There must be something significant about four in the morning that is firmly ingrained in my body’s circadian rhythm. Almost without fail, no matter how late I may have been up, I find my eyes opening around that certain time of the day to peek blearily at the bedside clock only to discover it is a few minutes before or a few minutes after that “four in the morning”. This morning, as my eyes beheld the red glow of the alarm clock that is never used as an alarm clock, the thought popped into my mind that “four in the morning” has somehow been ingrained into my being and maybe I know the reason why.
I am a morning person as anyone who knows me will happily tell you. I just seem to have an internal alarm clock that wakes me up normally before dawn with the urge to rise and shine. I have never been one of those folks who could lie abed until the noontime hour approaches unless I am deathly ill. Looking back I can see where this tendency of mine to be an early riser has come from, my father. He himself was an early riser and as such expected everyone else in the household to follow suit. Not only that but he had incredibly “itchy feet” as they say in England. He was never satisfied living in one place too long so needless to say we were frequently on the move. In fact during my school years we moved an average of once to twice a year much to my dismay.
My father was a restless chap. Many is the time I would be woken from a sound sleep to find my little battered suitcase filled, or in later days be told to fill it myself, as we were “leaving”. More often than not I would have no idea where we were heading, would have no chance to say cheerio to my school chums and most poignant of all would not be able to say goodbye to my animal pals. Such was the case in Fort Nelson located in northern British Columbia.
We moved to Fort Nelson in the winter of 1974. The trip up the Alaska highway to the town of Fort Nelson, mile post 300, was quite an epic journey although the thought of living “up north” was a wonderful proposition for me who had a love of the outdoors and the stories of Jack London. Fort Nelson was a rather quiet little town that was predominantly, so it seemed to me, a company town of folks who worked for West Coast Transmissions which was where my father had found employment. We moved into a small company apartment and I began attending school and subsequently made a few pals but formed a lifelong friendship with a girl named Kim. I finally was in what I would have termed as heaven! When not in school I could head into the woods surrounding the town, I was delighted with the Northern Lights, could play for hours out in the snow on my toboggan dressed up like the Pillsbury dough boy in numerous layers of anoraks and snow boots. I loved the north!
Now I have always had a tendency to find and become friends with dogs. Needless to say there were plenty of strays in and surrounding town but I made the acquaintance of two of the canine species in particular. King, who was a wild dog of undetermined breed but had the distinct look of being part wolf and the dubious reputation of being sought after by the local RCMP and Shiboo, a very large Malamute husky owned by the chap who ran the local radio station who had a canny knack of slipping his collar and chain and coming to visit me. Hmmm… I think the way I made the acquaintance of these two fine fellows needs to be another story as it is quite a long one and after all, this is about “four in the morning”! But these two canine companions do enter into my tale.
Back to the story…
The time I spent in Fort Nelson was a splendid one for me and at last I was under the impression we, as in my father and I, had finally found a permanent home where we could stay forever. Alas it was not to be. Fate must play out her hand and the idyllic life I felt I was living was soon to once again change as early one morning I was woken up by my father telling me to pack my suitcase and gather my belongings as we were leaving. In the darkness I did as I was told; gathering up some of my clothes, my precious books that have accompanied me so many, many miles, my dear old Teddy bear which I have had since the age of four and who has seen me through so many ups and downs in life. All was gathered and in the early dawn of a new day, at four in the morning to be precise, I and all my possessions along with my father’s was bundled into our car and we headed south once again to destinations unknown. Who would tell my friend Kim where we had gone? What would my wild dog pal King think when I was not there to play with him or Shiboo, that loyal husky who would slip his chain to come and via with King for the right to walk me to school? How could I tell them we were leaving, never to come back.
As I looked out the rear window of the car just as the sky was lightening, there was my dear Shiboo standing watching us drive away not knowing that we would never return again. Of all the times in the early morn that my father and I left little villages and towns, heading east or west or north or south, never has my heart been so wrenched as looking back to see a faithful companion and friend staring after our car wondering when I will come back. Those who know me know I am a firm believer in Fate, that our lives and the things that happen do so for a reason. Looking back I sometimes wonder what life lessons I have been taught by so many “leavings” as I call them. Maybe it is to cherish the friendships we make as we never know how long we may have with that person to enjoy them, take the love an animal gives you as a special gift and reciprocate, live each day as it comes to its fullest. But most of all, revel in the knowledge that when one wakes in the morning and through bleary eyes sees a clock telling you it is four in the morning, smile, turn over and snuggle deeper under the covers for a few more minutes in the Land of Nod…