Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe - Everyone Needs a Hobby – Morley’s Book Club & Dave the Dogwalker

Episode Date: March 17, 2023

“He wanted to be alone so he could try the beef-flavoured toothpaste”Jess shares a special memory from a concert at the Place des Arts in Montreal – a memory about Stuart and his mom. And we have two Dave and Morley stories about hobbies: in an old favourite – Morley’s Bookclub – Morley finds her new hobby is not as relaxing as anticipated and in Dogwalker, Dave seems to have bitten off more than he can chew. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

From the Apostrophe Podcast Network. Hello, I'm Jess Milton, and this is Backstage at the Vinyl Café. Welcome. Before we start, I just want to say thanks for listening. I am having so much fun doing this, and I really hope that you're having fun listening to it. I am loving your comments on social media and getting your emails. It's so nice to see some familiar names from people that I've been writing to for years on the Facebook page. It sort of feels like we're getting the band back together again, and it feels really nice. So thank you.

And I also want to give a little shout out to people who are new to the show because you've written to us and told us that you found us. And I want to say, welcome. Welcome to the world of the Vinyl Cafe. And if you are new and you're listening and you're thinking, who is this crazy woman? And like, why is she doing this? I'll give you a very quick Coles Notes. My name's Jess Milton,

and I was the longtime producer of a radio show called The Vinyl Cafe, which was written and hosted by Stuart McLean. And we would record these shows live in theaters across Canada and air them on the radio and on podcast. And on this podcast, I'm sharing some of those stories and some of my own too. And speaking of stories, we have two for you today, two stories about hobbies. So let's get to it, shall we? This is the first one. This is Book Club. This is the first one. This is Book Club. Life had changed for Morley.

Everything seemed frozen and immutable until one day, standing in the supermarket, her hand hovering over a pack of frozen vegetables, corn. It occurred to Morley that her daughter, Stephanie, who was away at university second year, might never move back home. Her son, Sam, was now old enough to look after himself at lunch if you didn't mind scraping dry peanut butter off the kitchen counter. And Morley had for the first time in years time on her hands, enough time to puzzle over which package of corn might suit her best, time to wonder how someone would decide that, by the picture? By the price? Ever since she'd had kids, Morley had dreamed of having the time to do things like this. She had passed hours imagining the things she

might do. And now that suddenly she had the time, Morley wasn't sure what she should do with it. She was like the first skater at the rink, hesitating before she stepped onto the clean white ice, not wanting to spoil the perfect surface of potential, not wanting to make a mistake. If it had been spring instead of the depths of another endless winter, Marley might have sunk herself into her garden, but it wasn't spring. There was a blanket of snow over everything. She was lost in the snow.

One Sunday afternoon, Dave at his record store doing God knows what, Sam still upstairs, still asleep, Morley lay down on the living room couch, a pillow behind her head and a chenille throw over her legs, and she began a novel that she had received for Christmas. There was once a time when this was a normal thing in her life, a time when on a Sunday afternoon she would brew a pot of coffee and lose herself in a book or magazine or maybe the Sunday Times. But that was morally B.C., before children. And that, unbelievably, was decades ago. This is great, she thought as she stretched out on the couch and cracked the book

open. But it wasn't great. She felt fidgety. She felt a pang of guilt. She felt odd not to be multitasking. She was so used to being interrupted, so used to having to squeeze out little moments of time for herself that she couldn't relax. She had lost the knack. Reading had become a thing you did at night just before you fell asleep. She got up and she wandered over to her desk. She paid some bills. But being the woman she is, Morley wasn't about to stand on the edge of the rink forever. Perhaps she just needed something more active than reading. A few Christmases ago, she had enrolled in a chair-making course. At first, it had been fun, but her chair had, in the end, been a disaster.

It looked more like a go-kart than a chair. She put wheels on it. She gave it to Sam. She needed something less practical. Dave bought home a catalog of continuing education courses for Morley. How to make your own soap, she said, flipping the catalog over. Why would anyone do that? Isn't there enough soap out there? I was thinking something more practical, said Dave, picking up the calendar. I was hoping you might consider dolphin healing. He was flipping through the pages.

