearing earrings will bring the bride good luck provided they are not pearl earrings. Maybe the groom can get on this bandwagon and change his luck with a nice pair of earrings. Apparently, for every pearl a bride wears, her husband will give her a reason to cry. Great! After 47 years of marriage I find this out.
Most animals that you see on the way to church are good luck, including lambs, doves or toads. Even birds that fly directly over your car are good luck. It’s bad luck, though, if a pig crosses your path or bats fly into the church. Your old bat of an Aunt Gretchen doesn’t count.

Things we think we know!

  • The red coral of the Mediterranean is actually blue.
  • The grey whale is actually black.
  • The Caspian Sea and the Dead Sea are both actually lakes.
  • The Douglas fir is a pine tree.

Found in the classified ads

  • Beautiful 6-month-old kitten. Playful, friendly, very affectionate. Or handsome 32 year old husband. Personable, funny, good job, but hates cats; says he goes or the cat goes. Come see both and decide which one you’d like. (Rita: I guess that honeymoon is over.)
  • Amana washer – owned by bachelor who seldom washed.
  • For sale: Cows, calves, never bred; also, a gay bull.
  • Georgia peaches – Californian grown, 89¢/lb

Quotables

  • Golfer Elaine Johnson once drove a ball that hit a tree, bounced back and landed in her bra. “I’ll take two stroke penalty,” she said, “but I’ll be damned if I’m going to play the ball where it lays.”
  • Rita Rudner: My grandmother was a very tough woman. She buried three husbands, and two of them were just napping.

Happy Father’s Day to Tom and all my sons who are fathers. To Casey – an honourable mention for looking after his two dogs.

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How it all began

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Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard, C.D.

It was early November 1953 when my fellow apprentice soldiers and I arrived in Montreal by train. It seemed to us a huge city. We were staying at the Royal Canadian Ordnance Corps on Hochelaga Street, and after debarking from the bus, we were taken to the administration building to be documented. My name was listed as Thomas John Lessard, and not the way it should, John Thomas Lessard. I tried to explain the error and was told by the clerk that it was on all my paperwork and would take too much time to rectify. He said, “This is the army. Live with it.” As a result, I have been correcting it all my life.
Carrying on, we paraded to the quartermaster stores to be kitted out with uniforms, bedding, schoolbooks, rifles, etc. Our medical was set for the next day.
We made our way to the barracks, which was a two storey, typical military structure. Ours had classrooms upstairs and downstairs, along with a laundry room, dormitory style bedrooms, our own administration offices and NCO quarters.
It wasn’t until the next day that we discovered the worst thing about our camp. After we were rudely awakened in the morning, we were told that we had 10 minutes to get cleaned up, dressed and get outside to parade to the mess hall. When we stepped out the door and into the crisp November air of Quebec, we were greeted with one of the most God-awful smells any of us were to meet the rest of our lives. Situated a couple of blocks away was an Imperial Oil refinery neatly on the west side of the fences. A couple of the weaker stomached youngsters turned around and went back into the building, only to be quickly escorted out again. The mess hall was a couple of streets west of where we were, which made the oily stench worse — as if that were possible. Anyway, we struggled through the smell. That was the first of my experiences with army mess halls, and the food was actually very good. Being 16 years old we had pretty good appetites, and were even allotted extra rations.

Last Monday, my wife (her name is Rita, and she’s cute) and I took at drive to Londesborough to try to find the hall at which we would be going for a wedding reception the next Saturday. Since there were no restaurants in town we carried on to Bayfield to DJs. Everyone I know is aware of this establishment. I remembered my sister telling me that an old school chum lived in this town. We looked him up and, sure enough, after 60 years we met again. Being older now, we each have minor medical problems, but still are pretty chipper. As he had to visit his doctor, we had a short but wonderful meeting. Like mine, his wife is in pretty good shape. We both chose our life partners very well.

Happy birthday Donald Dinney, Christopher, Will, Connie, and Olivia Lessard.
Congratulations to Liette Clarke and Jeff Burton, who have a new baby girl.

