I first
began my writing career with a short story about an injured hawk my son and I
found beside the highway. We took him home to our acreage and named him
Highway. We nursed him for a few days then set him free. He decided he liked us
and moved into the bushes around our acreage.
This story lead to the publication of
historical and travel articles and finally seven travel books. To research
these books over the years I travelled and camped throughout British Columbia,
Alberta, and the Yukon and Alaska. My travelling companion was a cockapoo dog named
Chevy. He inspected attractions with me, hikes trails with me, and waited
patiently in my vehicle when I had to go into a building. We would be on the
road for a month or more at a time taking pictures, learning history, and
meeting people.
At the end of each trip I’d be glad to
get home and begin to unload my vehicle. Chevy would jump out and check the
house and yard. I thought he was happy to be home also until I would go into my
vehicle and find him lying in his place on the seat. I’d tell him we were home
to stay and put him on the ground. I’d gather up more stuff to carry into the
house and when I came out for my next load he was once again on the seat. I
guess he wasn’t taking a chance that I would leave him. That little guy lived
to be seventeen and was a great companion.
I have had as many as five cats at a
time over the years—I’m now down to three. When I am writing, one’s favourite
spot is on my lap, another likes to sit on the desk between me and my computer screen,
and the third one sits on the floor and talks to me trying to distract my
thoughts. But I don’t mind. They are a joy to have.
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