Here he said, page 32, dolphin healing, a course of conscious breathing techniques to help you access the realms where dolphins exist. Once you get there, you get to tap into dolphin consciousness and transform the dolphin energy to awaken the healer within. Would it, asked Morley, unleash the power of joy in my life? Guaranteed, said Dave. I'd rather eat the dolphin, said Morley. Okay, okay, she said. I'd rather make the soap.

To make Dave happy, she signed up for a course called Anyone Can Draw. At the end of the second class, the instructor asked her to stay behind. There's something I have to tell you, he said glumly. They refunded her course fee. It was two weeks later that Mary Turlington invited Morley to join her book club. Morley was delighted. She realized the idea of finding new interests was forced. This was perfect. She would go back to the old interests. She had been a voracious reader, B.C. She just needed a push to get going, and a book club would help her wade through the overwhelming choice that she faced every time she walked into a bookstore. Morley took the calendar that hangs on the side

of the refrigerator and sat down at the kitchen table and wrote book club on the first Tuesday of the next month. The calendar was normally filled with the kids' activities. The only event on it that involved Morley aside from family vacations was, oh joy, her annual physical. She hung the calendar back up and walked into the living room and stood in front of it, pretending she didn't know what she was going to see, pretending she needed to check what she was doing Tuesday night. Oh, of course, book club. It made her proud to have this cultural event involving her on the family calendar. She took the calendar down and wrote book club on the first Tuesday of every month. Then she hung it on the front of the fridge instead of the side. She wanted people to notice it. Morley arrived at her

first book club meeting five minutes early. She found herself in a house full of high-powered women, most of them wearing business suits, some of them with scarves draped casually around their necks. It looked more like a board meeting than a book club. Morley was wearing a black turtleneck with black slacks. She looked like she was there to serve coffee. Worst of all, Mary Turlington wasn't anywhere to be seen. No, worst of all, worst of all, the woman on the other side of the dining room was holding the book they were going to discuss

and it was covered with a flurry of yellow post-it notes. Morley hadn't even brought her copy of the book. All she had been planning on saying was that she had had a hard time keeping the character straight. And that was when she noticed the woman in the other corner flipping through a binder of typed notes. She looked like she was preparing to defend her thesis. A few of the women had begun to drift into the living room. Morley followed them. She chose a red chair in the corner by the fireplace, a chair out of the spotlight. Conversation in the room stopped abruptly when she sat down. She sensed something was wrong. Maybe it was the way she was dressed.

How was Morley to know that the women always sat in the same seat at each meeting? always sat in the same seat at each meeting. Dana Regan, a real estate agent, had sat in the red chair by the fireplace for as long as anyone could remember. It ensured that Dana was always the last person called upon to talk. Dana always said the same thing every week. There's nothing I could possibly add. Everyone has already said everything I was planning to say. It was the prevailing opinion in the club that Dana Reagan hadn't read a book in years. At one time or another, everyone in the room had thought about sitting in her chair to force the issue. But Dana was such a bombastic woman, no one had the guts. Every eye was on Dana when she walked into the living room.

She made it halfway across the room before she spotted Morley sitting in her chair, a sight so beyond anything she considered possible that it stopped her dead in her tracks. She stopped and stared around the room, which fell dramatically still, Dana standing there, immobile except for her shoulders, which had begun to shiver. If it had been anyone else sitting in her chair, Dana would have bellowed something rude and authoritative. But this was someone she didn't know, and some unexpected remnant of manners asserted itself. She stood there for a beat more, her mouth opening and then closing, and then she snorted and flounced into Tyler Weaver's seat. Not a moment later,

Tyler Weaver came in, and when she saw Dana in her seat and Morley and Dana's, Tyler sat in Allison Moran's place, and when she was settled, every head in the room swiveled as one to the face of the door, waiting for Allison. It was as if they were watching a tennis match. Allison, the curtest woman there, pulled up short, surveyed the room, frowned, and said, What the hell's going on? Exactly what I was thinking, thought Morley.