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Reflecting on mom

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Advice from Mom
By Rita Lessard

Happy belated Mother’s Day to one and all. What a great station in life it has been for me to have the privilege and fortune to have been able to attain. I hope it has been as wonderful an experience for others as it has been for me. Being a mother has been a roller coaster of emotions, but for me it has been the best time of my life with absolutely no regrets. It is an honour to have raised five great and successful sons. Thank you boys for all you’ve achieved to make me happy and proud to be called your mother. This past weekend I was specially proud and delighted to attend an awards ceremony where Casey won eight awards for the Grand Bend Strip. What a thrill that was. Way to go, Casey!

As mothers, we don’t get much time to relax, but occasionally we let the housework slide and watch a game show or two. One day, I was talking to my neighbour and she was saying how her husband came home from work one day to find the house in complete disarray. There she was plopped in front of the TV. “So that’s what you do while I’m at work?” he said, smirking. “I just happened to have it on,” she lied. The jig was up the next day when the family was watching the prime minister giving a speech. As he stepped out of his car and waved to the cheering crowd, her son shouted, “Look, mommy, he won the car!”

As mothers go, I always considered myself a half decent housekeeper. I enjoyed playing games with the kids, so that was my excuse for not being 100 per cent perfect in that area. My friend, on the other hand, was a bit of a cleaning fanatic. The one Friday night her teenagers had a party down in the recreation room, and she was not too happy about the mess they made, so she made them clean it up. As she watched them work, it was clear that she was completely dissatisfied with their cleaning efforts and she let them know. Finally the son, exasperated with having to do it all over, reached for a broom and asked, “Can I use this, or are you planning to go somewhere?” Wow! How brave was that?!

From Reader’s Digest:
All mothers have intuition. The great ones have radar.
Raising kids is part joy and part guerilla warfare.
Just be kind and good to your children. Not only are they the future of the world, they’re the ones who can sign you into the home.

Hints from Woman’s World:
Like to round off that gas purchase to a nice even number? Don’t bother. Adding fuel after the pump’s auto shut-off kick actually doesn’t get you any extra. The tank needs a bit of room for gas to expand, and any extra fuel evaporates into the car’s vapor collection system. What’s worse, it could cause poor engine performance. Wow, who knew? If this is true, it’s a lesson for me.

While you’re gardening carry a quart size spray bottle filled with a couple of drops of liquid dish soap and water. If you see bugs attacking your flowers, give them a hefty squirt and they’ll fly away.

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Good game: Jolene Unwin’s legacy

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Jolene Unwin of Crediton died October 9, 2007 after the car she was driving rolled on the gravel road near her home. She was a month shy of her 20th birthday. To remember Jolene, Jim and Donna Unwin organize an annual hockey game involving family, friends and the London Devilettes, a team she was about to start playing hockey with before her death.
This year’s game was held March 27 at the South Huron Recreation Centre in Exeter. Funds raised this year go to the Critical Care Unit at the London Health Sciences Centre, where Jolene spent her last moments.

As told to Casey Lessard
Game photos by Casey Lessard

Donna: She was almost born on Friday the 13th. She would stay up late at night, wouldn’t go to bed even when she was a baby. She’d be up in the morning at six o’clock when Jim would go to work. She just never wanted to miss anything.

Before she played hockey, she was a member of the Exeter Starlights Baton for two or three years, and she also played baseball. When she was in Grade 8, that summer she said, “I’m going to play hockey next year and I’m going to be a goalie.” Sure enough, they didn’t have one, so that’s when she started playing hockey and went into net.
Jim: I coached her for three years. I liked to see her play hockey because she always played road hockey out here with the boys, and she was the goalie. I tried to get her to use her glove hand a lot. I’d fire tennis balls at her all the time. The first year she played goal, she was voted to go to the all-star game.
Donna: With the hockey, because of her size, the first time she was skating around against Parkhill, the girls commented that the net was taller than the goalie. But she surprised them all.

As she was going through school, she was an artist right from the start. She was always drawing stuff or making stuff. She made her own doll outfits. As she got older, I don’t think she ever went anywhere without her sketchpad. That’s why we’ve got all these pictures here. If she got depressed, she would draw a picture and that would help her out.

