Pique N Your Interest 

Living with Teddy

I know how movie stars must feel. Stopped every few steps for an autograph, a picture. While my dog Teddy hasn’t hit the big screen quite yet (although we are crossing our fingers on one of his pictures not hitting the cutting room floor for Whistler Blackcomb Magazine), it’s like walking the red carpet everyday. The Village Stroll, The Whistler Farmers’ Market, people are always asking what kind of dog he is and how old.

My standard reply is usually "mutt", with a follow up clause of terrier and Brussels griffin mix if the inquirer isn’t satisfied with the one syllable response.

My friends, in an effort to get to the beach before sundown, are now shouting out his age even before the onlooker has asked.

So I would like to clarify for any readers who might come across my mini Benji. What kind of dog is he?

Well he really isn’t a dog at all. It’s a bit of a dirty word around my place. He works. He is the official PR rep for Pique Newsmagazine. If anybody gets cranky, we send him out front. He can defuse a situation with the sweep of his wagging tail. He’s especially got a way with the ladies. He loves his blondes – Joanne, Amy, Jon.

Living with a movie star isn’t always easy. No one says good morning to me anymore. If I don’t bring him to certain events, it’s "Where is Teddy? Why isn’t he here?"

I don’t think he’s after my job, although he spends a lot of time on the sports reporter’s lap these days. I think Teddy’s asking for a byline next week.

Things really got ugly this weekend when we both fell for the same guy. Teddy got the belly rub and invited to London, England. It should have been me tucked under the guy’s arm making a dash for the airport bus. Fortunately, Teddy decided against London. The big ravens at London Tower are rumoured to carry away small tourists and Teddy would be lost without his mountains.

My once south-of-the-boarder orphan is all Canadian now. Teddy is no purse pooch although he dons a knapsack once in a while. He’s scrambled The Chief, Cougar Mountain trails and most recently Wedge Mountain. Some immerse themselves in the outdoors for the peace, others the exhilarating landscapes; for Teddy, it’s all about the squirrels.

No, not the weekend warriors. Those rats with bushy tails who laugh at him are totally devoid of manners. Teddy chases to no avail, but we’ve got Joffre Lakes next weekend, so who knows.

Both of us faced a few fears this weekend. I was happy hiking my trails until my cell phone died. All of my past outdoor accident articles caught up with me. Getting lost, cougar attacks, man-eating trees swallowing you up.

But I wasn’t really alone. Teddy kept at my heels the whole way. There is a certain fullness to my life now that wasn’t there pre-Teddy. I am so grateful for how much he brings into my life. He truly is a rare breed. A once in a lifetime find.

He wasn’t feeling so lovey-dovey about me this Sunday. While he puts up with being my second mate on my kayak on our evening paddles, a trip to the party barge at Alta Lake left him giving me the snub for a good part of the evening.

The float out in the ridiculously oversized air mattress was tolerable enough until the two of us had to swim back for a quick errand.

I am still nursing my war wounds from Teddy trying to scramble on me like I was a flotation device.

We made up: barbecue chicken and a tummy rub. I think the world, on the whole, would be a better place with more tummy rubs, more Teddies.

So living with a superstar is pretty fantastic now that I think about it. Just as long as I still get my side of the bed and his wardrobe doesn’t get bigger than mine.

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