We'll start, said Faye Struthers, who runs the meetings, on the left and we'll go left. And so it happened that Dana Regan was called upon to talk first. For the first time in five years, Dana Regan, who had never, ever commented on a book, was on the spot. The room felt deathly quiet. book was on the spot. The room felt deathly quiet. Dana cleared her throat and she leaned forward and she stared directly into the eyes of every woman there. And then with her eyes drilling into Morley, she said slowly and dramatically, everything that I was going to say has already been said. It was Carrie Lukoweski's turn next. She was the woman holding the book so festooned with post-it notes

that it looked like it was about to take wing and fly away. Morley straightened herself, preparing to pay particular attention to Carrie. This will be good, she thought. Carrie, with all her notes, will explain the book to everyone. Well, said Carrie, I have to admit that I had a hard time getting into this book, but after 50 pages, I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Carrie's voice was beginning to get shaky. Sebastian's epiphany at the garbage dump was a tour de force. Her eyes were filling with tears. His pain, her pain, it was just so, so. To Morley's astonishment, Carrie's voice broke completely,

her sentence ending in a sob. She dabbed at her eyes with a Kleenex. She hung her head and waved her hands as if to say, I can't go on, move to the next person, please. Morley was trying to figure out which character Sebastian was and when he'd been at the garbage dump. Next was Faye Struthers. Faye'll have something helpful to say, thought Morley.

With her short, clipped hair, her no-nonsense shoes, and her wire-framed glasses, Faye struck Morley as a woman of efficiency and practicality, a woman who would cut straight to the point. It is a deeply flawed novel, said Fay, but at the same time, utterly, utterly luminous. There was a moment of silence. Everyone nodded. a moment of silence. Everyone nodded. Everyone but Morley, that is. Morley wasn't sure you could jump in and ask questions when it wasn't your turn, but it didn't look as if Faye was going to say anything else. Morley wanted to know about this flaw. She opened her mouth and was about to

speak when Faye snapped her head around and glared at Morley accusingly. What, she said, you don't think it was luminous? Morley phoned Mary Turlington first thing the next morning. Why weren't you at the meeting, she asked. I've dropped out, said Mary. That's why there was a place for you. It was too late to do anything about that. Morley wasn't going to quit after one meeting. Besides, the dates were already marked on her calendar. When she arrived for the next meeting,

Faye Struthers' husband, Shane, answered the door. There was no sign of any women in the kitchen or the dining room. There was no sign of any women anywhere. They're in the living room, said Shane as he took her coat. They'd been there for half an hour, all of them sitting in their right places. Mary Turlington's empty chair waiting for Morley. That month's book was a story told backwards from the point of view of a soft, ripened cheese during Napoleonic France.

It wasn't made clear that the narrator was a cheese until page 268. Even then, it was only a passing reference. I found it totally unbelievable, said Alison Morin. A cheese would never behave like that in post-revolutionary France. Of course, it was flawed, interjected Faye Struthers, but it was utterly, utterly transcendent. She gazed at Morley defiantly. When the conversation marched around to Carrie Lukoweski,

Morley noticed that Carrie was already clutching a wad of Kleenex. But imagine, imagine, Carrie cried, being a cheese. The pain of it all. I never knew. That was as far as Carrie managed to get before she was totally overcome with tears. Morley, sitting there in Mary Turlington's chair, felt as if she'd been punched in the stomach. Morley had missed the cheese reference completely. She had assumed the narrator was an old person with a skin disorder.

The next book was 832 pages long, a novel about five minutes in the life of a Polish railroad baggage handler. LAUGHTER Morley was determined to read every page. She was hyper-aware to all dairy references. The Monday morning before meeting, however, Morley still had 400 pages to go. When she fell asleep on the couch that night, she had only read 100 more. She woke with a start at one in the morning. She brewed coffee and tried to read some more, but it was useless. When she tried to read, she couldn't keep her eyes open. When she went to bed,

she couldn't fall asleep for worry. When she woke up in the morning, Morley divided the book into sections with post-it notes. She marked page 600 with a note that said 10 a.m., page 700 with a note that said 11, page 800 with a noon. She took the morning off work to read. She figured she'd have half an hour after work to finish the last 32 pages. She felt as if she was in a marathon. When meeting began, it was clear to Morley that no one in the club had read the book except for her. She felt a warm smugness envelop her as the discussion began. But before it was her turn, the conversation had taken flight from the book that she had struggled through and landed instead on the author's first book, a much shorter book,

a book the club had apparently read the previous year. When it was Morley's turn, she cleared her throat and she said, I'd like to bring the conversation back to this month's book, the book she had spent the last 24 hours struggling through. Everyone stared at her blankly. It was Dana Regan who said, why would you do that, dear? We're not talking about that book. Faye Struthers called her in the middle of the next week. They were assembling next year's book list.