Finding her way
Donna: She had just got her license in June, just before she started her course at Fanshawe College. She had taken a year off school and was here all the time. When we were away, she did a lot of cutting grass and taking care of the house. She’d help the boys with their homework if they needed it. It was weird to have her out of the house.
Jim: I didn’t want her moving to London, but it was nice for her to move on.
Donna: And she moved in with friends, two of them her best friends. It wasn’t like she was going off to be with people she didn’t know.
She came home on Thanksgiving Saturday and picked up Jacob to bring him up to Kincardine, to our place up there. My mom and dad, and aunt and uncle were there and we had Thanksgiving there. Jacob had a project, so she brought him home on Sunday and took him into town to a friend’s place.
For some reason, she came back here rather than going straight back to London. She lost control of the car on the gravel road. It was freshly laid gravel. They had just done it the past week. When Jacob come home from where he was doing his homework, that’s when we found out about it.

As soon as the police called us, all they said was we had to get to London. The hospital called and said we had to get there right away. They wouldn’t say anything about her condition. The police told us they don’t condone speeding, but we should get there as fast as we could. You have a feeling when they say that, that there’s something terribly wrong.

Jim drove and I was calling everyone so my mind wasn’t dwelling on what was going on. When we got to the hospital and they told us, it was very, very hard.
They were asking us to do organ donations. We decided to do that, and at about 11:30, they tested her and her brain was still alive, so they kept her on life support. Then at about three o’clock, she had no blood pressure and I heard one of the nurses in back say that if that keeps up, the organs won’t be any good. So we decided then to shut the machine off and there was no use to put her through any more. It was hard to do.
We turned the machine off and watched her pass away. I spent a little time with her and we came home. One of the longest days of our lives.
Jim: It still hurts. I go talk to her every day at the cemetery in Crediton. Every day.
Donna: We still struggle with it, even now. It’s going to take us a long time to get over it.
You just go a day at a time. That’s why we do this game to keep her memory going. Her friends have been a good support. I don’t really remember a lot of it because you go through on autopilot. It gets a little easier, but not much. There’s always things you know you’re not going to be able to do.
I don’t think she would want us to dwell on it. She would want us to get over it. But that’s not the way things are. I know she wouldn’t want us to be upset about it all the time. But it’s not that easy.

This year’s game raised about $6,000 for the LHSC Critical Care Unit. Jim would like to see the game grow to include a match with former NHL players. In addition to this fundraiser, Jim’s employer donates money for a scholarship in Jolene’s memory to help students interested in art or sports who need financial assistance to attend school.

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Fashion’s faux pas

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Advice from Mom
By Rita Lessard

What’s with this weather already? A couple of nice, sunny days, and then it’s spoiled with cold and frost. Twice this past week I had to scrape the ice off my windshield. It’s half a wonder why people get sick when one day we’re wearing shorts and the next it’s back to the sweaters and winter jackets.
Well, we have to wear clothes anyway, but do you ever wonder why we do it to ourselves? Generation after generation of women has willingly exposed themselves to the high risk of pantyhose strangulation, girdle-induced respiratory arrest and turtleneck gagging. What kind of sick people punish themselves like this?
Men, too, continue to punish themselves. Just look at the necktie. Where did that idea come from? Perhaps from watching too many westerns? Some bright eyed designer must have been watching a hanging one day and thought, “Now there’s an idea that could really catch on!”
At least it stays tight. Contrast that with pantyhose, a nylon half-body suit that fits like a tourniquet but gradually loosens throughout the day until it folds at the ankle like ribbon candy? Not pretty, but we love it.
Spandex is another thing. I’ve seen both sexes wearing it, and believe me, I honestly think some people wearing it these days are seriously violating the spandex rules of engagement. You know who I’m talking about.
High-heeled shoes are another bad fashion idea. Backaches, bunions, sore feet, fallen arches, etc. Come on, people. Give it up! Sweats, socks, running shoes and sensible walking shoes are our reward for enduring decades of fashion abuse. Embrace them.
Bottom line is, clothes and other apparel shouldn’t punish us. I may be showing my age, but considering I just celebrated my 69th birthday, I feel I’ve earned that privilege. Even though people say I don’t look a day over 68, I am what I am. Thanks for the thought anyway.

Thank you to my husband, sons and daughters-in-law, my sister Joan, brother Peter and brothers Bill and Richard, as well as my friends Deb and Roy for the cards and gifts for my April 5th birthday. Your kindness is overwhelming.

