𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐑𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐏𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐: 𝐆𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐠 𝐃𝐚𝐲

 Memories of a Rural Paper Carrier

Chapter 2: Groundhog Day

Rodney MacKay next farm down from us on the Queens Line had a knack for finding jobs. He could sniff them out like a bloodhound. I had no connections, but he sure did. We were about 3 months apart in age. Rodney and I were the "Rock'n'Roll" team. He was Rock, so I was obviously Roll.

Roddy and I always talked about going into a bar, fists clenched, "BACK TO BACK!", ready for come what may. He loved quoting Roddy Piper in the movie, 'They Live'; "I have come here to chew bubble gum, and kick ass. And I'm all out of bubble gum". Then it went DOWN, man. That was Rodney to a tee. He was strong as an ox and had a FIREY temper; you'd never want to mess with him. I was fast and furious, athletic and agile, had grit in my teeth and sparks in my eye, and always up for anything.

Rodney was SO disappointed one time we were in Casey's in the West End of Pembroke. I, of course, was a teetotaler, so I just drank orange juice when 'me and the Boys' were out. I had gotten an OJ from the bar, and was about to head back to the Lads, when this hotheaded dummy started staring me down. Probably drunk. He was about my size or so. I just looked at him and he turned on the 'wanna fight?' glare. I wasn't afraid of guys way bigger than me. A guy my own size? Bring it on. When he saw I didn't tense up, and just stood there grinning at him, ready, he turned away. Yeah, that type; a coward, only willing to go after someone he knew he could beat.

I shrugged my shoulders and made me wey back to the Lads. Sorry, that was the Scottie in me talking there. Rodney had seen it all from his vantage point. "UH-OH! UH-OH!" He wanted two things: To watch me scrub the parking lot with that guy, and for him to have a friend. Oh well. "When he saw you didn't even flinch, he took off, tha *insert choice words*!" I just laughed and forgot about it and got back to our evening. We met Cory McClure there that night. After living across the road from us all our growing years, he was living in Pembroke at the time. Then it was a real Queens Line Lads Night Out. Cory and Rodney and Scott and Mike and me. It's a wonder there wasn't a brawl that leveled the place. Ah, but we were all more lovers than fighters when it really came down to it. There wasn't a one of us that would have ever instigated anything. If ever any of us got in a scrap, it was a given that someone else started it. But start it with one, and you started it with all of us. Scottish brudders and all.

One afternoon, I was at MacKay's, and Roddy said to me, "There's an Ottawa Citizen carrier's job coming up. You love driving. You're a DRIVER. You'd be perfect for that job!" I don't know how he caught wind of it, but he did. That was Rodney.

Dick Wood was the current Citizen paper carrier. He enjoyed it as a retirement job; run at night and have almost all day to yourself. I called him and asked if I could go with him on the run to see if I liked it or not. He told me to meet him at his place at 3AM the next morning.

A lifetime insomniac, I had no problem showing up when everyone with a normal brain was fast asleep. Dick drove a brown 4 door Olds Cutlass Sierra, I believe it was. We drove into Cobden, and picked up his load of papers at Mr. Gas on Highway 17. The store belonged to Garry McKay at the time. He was a great guy. One of the easiest going, laid back men I've ever known. He used to drive our school bus as backup for my Uncle Dalton. Garry's gas station was where Dan's Pizza is now.

We dropped the day's papers at each of the stores in Cobden, and headed out on the route. I fed the papers out the passenger side window as Dick told me all the finer points of being a rural paper carrier. I thought it was a rather boring job, but it was a solo job, and I always worked best alone. I was the furthest thing from a people person in those days, so that part suited me just fine. As a farmboy, it would leave me free for productive daylight hours at home. Or time for buying and selling and hauling tractors, which I probably loved doing more than anything else.

As we went about the route, and the darkness turned to dawn, I saw our area in a whole new light. Dick had an eye for detail, and he pointed out what car should or shouldn't have been in what driveway that night. I didn't give a hoot about who was doing who and considered it none of my business anyway. I had my own life to worry about.

It was collection time; the two week period when people put the cash for their subscription in a brown Ottawa Citizen envelope and clipped it to the side of their box or left it laying inside. "One thing about being a paper carrier: You'll never get rich, but you'll always have LOTS of spending money!"

That sounded pretty good to me, so I pretty much made up my mind right there to go on the run with him again. It's not like I would be sleeping at that time anyway.

As we were approaching the final leg of the run, going up the lower end of the Kerr Line to head in to Foresters Falls, a groundhog decided to run across the road in front of us. Dick planted his foot on the floor and grabbed the steering wheel with both hands and bent over it, intent on lining up the gopher and running him over. At the last instant, I nonchalantly reached over with my left hand and jerked the steering wheel to the right. We harmlessly shot by the furry little fella to the right of him. Dick exploded, "WHAT THA HELL DIDJA DO THAT FOR?!"

I just chuckled and said, "He wasn't hurting you any". No harm, no foul.

"I hope it's your baler or wagon that goes into his next hole!" There were no operating farms there at the time, only bush, and it wasn't likely that l'il guy was ever going to get to our place over and up on the Queens Line, so I didn't have any problem with his existence. Go munch yer ditch grass, l'il fella.

I never took a Life unless two things were certain: It was directly causing our own farmland or livestock harm, and I was absolutely CERTAIN I could kill it painlessly in one shot. Donnie Ferguson taught me that by telling Jimmy on a coon hunt he wasn't allowed to take a shot at a raccoon unless he could hit it right in the eye. That was for the different reason of ensuring no holes in the pelt, but I adopted it for my own in my own way. I never relished the act of killing. I'm no idiot animal rights activist, who regards animals equal to or even greater than man; made in God's image. They most certainly are not. No, not even close. All things in balance. I love all of God's Creation; the incredible majesty and mystery of it. I love animals, but I also love meat. I used to say, "I can't bring myself kill a deer, but I'm hypocrite enough to eat venison if someone else shoots it". All things in Creation have their place, and God gave us dominion over it all. If things got tough, I would, indeed, kill a wild animal for food. Yes. I will not, however, ever harm or kill any animal for mere sport. There is absolutely zero pleasure in killing for me. We sent animals off from our farm to their slaughter by the necessity of feeding the world. Dad took no pleasure in it, and he passed that down to me. He would count down the days until shipping cattle in the Fall. Not for the money, but for their dwindling time of living, and his dwindling time with them. Dad shot groundhogs on our farm, but he hit the brakes for them on the road. I'm my father's son.

We finished the route, and Dick said to me, "What do you think? Did you like it enough you want to go again tomorrow?" He had forgotten about Graham the groundhog, or at least gotten over it.

"Yeah, thanks. I liked it enough. I'll go again tomorrow".

"OK. See ya tomorrow morning, then, 3 O'clock sharp".