Would Morley please bring a the middle of the next week. They were assembling next year's book list. Would Morley please bring a book recommendation to the next meeting? The message sent Morley into a tailspin. The women in her group had hated every book she had liked, and every book that had confused her, they thought, was a work of genius. Morley was not about to bring something that she loved to this group and watch them eviscerate it. She felt too protective of the books she loved to offer them up to some sort of ritual sacrifice. She spent three days of utter agony. She poured over the books in their house. She had a fit at Woodsworth's little bookstore

down the street from Dave's store. She spent an afternoon in the library wandering up and down the rows, her fingers walking along the spines of the books. She read the jacket copy, searching for words like luminous. She looked lost. She was. She found To Kill a Mockingbird in Stephanie's bookshelf and sat on Stephanie's bed and reread the first 75 pages. That night she went into the basement and opened cartons of books that had been sealed up

since they had moved. She found a box of books marked Morley College. She sat on the basement floor and opened it and piled books around her. After supper, Morley sat on the couch and called Sam over. I want to read you some of this, she said. She was holding black like me. And then she said, the guy who wrote this book was in the war. He got too near a shell that went off and he was blinded. He lost his sight. And then one day, 12 years later, he was walking on the farm where he lived. I think it was a farm. And his sight came back just like that after 12 years. And that's when he did this thing when he turned himself black. She got teary halfway through the first page and put the book down. Sam reached out and touched his mother's face,

the tear running down her cheek. He said, Are you all right? Morley smiled. I'm very all right, she said. Morley phoned Fayeruthers the next morning. She told her she wouldn't be coming to book club anymore. I don't need them, she told Dave. On the way home from work, she bought two bookshelves, the kind that needed to be assembled.

And that night she assembled them herself, and she set them in the hall and filled them with the books from the basement. Old friends, she said to Dave. She is right about the books, but she's wrong about the book club. Once she starts reading again, Morley will want to share her books with more people. The books she will read will take her to worlds beyond her own, and it's always more fun to travel with friends. In the spring, Morley and Mary Turlington will start their own book club. There will be seven women at the founders' meeting. They will agree to five categories of books for the first

year. One, a book about a man I could marry. Two, a book I read in grade school. Three, a book that mentions chocolate favorably. Four, a book that I haven't read but have seen the movie. Five, a book my husband would quit after the first chapter. The book club will last for years. Each meeting will be called to order when Morley stands up and says, is there anything anyone could possibly say about this luminous book? And everyone will collapse into hysterics. Some meetings, that will be the closest they get to discussing the book in question. Some weeks, the wine and the good feelings that come with being among good friends will be all they need.

Thank you very much. That was the story we call Book Club. We're going to take a short break now, but we'll be back in a couple of minutes with another Dave and Marley story, and this one is about Dave. This is about the time when he agrees to dog sit all of the neighborhood dogs. What could possibly go wrong? Welcome back.

Time for our second story now. This is a story we recorded in Montreal, Quebec. This is Dave the Dog Walker. Began on one of those glorious spring days. A day full of sun and hope. One of those days that arrives with promises of resurrection and rebirth, of redemption and, well, if we're going to keep the R's rolling. Relief, said Dave. Feeling of relief, we made it through another winter. Dave was standing on his neighbor's porch, his dog Arthur sniffing at

something at his feet, and Bert Turlington standing beside him zipping up his blue windbreaker. Ever since the Turlington's got their dog, a teacup Pomeranian named Tissue, Mary's idea, not Bert's, it's been Bert's habit to join Dave and his dog Arthur on their nightly walk. They walk up to the park, and when the weather's agreeable, they circle it endlessly, around and around like a sentence with no period, talking or not talking, allowing the dogs to insert the punctuation, which instead of commas and hyphens comes as fence posts and fire hydrants. Or as was the case on this evening, a shrub, which Dave's dog Arthur was sniffing with great intensity.

Suddenly Arthur stopped and looked up at Bert and barked. More a grunt than a bark, really, a soft grunt that came from deep in his throat. Bert squinted at Arthur. Bert said, you sure? And Arthur's tail started to wag, and Bert shrugged, said, okay. And he unzipped his jacket and reached in and pulled out a little ball of fluff. Bert was carrying tissue in a snuggly. Tissue tires easily.

