𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐑𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐏𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒: 𝐎𝐧 𝐌𝐲 𝐎𝐰𝐧

 𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐑𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐏𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐫

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒: 𝐎𝐧 𝐌𝐲 𝐎𝐰𝐧

After another couple, much more CAUTIOUS runs with Dick, I took over the route. Garry Cochrane, the Upper Valley Ottawa Citizen route supervisor, was impressed at my taking the initiative to learn the route on my own and hired me on the spot.

I needed a car, of course, and, with tips from Dick and observations of my own, I went shopping for one. I settled on a sweet little 1982 Pontiac J2000 SE hatchback in Pembroke at my least favorite car dealer.

That first car was the perfect paper route delivery vehicle. It was mechanically simple, easy on gas, but loaded with all the right features for rural paper delivery. It was an automatic, with power steering and power brakes. Most importantly, it was a 2 door with big windows for ease of hitting the paper boxes on the fly. Even more importantly, it had power windows so there was no constant cranking, or crawling over a mountain of papers on the passenger side to reach the window crank there. It had tilt steering for easy ingress and egress, power door locks, and a 6 way power driver's seat for comfort. And a rear wiper and washer for great rear view in all weather conditions, which was extremely important. You HAD to be able to see all around you at all times, especially after the morning sleep drivers started showing up. It also had a very convenient power latch for the hatchback so I didn't need a key to open it. Just all the right features. The well upholstered, comfortable seats were decked out in a really sporty medium blue/light blue checkered flag pattern.

$2660.00 certified, and it was mine. Dad co-signed the loan. He never had to pay a cent on it or ever have to co-sign a loan for me again and I took out lots of them for many different purchases.

When Garry first saw my chosen route vehicle at The Northway, which is now called 17 West, he looked inside and remarked, "That IS a loaded little bob!"

Dick handed over all the paraphernalia that went with the route; the subscriber collection books, the extra paper boxes (called rural delivery tubes) and hardware for maintaining them, wet weather paper bags, etc... It was up to me now.

It was early Fall 1989. I was young, wild, and free. Well, I was before. Now I was only young and wild, but I was saddled down with a highly committed 7 day a week, 350-plus day a year job. Only New Years, Easter, Victoria Day, Canada Day, Labour Day, Thanksgiving, and Christmas Day off.

My first night out was an absolute disaster. Just a completely morally crushing event. My fading memory has mercifully smothered the details, but I ran over four or five animals that very first night. I hit and killed a cat before I even got to Cobden to pick up the papers. On Mansel Hill Sideroad near where it meets Foresters Falls Road. It had an approach/intersection exactly like Alva Drive and Cedar Haven Road in the last chapter. Just as I got to the approach for County Road 21, the Foresters Falls Road, a beautiful long-haired calico cat darted out of the ditch in front of me. I nailed the brakes and swerved, but I still hit her with the passenger front wheel and killed her instantly. A lifetime cat lover, I was absolutely horrified. Grief stricken. I hadn't delivered my first paper on my own - hadn't even picked them up yet - and I had killed someone's cat.

The excitement of my First Run was ruined.

In sickened, guilt-ridden anguish, I gently set the poor kitty on the shoulder of the road so she wouldn't be hit again and slowly and heavily got back into the car to head in for my first pickup. The tone was set for the morning, and I immediately thought this wasn't the job for me. In training with Dick neither one of us had hit a single animal, but here I was: a self-convicted MURDERER before I had even picked up my first load.

It only got worse. I can't remember anymore for certain, but I think I went on to kill two raccoons, a skunk, and a fox before that awful first morning was over. The domestic cat - someone's beloved pet and my favorite animal - was by FAR the worst, but I was brought up with a Respect for all Life, and I finished the route absolutely, completely demoralized. Just a shattered, guilt-ridden mess. I thought there was no way I could continue with such a high price. In the following 16 solid years of rural paper delivery, I don't think the wild or domestic animal death toll for any morning ever exceeded one except for that very first, absolutely horrendous night.

I only ever hit one more cat, about a year later. It was an adolescent silver tabby. He ran out in front of me in the thick Fall evening fog like a wraith while I was out collecting subscription money. It was on the Garden of Eden Road. There were two of them, and they both darted across, almost the exact same colour as the fog and very hard to distinguish. I couldn't miss both. But, I just knocked the one I couldn't avoid senseless.

I put him in the back seat and drove in to the long farm lane. I knocked on the farmhouse door and told the owner I had hit his cat on the road. His response was, "That's okay. I'll just hit it over the head and throw it on the shit pile." I was stunned at his callousness about his own pet and told him the cat probably just had a bad concussion. His response didn't change. "That's alright. Don't worry about it. I'll just hit it over the head and throw it on the shit pile."

"Absolutely not! No friggin' way! I'll take him home with me! He just needs time to heal!"

"Fine. Suit yourself." And he closed the door. That was it. I never even got to show him to the guy. I just went back out to my car and left with him still in the back seat.

I wish I could have gotten the other one as well, when their owner cared so little about them, but he or she had run off into the foggy open field on the other side of the road.

So, 'The Silver Bullet', or 'Bullet' for short, came home to live with us. He just sort of half stood, half laid, against the back of the back seat in the warm car all the way home. I brought him in to the house and started to nurse him back to health. A consult with a vet the next day confirmed my suspicion: A pretty nasty concussion. A real bell ringer. His one eye was turned a bizarre looking 90 degrees in its socket from the impact or concussion, but it corrected itself in about a week. His accompanying unsteadiness on his feet also resolved itself in the same time.

Bullet turned into a beautiful, striking looking cat with his semi-long, lush, bright striped silver fur and elegantly matching, piercing slate blue eyes. Just a compact, dapper English Gentleman in a silver fur coat. The picture here is only a stock photo. Bullet was more Refined and Regal looking.

Bullet never trusted anyone but me or Dad or Denise. He didn't run away from anyone, but always maintained a very strict, absolute and non-negotiable, 5 foot distance between him and anyone else. If anyone took one step closer, Bullet just politely got up and moved that one human step away and, totally unruffled and in complete control, sat back down again facing them and tidily wrapped his tail back around his feet, prim and proper and neat as a pin. Not a hair out of place. If they moved two steps or three steps, he moved two steps or three steps, then sat right back down again. He never seemed irritated or offended, even if he had to get up and move 3 or 4 times to maintain that distance until they got the message. No malice. Just a Standard he had set himself, the likes of which he was not at all willing to Compromise. Bullet, in his total devotion and loyalty towards us for restoring his health and providing him with a warm indoor home, considered himself 'Your Cat', meaning ours. Not anyone else's. So it was "Hands off there, Chap. Thank You." Sir Silver Bullet Bowes, Esquire. The Gentleman Cat. He was not at all wild. It would be a stretch to even say he was aloof. He just always maintained a genteel, respectful looking eye contact with whoever was trying to approach him, but skillfully and unflappably kept his distance. The relaxed look on his handsome face never changed, and he didn't frown or scowl at anyone no matter how they tried to approach him, which most people upon first seeing him did, because he was so striking and handsome. He just happened to be the first 'Social Distancer', for his own reasons, in a very polite and drama-free way, 30 years before it ever entered into our vocabulary.

Early on, the Route took a cat, and then it gave a cat. It was a 16 year give and take experience.

I'll get back to the machinations of the Route itself next time around.