Back on Ossington – I hope you don’t mind another little story from that time – a friend of mine from University was renting the back studio. Rob decided to get a dog and so off we went to the Humane Society where he found a tall gangly black dog that he decided to name Giotto after the father of the Renaissance. Now at the time, Rob was working most days and I was working evenings, so we each had a turn looking after the dog. He was a fine dog. He loved to run and he loved to swim and he was full of life and canine joy.

Giotto  had one annoying habit though. We didn’t want him to sleep on the beds but he loved to sleep on mine. When I went off to work, I would lay stuff on the bed – a basket of laundry, an old guitar, and so on so there wouldn’t be room for Giotto to get comfy on there. As you can imagine, this was a minor challenge. When I’d roll in from work, he would be fast asleep in an impossible contorted and surely uncomfortable position on the bed, careful not to disturb the various obstacles he worked his way around.  Upon my arrival, he would slither off the bed like a snake and lie on the floor, looking up at me with the saddest eyes in the world. That dog had me wrapped around his little finger.

Somewhere in the neighbourhood lived a husky named King. King was the smartest dog I ever met. I don’t know how we knew his name was King because I don’t think we ever saw him associated with people. Maybe we just called him King because he was the King of the neighbourhood, no doubt. On several occasions, I witnessed King waiting at the first bus stop north of Queen W. for the Ossington bus. He would board the bus, travel two or three stops north and then disembark as if a dog taking the bus was the most normal thing in the world.

King used to call on Giotto to come out and play. I mean he would show up at Rob’s door, which was at the back of the old storefront I had converted to live-in studios, and with his paw, he would knock. Rob would let Giotto out, and the two of them would play in the yard. One day though, King led Giotto astray and off they went into the lane-way. “Where’s Giotto?” “He’s right out back with King.” “No he’s not.” “He was there a minute ago.” The two of them disappeared. A search party was organized, but there was no sign of the dogs. Of course, King was used to being out on his own, unlike Giotto who lived a more sheltered life. After an exhaustive and fruitless search, we sat on our improvised back deck, figuring out our next move.  The dogs were gone for hours without a trace. We were so worried about all the bad things that might have happened to them. Just then, Giotto and King came sauntering home, appearing from the lane.  They were each carrying an enormous bone, sporting an attitude that could only mean, “ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies.” They wagged their tails in acknowledgement of our presence and settled down to chew on those bones.