Bert set tissue down, and she shook herself, yapped, ran over to Arthur, sniffed the shrub, walked in a circle three times and prepared herself for business. When she was done, Bert bent over, scooped her up and gave Arthur a pat. How does he know that, said Bert? Every night he picks her spot. It was on their way home that Dave offered to take care of Tissue during spring break. Bert and Mary were taking the twins to Costa Rica. Well, actually, they were taking the whole family. Last year they left Adam home alone. That was a mistake. Although Adam got the house more or less back together for their return,

there were things he had to leave until his parents got home, the broken hall banister, for one. There were things he overlooked, most unfortunately, a frat house tower of empties in the garage. Mary wasn't prepared to come home to a house in that kind of condition again. Mary wasn't prepared to let Adam stay home alone. Adam was coming with them, no arguments, and Tissue was going to get a dog sitter. We can look after Tissue, said Dave. Honestly, it wouldn't be a problem. No big deal. after tissue, said Dave. Honestly, it wouldn't be a problem. No big deal. And so it was agreed.

And once it was, how could Dave say no when word got around, as word always does? And Carl Loebier called and asked about Preston. I heard you were looking after tissue, said Carl. We just hate the idea of a kennel, and we were wondering. No problem, said Dave. Preston, a labradoodle. Would be more of a handful than tissue, no doubt about that, but tissue was so small and eager that, well, like Dave said, she hardly counted. Well, that's what I thought, said Carl. By the time spring break arrived and Dave counted up, he'd agreed to look after four dogs. So when Polly Anderson called, really what difference did a fifth make? Five dogs, said Morley. Well, six if you count Arthur, said Dave, but you can't count Arthur. He lives here anyway and tissue hardly

counts either, so four dogs technically. Living here, said Morley. Only for a week, said Dave. A week, said Morley. Well, said Dave, ten days, technically. But that's if you count weekends. Six dogs. Number one being Arthur, Dave's dog. A mutt of sorts, a sort of lavish retriever, long hair, short hair combo. Kind of a biggish dog in a smallish way. Sleeps on the heat vents, likes ice cream. Two, Tissue, the Turlington's Pomeranian. Bert had been agitating for a dog for years. Bert had been thinking, chocolate lab.

Tissue is no lab. In fact, she's not much bigger than a squirrel. Tissue is a purebred princess. Pink leather collar, the snuggly. The day they left for the South, Mary brought her over with a crate load of stuff. Blankets, bowls, stuffed toys, and a little collection of outfits. Including a little bathing suit. Two-piece. She pulled a jar of hand cream out of her purse. It's made from caviar, said Mary. It

keeps her paws soft. Massage some in before bed, after you shampoo her, when you do her nails, and if you're leaving her alone for more than 15 minutes. Then she handed Dave a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste, beef flavored. Mary said, here are some Q-tips for her ears. She's allergic to dust. Keep her out of the basement. Dave sitting there nodding earnestly. She'll be fine, he said. Mary sensed Dave wanted her to leave. He was standing up. He was walking her toward the door. And she was absolutely right. He did want her gone. He wanted to be alone so he could try the beef-flavored toothpaste.

Mary was almost out the door when she stopped and turned. I almost forgot. She said, I got you something. And she held out a life-sized silhouette of a bird, a hawk. You can put it in the back window, she said. It'll keep birds from flying into the window by accident. We were having trouble in the living room. I put one up there. It seems to be working. And then she was gone. Come on, tissue, said Dave. Let's go brush our teeth. Arthur paddled along behind him.

Arthur seemed pleased to have Tissue there. It was like a grade five sleepover or something. So that's how it started, with Arthur, one, and two, Tissue. Three was Summer, Portuguese water dog, afraid of water. Summer came with a little rubber coat and booties, a garbage hound. She'll eat anything, said Brian when he dropped Summer off. Three, Summer. Four, Preston, a labradoodle, bird crazy. Although what exactly Preston loved about birds, Carl didn't make clear interested in birds. Just be careful around birds, said Carl ominously. Three Three was Summer, four Preston, five Nunu,

Polly Anderson's cocker spaniel who pees when she gets excited. But all cockers do that, said Polly. And what would she possibly get excited about, said Morley. Exactly, said Dave. How many is that? That's five, said Morley. There's another, said Dave. The one with the leather shoes. Leather, said Morley. Rawhide, said Dave. How many is that? That's five, said Morley. There's another, said Dave. The one with the leather chews. Leather, said Morley.

