When I pass the home of
Wayne and Linda Chalmers on the Feeder Canal Road; well actually
Regional Road 3, and see the dozens of Canada geese in and around
their pond, I recall October 4, 1955, when my father, Maurice,
along with some old family friends, Ed, Ralph and Bud Farewell
shot five Canada geese in the marsh at Broad Creek. Ed, the father
of the Farewell hunting dynasty was known to be a top-flight duck
hunter. Dad on the other hand, could handle a shotgun but was at
best a weekend-fine-weather hunter. The Farewell boys were off in
the deep marsh looking for some ducks from an earlier foray when
to the surprise of all, a flock of Canada geese accompanied by a
lone Mallard flew over the boat. In six shots from Dad and Ed’s
guns, five geese and that lone Mallard began their final flight to
the dinner table. Ducks normally do not fly with geese. This
fellow paid a high price for hanging around with the wrong crowd.
The next day in the Evening Tribune, there was a photo, - likely
taken by Murray Hurst, a photo-journalist for the Tribune at the
time, and a caption detailing the successes of the great hunters
of Broad Creek. In the photo you could see that the Farewells were
all decked out with bullet-laden vests. Attached on a cord were
the only ones wearing waders. Ed had Bud to do his wading! Dad was
obviously not in the same league with his fall coat and pockets
filled with shells. No duck-call for Dad. However, Dad did have
something the Farewells coveted. He had a Chesapeake Bay retriever
named Devil.
When Stan Case moved from Port Maitland to
Buffalo a few years earlier, he took Devil out to the back of his
home and put a shotgun to his head. What would he do with a big
mean dog in Buffalo? Dad just happened by and saw what Stan was
about to do and called out to him. “Hear! Don’t shoot him! I
will take that dog!
Stan had always been a bit severe
on that mutt and that mutt responded by being a mean tempered
beast, never to be trusted by a friend or a foe. However, devil
was one of the best duck dogs in the area. They say he would sit
quietly in the boat, not moving a muscle until the shooting
stopped. Then at the exact moment the hunter was about to give the
command to retrieve, Devil hit the water, no matter how cold it
was and retrieved every bird brought down. Devil was in the marsh
with Bud and Ralph when all the action was taking place on this
day!
What was the big deal and why the picture in the
Evening Tribune? The Canada geese, population had been decimated
on Lake Erie by the 1930’s. Not from DDT! From outright savage
shooting of anything that moved. My maternal grandfather, Johnny
Mullen and his wealthy cronies at the turn of the century had more
money and time than they knew what to do with. I recall my
grandmother telling stories of how he and his Hamilton hunting
buddies would descend on some pre-rented marshes at Long Point
strategically placing groups of hunters in a large circle about
the marsh, with orders not to shoot until the chief hunter took
the first shot. A flock of unsuspecting geese swans or ducks would
be called into the centre of the circle and when all were inside
the boundaries, the chief would ring out the first shot. All hell
would break loose. Each well-heeled hunter with his supply of
three to five, five-shot, shot guns and his gun caddy would let
loose on the confused and encircled fowl. The caddies were used as
one might use a gold-caddy. It was their job to carry the
artillery to the hides, and then once the shooting started, they
worked feverishly to keep the guns loaded assuring that the great
white hunters would always have a ready gun! Grandpa Mullen and
his army of hunters soon could not find a Canada goose on Lake
Erie to save their lives.
Seeing a Canada goose or a
swan in the Haldimand area was a rare sight in the 1950’s. I
wonder if Ed and Dad would have taken those five geese if they
had, had a few minutes to deliberate their plans before the geese
so invitingly flew over the boat?
The ironies of this
story are that Grandpa Mullen would come for Thanksgiving dinner
that year and eat his last Canada goose before going on to meet
his maker only a few years later. Devil, the mean dog who had
become a great family pet would, on New Years Eve day (about 1959)
rung one of our cat’s neck after Mom put some goose fat on a
dish for the cat. Devil, I suppose, thought the fat was for him!
Bud Farewell would, by chance, be visiting that day to do some
rabbit hunting in the bush behind our house. With concerns over
Devil’s aggressiveness towards a cat he had shared quarters with
for some time, led to a fatal decision for the old mutt. Dad would
ask Bud to take Devil to the pound in Hamilton where he could be
humanely put to sleep.
It was an unjust action from my
point of view. I prayed and fantasized for years that Bud had not
taken Devil to the pound, but found someone to take him in.
Recently, while talking with another of Bud’s brothers, Jack
Farewell and his wife Fran, of Grimsby, I received the answer to
my youthful prayers and fantasies. Bud had indeed taken Devil to a
farmer friend where the old mutt lived in happy dog retirement for
many more years!
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I
am unable for find a picture of Devil, but this Chesapeake Bay
Retriever photo looks just as I remember him.
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