Lighter notes
Someone once told me to marry a man your own age. As your beauty fades, so does his eyesight.

Guilt: the gift that keeps on giving.

Overheard at Tim’s?
A woman walked up to the manager. “Are you hiring any help?”, she asked.
“No,” he replied, “we already have all the staff we need.”
“Okay,” she said, “then would you mind getting someone to wait on me?”

Touché.

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The Grand Tour

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Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard, C.D.

My military career of 18 years took me to many places I probably would never have gone on my own. When I joined the RCOC in 1953 at the age of 16, I was sent to Montreal, where the ordnance corps school was located. For a kid that young who had never been away from home, it was quite an exciting experience. One of the best times was when we had to do our qualifying on the rifle. We had to take a bus to Mt. Bruno off the island and into the Gatineau hills. Beautiful country.
After completing my training, which took almost two years, my first posting was to 27 COD on Highbury Avenue in London. For the first two months, I was living in Wolseley Barracks, but was told that I had to move out and find a place on the economy (in other words, an apartment or a rooming house). One of the older guys showed me a rooming house on Hale Street, just a ten-minute walk from work. The lady who ran the place had two small children and 21 boarders whom she fed and housed. She found room for me on the third floor (at one time the attic) with seven other tenants, all army. We ate and lived – and caroused – together. It was a very interesting time. They certainly taught me a lot, about half of which they shouldn’t have.
A little more than a year later, the Suez Crisis occurred. Up on the notice board, a request for volunteers was posted. The first name to be entered was yours truly. Off I went to Egypt for the better part of a year. Six months after I returned, there was a request on the board for a storeman to go out to Wainwright, Alberta, as increment attached to the RCEME workshop for a three month summer exercise. I got the job, but when I reported in, I was told that I would be the C.O.’s batman-driver. That was a pretty cushy duty. It was a surprise for me to find out that my brother-in-law Sam was stationed in Calgary with the Queen’s Own Rifles, at whose camp we bunked before heading north to Wainwright. I didn’t realize until then that my sister was living there; they showed me a great time.
Back to London. The next year I was back to Alberta again. Another good summer.
I wanted to go to Germany and the only way to get there was to get posted to the 1st battalion, the Royal Canadian Regiment stationed at Ipperwash. I didn’t even know where that was. I soon found out and was pleasantly surprised to experience one of the best camps I was ever to live in. The other in consideration was Lizard Flats in Cyprus.
While with the battalion, I had three years in Germany, two tours in Cyprus, two summers in Petawawa, one in Gagetown, winter exercises up north, and a month in Jamaica. If not for the army, I wouldn’t have gone on an upgrading course in Montreal, where I met my future wife. She travelled with me to Germany, where we married and had our first two boys. Rita turned 69 earlier this month (happy birthday).
Happy birthday this month to Bob and Jessica. I hope everyone is enjoying this beautiful spring weather. It’s nice to be alive.

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Why thinking is a bad thing

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Advice from Mom
By Rita Lessard

Daylight saving time: is this a good thing or a bad thing? Whether it started in the First World War or it started the First World War, I don’t know. All I know is that we’re denied an extra hour of sleep. That’s not a pretty thing, especially in respect to my regular Monday morning customers. Most of them are a little cranky first thing anyway, so you should see them when they haven’t had enough sleep.
I think it all comes down to a lack of patience. They say the great thinker Socrates had a lot of patience, but I think Rodin’s model for the sculpture, The Thinker, had more. I have a lot of patience, but I don’t think I could pose in that position for too long. Brr! Get me my Snuggie already.
Most people today don’t have the patience for people who stand around thinking. For instance, when you come into Tim’s and you’re standing in line waiting to place your order, you’d think you would know what you want by the time you’re in front of me. Not necessarily true! Don’t get me wrong. I think it’s fine to be a thinker and stand around contemplating life, but the customers behind you don’t have the same patience as I do. Heck, it’s not as if I’m going anywhere.
I guess thinkers are a dying breed. At a stop light, when the light turns green, that’s no time to sit daydreaming or even thinking. When you hear that horn beeping behind you, you’d better get moving, sister! See what I mean? No patience.
There are so many places you have to stand in line and practice patience. In the bank and the grocery store, that’s a sure thing. For heaven’s sake, you don’t want to ever hold up the line thinking at an all-you-can-eat buffet. Geez, grab the check and go already. People have no patience when they’re tired or hungry, so quit your thinking and move on before you give yourself a headache.