Rawhide, said Dave. Rawhide chews, said Morley, sounding relieved. No, Rawhide's his name, said Dave. The chews are leather. I never even heard of Rawhide, said Morley. They're new people, said Dave. I've never met them, said Morley. They're new people, said Dave. I've never met them, said Morley. And we have their dog? Just for a week, said Dave. Well, okay, 10 days. The dog started to arrive early on Sunday afternoon. At first, Arthur seemed excited as they got there. But as the afternoon

wore on, he became increasingly anxious. His tail stopped wagging each time the doorbell rang. By suppertime, Arthur would hold himself up in the downstairs bathroom and wouldn't come out. It's understandable. You put six dogs who don't know each other in a house together, any six dogs, any house, and there are going to be moments. any six dogs, any house, and there are going to be moments. And there were no doubt about it. The first walk, just getting out the door was fearsome. Dave picked up a leash, one of the six leashes in the basket by the door, and Preston, who was sound asleep on the living room couch, lifted his head, and both his ears flicked up, but he didn't budge. He was waiting for one more jingle and there it was. And with a second confirming jingle, Preston went from sound asleep to full

speed running and barking. It happened in the blink of an eye. Preston was asleep and then he wasn't. He was running to the doors. If he'd been running for hours, Preston had one thing on his mind, birds. And he wanted to tell everybody, birds bark, Preston, birds, birds, birds. And he wanted to tell everybody, birds, barked Preston, birds, birds, birds. And he passed Summer on his way to the door and Summer jumped up too. Garbage, barked Summer, garbage, garbage, garbage, birds, garbage. The two of them barking right past Nunu who's asleep in the corner. Nunu joins in, although she has no idea why she's running. She has no idea what's going on. She's just running. And by the time she's made it to the hall, she's so excited she stopped twice to pee. In the blink of an eye, all five dogs were at the front door, and they're jumping and barking, and Dave is standing there in the middle of them. Arthur, however, was nowhere to be seen.

Dave finally found Arthur holed up in the bathroom, had to drag him out, put his leash on him before he could deal with the others. That first walk was a disaster. Second one wasn't much better. Arthur managed to slip loose in the park, settle down under a tree. Dave couldn't budge him, had to come back and get him once he bought the other dogs home. On walk number three, Dave had hardly gone five minutes before he came pounding home again,

burst through the front door. I've lost a dog, he said desperately. I'm a dog short. Morley looked at him calmly. Morley said, you mean Rawhide, who it turns out was happily tucked behind the couch, gnawing on his shoe. Not Dave's shoe. Rawhide's owners had left a carton of shoes when they dropped him off.

We get them at the Sally Ann, they said. Goes through three or four pairs a week. No doubt about it, those first few days were difficult. But slowly Dave began to find his way. Started wearing tissue in the snuggly all day long. It's easier this way, he explained one night at dinner. He went shopping, bought himself a mountaineering belt with hooks all the way around, put the belt on,

and clipped each dog to a separate hook before a walk. Look at me, said Dave, I'm hands-free. Which you'd think might be a good idea. And it worked until he had to bend over and scoop up after one of his dogs, and as he leaned over and was off balance, a pigeon flooded by. Preston spotted it, barked and lunged, and everyone else joined in for the fun, Preston in the lead, the other five dogs fighting for it, Dave bouncing along behind them like a sled.

five dogs fighting for it. Dave bouncing along behind them like a sled. Took Morley 45 minutes and a pair of tweezers to pick the gravel out of his bum. Oh yeah, there were moments. But Dave wasn't about to give up. That night he lined the dogs up in the hallway. He had them at the far end of the hall by the front door. He was standing by the kitchen. He was determined to get control. Sit. Sit. Three of them went down like good little soldiers.