St. Patrick’s Day
Everyone is Irish on St. Patrick’s Day, even though St. Patty himself wasn’t (he was a British missionary). For most Irish-Americans, this holiday is partly festive and partly religious. Many Irish came to Canada and the United States and brought their saint and traditions with them. In fact, today there are more people of Irish descent than there are in Ireland.
St. Patrick’s name is found all over Ireland, where it is used for town names including Kirkpatrick and Kilpatrick, and family names such as Kirkpatrick and Fitzpatrick. That name, Fitzpatrick, was my mother’s maiden name. Mom hated the colour green, and always told me never to buy anything green, but I couldn’t because green is my favourite colour.
The Irish, who have the shamrock as their symbol, believe good and bad things come in threes. Three tasks, three wishes, three brothers, three sisters. How odd is that? I come from a family of seven, and have three brothers and three sisters. Then mommy, daddy and baby make three.

O’Casey
Getting back to Irish names, sometimes Casey would upset me and I’d say, “Oh, Casey, stop doing that.” Guess I said it enough that some people thought his name was O’Casey, which is a great Irish name.

Inspired by the holiday
A man in New Zealand was arrested for setting his underwear on fire and riding through town on a motorized bar stool. The charge? Driving without a license.

A snatch-and-grab thief in London decided to see how much he could scoop from the display window of a jewelry store. But first he had to break the window, so he pried a manhole cover off the street and hurled it through the window. He grabbed the jewelry and took off running. He might have gotten away with this crime had he not fallen, you guessed it, down the open manhole.

They say you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, but what are you going to do with all those flies?
Happy 80th birthday to Joan Smith.

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Daylight losing time

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Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard, C.D.

(Editor’s Note: Please remember that these are memories of a time long ago, and the activities described in the following story are neither condoned nor recommended.)

My buddy “Bobbie” and I were walking back to the barracks one summer evening when, out of the blue, he says, “Let’s go to Port Huron.”
The canteen was closed and the hotel in town would be closing at midnight. With Ontario being on daylight saving time and Michigan on standard time, the bars were going to be open for a while, especially considering some of them stayed open until 2 a.m. in those days.
Away we went. With very few OPP around and the speed limits higher than today, it didn’t take too long to get to our destination. At the bar we went to, there were already a number of Canadian military enjoying some time off. We closed the place.
Bobbie was in pretty rough shape as we got to the car and took off. I was able to hold my liquor better than he could, but he still wouldn’t let me drive. About halfway home, he turned his head to barf out the window, and sure enough, t was closed. You can just imagine the mess.
Undeterred, we continued home. We pulled into the parking lot at the rear of the camp, turned off the motor, and staggered to the barracks. It was about 4 a.m. by this time, and we had to be up at 6 a.m.. Because we didn’t leave camp by the front gate, we didn’t bother getting passes, which I suppose meant we were AWOL, but we never got caught on any of our excursions.
The afternoon was very warm and sunny, and we didn’t get back to the car until after duty at 4 p.m. Our first mistake was opening the doors. The odour and flies were enough to make us throw up, but neither of us did.
We had to haul our rears back to the shack and get a bucket, soap, rags and tools. The door panel had to come off, and the glass had to be taken out. With the sun shining on the car all day, it was like an oven inside and Bobbie’s heavings from the night before were caked on the door, glass and floor. I’m sure we didn’t get it all off because the smell lingered for what seemed like forever. It took us until about 10 p.m. to get the car cleaned as best we could and put back together.
We were sweaty and smelly, so we we drove down to the beach and cooled off in the lake. We were thirsty and I remembered that I had picked up a six-pack in Port Huron. I don’t know why it hadn’t exploded from the heat, but it was still intact. When I opened a can, the beer shot into the air and left me with about half a can of warm liquid. Undaunted, I drank it up and grabbed another. Bobbie wasn’t interested. I wonder why.