Summer, Nunu, and Rawhide. Arthur went down too, but he went down reluctantly and he went down with a growl. But Preston didn't budge. Sit. Preston just stood there staring at Dave. So Dave went down. Dave dropped down to his hands and knees and he crawled the length of the hall until his face was right against Preston's snout. Grr, said Dave. Preston looked horrified. Preston dropped like a rock. I have to establish dominance, said Dave to Morley, who was watching from the stove. In a way that she never would have expected, Morley was enjoying this. The whole thing had given Dave a sense of

responsibility, a sense of seriousness, a sense of direction, a focus that she'd never seen before. Her only real concern was Arthur, who had developed an uncharacteristic melancholy. Dave was standing at the far end of the kitchen now, the dogs lined up by the stove. Stay. Stay. Stay. Okay, come. And this time they came, all of them, a grand scrabbling over the kitchen floor,

a scrabbling and a sliding stop at his feet, their tails thumping like a little dog orchestra. Good dogs, said Dave, good dogs, slipping each one a treat. Good dogs, yep, said Tissue from the Snuggly. You too, said Dave. He saw Morley watching. He looked at her and grinned smugly, said they're pack animals. And I'm the pack leader.

looked at her and grinned smugly, said, they're pack animals, and I'm the pack leader. Morley found this a little bit, how can I say this, a little bit sexy. And Dave sensed that. And he walked over to her, and he looked her right in the eye and he said, who's your alpha dog? So everything was surprisingly fine for a few days when suddenly it wasn't. By the end of the week, it was pretty clear something was wrong with Tishu. Her eyes were red and runny, and so was her nose. She spent all Thursday on the couch, disinterested in anyone or anything.

She's allergic to dust, said Dave. My house isn't clean enough for a dog, said Morley. It's Mary's dog, said Dave. I don't want Tish tissue sick when they come home. And that's when Dave decided the best thing he could do would be to take the dogs over to Mary's house and spend the last two nights over there. It's funny, that's exactly what Morley said. It was sort of fun.

Dave got to do stuff over there he'd never get away with at home. On the first night, he grilled a huge steak on the Turlington's indoor barbecue, and they all sat in front of the television watching The Iron Chef. Dave and the six dogs, each with their own plate of steak. He got to use the beef-flavored toothpaste every day. It's delicious, he said to Kenny Wong the first day. It's like brushing your teeth with a hot dog. Best of all, tissue recovered. So everything was ship-shaped for Bert and Mary's return. They were due home just before supper. Dave spent the afternoon tidying up. He did the dishes. There were dog prints on the kitchen floor. He found a mop

and mopped the kitchen floor. Watered Mary's plants. Things were better than ship shape. They were perfect. Dave glanced at his watch. His plan was to take everyone back to his place, but not Tishu. His plan was to leave Tishu there to welcome Bert and Mary, who were due home in about half an hour. He felt a flush of pride. He had done well. And then summer knocked over a dining room chair. It fell into the dining room wall. It left a long scratch in the paint. And there was just no way he was going to leave that for Mary to find, not when he was so close to perfect. Went down to the basement and found a stack of paint cans down there. And in the middle of the stack, he found one that had been marked dining room wall. There was a shelf of brushes wrapped neatly in rags. He grabbed a brush and the can of paint

and he ran upstairs, pried the paint open with a kitchen knife, picked up the brush and then he put it down. And he gathered the dogs and he put the dogs on their leashes better safe than sorry, he said to Tissue who was sitting there watching him. And he led the dogs into the living room and he tied them to Mary's potted palm. And he led the dogs into the living room and he tied them to Mary's potted palm. Stay, stay, stay, stay. And he set out a couple of sheets of newspaper on the floor and set the lid down on the newspaper. It was worth taking a little extra time. It was worth being careful.

And he got the brush and he touched up the wall. And the mark disappeared in no time flat. Excellent. Glanced at his watch and ran upstairs, found a hair dryer, and ten minutes later, the paint was dry. You could hardly tell, or he could hardly tell. He grinned at Tissue. Good dog, he said. He was looking for the lid. Good dog, he said again, but he said it absentmindedly. Where was the lid? Tissue barked and stood up. There was the lid. Tissue was sitting on the lid. Her entire back end was soaked in paint. Tissue, said Dave. And at the sound of her name, Tissue's tail began to wag. Flecks of paint were flying everywhere. Dave caught her as she was heading for the kitchen. He scooped her up and looked around. Mary's dining room looked like a painting