Thanks to Gary D. for all the help you gave me and Rita during my rehab this winter. You are very much appreciated.

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The art of animal conversation

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JulieForrest-2693Crediton area rancher Julie Forrest is an animal communicator, which means she speaks with animals, expressing their thoughts to the people who take care of them. Forrest speaks to the animals – large or small – telepathically, and says they have a lot to say. She has used this skill to train the many horses and cattle on her farm, which are used as professional athletes on rodeo tours across Eastern Canada. Casey Lessard sat down with Julie Forrest, and invites you to sit back, open your mind and hear what she has to say about her work.

As told to Casey Lessard
Photos by Casey Lessard

I have communicated with animals since I was a kid, and I always thought everyone did. I didn’t realize it was a special gift or that I was different from anyone else. I always heard their voices. I’ve always heard them talk. People would say, I wonder what they’re saying and I’d say what they were saying. Everyone would laugh and I thought they heard it too, that it was no big deal. Then a friend of mine and I went away for the weekend to a course about 16 years ago, and it ended up being a telepathy course. I thought, I do that, but I didn’t know that was what it was called. I had always done it for family and friends, but from there I started doing it for other people. I came out of the closet.
It was a very big social issue. People asked me, what makes you so special that you think you can talk to animals. But what I get from the conversations, it’s definitely a validation to the owners that that is their animal.
They say one in 10 people can talk telepathically if they choose to focus. I can do people, but I choose not to for the simple fact that people are so hung up on themselves and the social or religious whatever. People are more critical.
Animals say what they need to say. They don’t sugarcoat anything and they tell you like you need to hear it. End of subject. It’s not usually opinionated things. They’re telling the truth because animals show our truths.
I always ask the animals to describe their essence, to tell me something that the owner knows they always do. It’s not like I go and tell them that they like to roll over and have their bellies scratched. Every animal’s different. Their response validates to the owner that it is their animal. Then we ask them their problems and what’s going on.

An ongoing conversation
They can hear you all the time. Animals speak telepathically, so whatever you picture, they’re also able to pick that up. People say dogs can always sense when you’re afraid of them. Chances are pretty good that when you walk away from that dog that you’re thinking in your mind, please don’t bite me. You’re picturing this dog coming from behind and grabbing you, so you have actually given that dog permission to do that. You’re giving him that visual image.
The level of a conversation from an animal is so much higher than we can imagine. They have so much more knowledge of the universe than we do. Some can be extremely deep.
The owners will write up a list of questions they want to ask the animal and I sit down and write out the conversation so they have a copy of it and I always have a copy. I’ll read it back to the person and see if there are any other questions from that. It’s important that the animal is able to convey what they want their owner/guardian to know or understand about their problems. I always read it back first to be sure it’s explained on that proper level, the way they want it. You could put out a piece of paper and 10 different people could read it 10 different ways. That’s why I always want to interpret it the way it is meant to be interpreted.
Every animal has its own voice. Some have accents. I did a horse that had a really strong English accent with ye and thee, and it’s important to put that in the conversation as I hear it because it means something to the owner. He ended up being shipped here from England. They all have different personalities the same as we do, so of course, they’re going to have different voices the same as we do.
They speak English. I’ve done some from Quebec that are raised French and I ask them to come to me in a universal language that I can understand. There may still be the odd French word in there and I write it down as it sounds because I don’t understand French, but the owner will know what it means.
There’s none that are ever too shy to talk. As soon as you’ve given them that opportunity, it’s like, ‘Oh my God, I can finally be heard. Yes! They’re getting it. I can convey what I want them to know.’ Animals all already speak on that level, and that’s why we have so much more to learn from them than from each other.
The only animals that are really hard to work with are chickens and emus. I’ve done every other animal and they’re thrilled to be able to talk. I’ve done seven or eight pages of a conversation. Small animals like a cat or dog can take anywhere from 30 or 45 minutes to an hour. Some conversations with horses and dogs can take from two to four hours. I did a conversation with one horse that had hopes of being a Pan-Am horse racer and heading to the Olympics, and we talked for four and a half hours. That was almost a whole notebook. We wanted to make sure everything was covered.