by Jackson Pollock. How was he going to clean this up before Mary got home? He ran downstairs and grabbed a jug of turpentine. He came running up. He opened the turpentine. He emptied it into a saucepan, and he rushed around, wiping the walls and the floor. He was running out of time. Looked out the window and spotted the Turlington's car coming down the street. He was so close. All that was left was the paint-soaked tissue. Sorry, he said, and he picked tissue up and he dunked her bum into the liquid. The next bit was a bit of a blur. Put tissue down on the counter, said stay, and he ran into the living room, over to the living room windows, and he threw open the curtains. And that's when Preston looked up and spotted the silhouette of the hawk

that Mary had stuck there. Outside. Outside, a tan and relaxed Mary Turlington stepped out of the car and smiled at her husband. It's good to be home, said Mary. And that's when the living room window exploded and one, two, three, four, five dogs sailed through it one after another like a circus act. Nunu spraying everyone as she sailed by. another like a circus act. Nunu spraying everyone as she sailed by. Mary staggered back and brought her hand up to wipe her face. And as she did, the front door burst open and her little dog,

Tissue, came running towards her. Tissue's rear end was on fire. That's all right. Dave was right behind her with a fire extinguisher. Two days later, nearly midnight, the neighborhood quiet, Dave and Morley in bed everyone in bed All the dogs safely home The Turlington's house back together Dave put his book down turned to Morley said well anyway No harm done Morley who was still reading didn't say anything

Dave said I mean tissues fine no one died No said Morley, no one died. And then she said, what's that noise? It was a far away sort of noise, a moist sort of wet far away noise. Dave propped himself up on his elbow and frowned. Is it in the wall, he said. I don't know, said Morley. Maybe the closet. Dave got out of bed and stood in the middle of the bedroom listening. He walked over to the closet. Well, they say you can't teach an old dog new tricks. They say a lot of things. Not all of the things they say are true. Dave opened his bedroom closet and there was his old dog, Arthur. Arthur was lying in Dave's closet amidst a pile of sodden leather.

Arthur looking for all the world like a gourmand in a fancy restaurant. Arthur looked up at Dave later. Whenever Dave told this story, he'd swear Arthur smiled and burped. Gave me a kind of reproachful look, said Dave. Kind of like he was saying, you owe me, buddy. And he was right. Gave Dave that look. And then he turned back to the shoe he was holding between his paws.

Pulling at the soft leather as the saliva ran down his jowls. Dave looked at Arthur and then over at Morley. What is it, she said. Nothing, said Dave. No harm done, said Dave. And he closed the cupboard door gently, and he got into bed, and he reached out and turned off the lamp on the bedside table and he reached out for his wife and he put his arms around her. Good night, he said. Sleep tight. I love you. That was the story we called Dave the Dog Walker. We recorded that story at Place des Arts in Montreal, Quebec. In the audience that night was my good friend and dog walker,

the woman who inspired that story, Sherry J. And a few rows in front of Sherry, Stuart's mom, Pat McLean. Stuart loved having his mom at the show, and he always made a fuss about her. He'd ask us to turn up the house lights and, hey, mom, stand up. Pat hated it. Anyway, after the show, someone came up to Pat and said, you must be so proud. And I should interject here to say, Stuart loved telling this story. So I am absolutely not talking out of school. I think it's completely fine for me to repeat it here. And I know Stuart and Pat would be fine with it. Anyway, Pat was told, you must be so proud of Stuart.

And she paused and she thought about it carefully and she said, proud? More surprise than proud. We really didn't expect him to amount to very much. As I said, Stuart loved telling that story and I think Pat got a kick out of it too. She was the best. All right, we've got to take a short break now, but we'll be back in a minute with a sneak peek from next week's episode. So stay with me. That's it for today.

We'll be back here next week with two more Dave and Morley stories, including this one, a story about the time Dave meets his mom's boyfriend for the very first time. Dave saw Smith glance at the table, and it occurred to him he didn't want to sit in his boyhood seat if Smith Gardner was in his dad's place. He didn't actually run across the kitchen.

That's next week. You can hear the whole story next week on the podcast. Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe is part of the Apostrophe Podcast Network. Theme music is by Danny Michelle. The show was recorded by Greg DeCloot and produced by Louise Curtis and me, Jess Milton. Let's meet again next week. Until then, so long for now. Music .