Communication and rodeo
I’ve been riding since I was three and showing competitively since I was seven. When Ed and I got together, he decided he wanted to do a more manly thing, so that was the rodeo and we’ve been together for 16 years now. We started off just competing in steer wrestling, barrel racing, and roping events, and it’s been about nine or 10 years now that we’ve been the stock contractors for the rodeos for Eastern Canada. We supply the stock (steers and calves) for the rodeos for steer wrestling, team roping, breakaway roping, tie-down roping and junior steer riding. That covers five of the seven mandatory events.
We have always integrated the two businesses, communicating and rodeo. With the average calf-roping horse, it typically takes a full two years to train them to do that. I can do it in three to six months because I can talk to them and tell them, “This is what I want you to do. This is your job. Do you understand?” If I can’t explain what I want verbally, I show them a picture. I show them an image of, for example, “I want you to do a sliding stop when the rope becomes tight on that calf, and you have to face up to that calf and be in control.” Then I’ll ask them, “What’s the best time for your rider to get off? When you’re squatted or just as you go to stop? That rider has to come off and you’ve got to help send him off. Do you like the rope where we have it positioned on your face? ‘No, I don’t like it there, I want it lower.’” Then it hooks underneath instead of coming by his eye. Different things like that.
We can really tell him, “When the gate cracks, you’ve got to follow that calf out.” Other people have to keep drilling it and drilling it, whereas I can talk to him and tell him what we need him to do, “Now what do you need us to do to make it better for you?” It makes for a better relationship and a faster training process. It makes everyone happier.
Not all horses want to do that type of job. You could spend a full two years on a horse and it’d never be able to step up to the plate to be that champion horse or do the job to the best of its ability because it doesn’t want to do that. We’ve had some like that. That’s fine. We change their career or we sell them to somebody who’s going to be compatible with that animal.
All our stock has to be trained prior to going to the rodeo. You can’t just pull a cow out of the field and say, you’re going to go and do this, so they’re trained so their muscles are stretched equally as well to ensure they don’t get hurt. It’s inevitable that at some point, some of them may get hurt, but we’ve had a really good record of not many getting hurt. You lose more from a sickness in a barn; we look after our rodeo stock very well. It’s our livelihood. It’s mandatory that they are looked after; it’s no different than our horses. They are athletes, so they need the best care and upkeep because we’re traveling. It’s nothing for us to travel 2100 km in a weekend. We leave on a Thursday, go to Quebec for an 18 hour drive, show there, travel all night another 12 hours to another rodeo, and from there another 10 hours home.
I get lots of emails saying, “If you’re an animal communicator, how come you’re promoting the sport of rodeo? That’s cruelty to animals.” It’s not. It gives them a career. It’s no different than us having a career or the horses having a career. If those cattle are not used for rodeo, their only other option in life is to be in our freezer. These animals have a career for two or three – and some even four or five – years depending on what they’re doing. They follow the ranks up, starting with calf tie-down, then breakaway, then steer wrestling and team roping, and then to junior steer riding. If they’re good and like what they’re doing, they keep on going. Otherwise, most of them are butchered before they’re two years of age. Now they have a career. Being longhorns, they’re extremely smart animals.

We can learn so much
I don’t believe there’s any such thing as a stupid animal. Animals are the same as people. You can be an old soul or a young soul. If you get a dog that doesn’t listen, it’s because their either don’t associate with their name, or because they’re a very young soul and it’s your job to teach them the ways of the world. You get some, that old soul that picks up things so quickly and is so intelligent and that’s because they’ve been here many times. An animal’s purpose in life is to be taught and to teach. To help us along the way.
There’s so much that animals have to offer. Beavers build a dam that we have to blow up with dynamite. Why couldn’t we learn how to build something that strong? Birds build nests that can withstand tornadoes. Spiders’ webs are the strongest substance in the world. Ants build colonies that don’t destroy our land. People are destroying our natural resources and destroying different animal species for our own selfish, ignorant purposes. People are using monkeys for their gall bladders and eating their brains for a delicacy.
They show us so much, like unconditional love, responsibility, not to be so endeavoured into ourselves and to think of others. Animals are a huge part of our lives. Our kids can grow up and move out, but our animals are still here.
I’ve always been the type of person who gets along better with animals than I do with people. I always believe that animals have so much more to share with us than the average person does with each other.
They’ve proven that a lot of animals – for example, gorillas – can speak by hand language. Animals whose owners are hearing or speech impaired learn those hand signals and know what they mean.
Most people only use eight to 10 per cent of our brains. A lot of people are so caught up in our social and cultural structures that we’re not open enough to accept other forms of communication. Telepathy can be done through audio, pictures, feelings, or colours.
When I first started, there were a lot of skeptics. People would say, ‘I’m going to let you talk to my horse just to prove that you’re wrong.’ And I did that in the beginning to prove that I was talking to their animal. I did that for the first two years, but now I don’t have to prove myself to anybody. If you want my services, you’ll ask for it. These days, there are a lot of people who do believe in it, and are looking for methods to help their animals other than pharmaceuticals.

Lessons from furry friends
It’s just kept me very humble and not judgmental. Through the eyes of the beholder, it has made me realize that I’m equal with everybody. I don’t ever think I’m better than any one else. We’re all equal, and we have to be equal to coincide with everybody. I am not my dogs’ master. I may be their guardian and I am looking after them, but we are all equal. We have to learn from each other and teach each other.
Every conversation with an animal is new and fresh. It never gets old. I love my life and I love what I’m doing.

Julie Forrest offers animal communication sessions for $75 for small animals (cats/dogs, etc.) and $125 for large animals (horses/cows, etc.). To learn more, visit http://www.julieforrest.com or call 519-234-6130.

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Learning the ropes

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Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard, C.D.

Arriving at Camp Ipperwash in 1960, I was directed to the battalion orderly room, where I was greeted and my name entered on the battalion nominal roll. After all the paperwork was completed and I was told about my assignment to headquarters company, I was directed to that office, where all the routines and paraphernalia were explained to me. After pointing out where I would be working, at the quartermaster stores, I was then told I would be living in H Block 26B. The glimpses I had of the camp as I was arriving that morning led me to think he said Stalag 26B, as I was certain that camp resembled this one. Undaunted, I stumbled around and finally found the hut that was to be my home until we left for Germany in the fall of 1962.

The voice of God
My bed was located right beside a window. I dumped my gear and headed for the Q.M. stores. As I was walking across the parade square, I heard a loud voice come over the air. “Halt! Where are you going?!” I thought it was God and almost fell to my knees. “To find the Q.M. stores, sir!” I replied. “Turn right around and march off the parade ground: NOW!” he said. Of course, I obeyed, and later found out that my first thoughts were very close to the truth; the regimental sergeant major is god of the battalion and the parade square is his holy domain.

Fitting right in
I found the Q.M. stores and reported in. By now, it was almost closing time, so the clerk quickly introduced me to everyone available, gave me a quick glimpse of the stores and told me to follow him. He led me outside to the parking lot and we drove to the wet canteen without even asking if I drank or not. The canteen wasn’t open yet, but that didn’t deter him. He just dragged me around to the back door, pounded a couple of times, and we were admitted. Since the bar was legally closed, and you never knew when the orderly officer or anyone else with authority might come along, the bartender took us into the walk-in cooler where we had a couple of pints before supper. Talk about being taught the ropes; I was learning very quickly.
After supper, I was asked to join two of the guys on a tour of Thedford. First stop, just inside the village, was the Legion. It was located off the main road and back in quite a piece so the residents wouldn’t complain about noise or other things that might go on in an establishment that served booze. After a glass or two, we went to the next watering hold, the Thedford Hotel, which would some time later be renamed The Pink Elephant. In those days, it was a jumping joint.
You may not remember, but there was segregation in those days. Every hotel was separated into a men’s room and a ladies’ and escorts’ only room. The only way to get into the ladies’ room was to have one of the women invite you over. There were times when one of the soldiers who lived in town would go home, pick up his wife, and bring her down so we could all drink on the women’s side.
To add to the fun, there were apartments above the hotel and most of the Main Street stores, and we knew many of the married couples who lived there. We had many a party up there in the days when I was stationed at Ipperwash with 1RCR.
A year later, I married Rita in Germany on February 8, 1963. We celebrated 47 years last week. With love, Tom.

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