Family bonding

My parents visit Vancouver once a year. Or less if they can help it. They don't like 'the city'. My Dad occasionally refers to people here as P.R.C.Ks (yep, sans "i")and gets flustered if there is more than 12 people on the sidewalk. Regardless, I'd say this was certainly our most successful visit. I can't take credit for the lovely time they had, however. To that I must credit the Vancouver Police Department.

The first time they visited I put a lot of time and energy into planning our outings. A trip to the museum of Anthropology, a historical tour of Chinatown, a play. Dad fell asleep in the play and started snoring. I mentioned the walking tour of historic Chinatown and he let out a dark & heavy sigh, "Awwh, do we have to...?"

This trip, however, I let nature have 'er way with us. Screw the road trips up to Shannon falls and the Lynn Canyon. Screw Fisherman's wharf and Go Fish's seething line up. All they really wanted was blood.

Thanksgiving Sunday morning. I've just come back from a run (read slow painful jog). Dad and Mom are at the window exclaiming with glee that there is a policeman with a dog on the street below our apartment. Ha! Yokles, Ha! Ultramaroons. Ha! Hayseeds.

I go to the window and see a policeman and his dog sniffing our street like a pig scenting truffles. The dog forcefully jumps into some low lying bush on the street, squats and begins to back out with all its might. He has a guy by the ankle. An actual guy! By the ankle! The dog-police-trainer-guy starts screaming at the top of his lungs to cease and desist (and the last thing that dog wants to do is let go of the guy) but he finally does. The cops jump on the guy and with a knee between the shoulder blades they cuff him and the coppers begin to compare notes in a jocular way. At this point Mom and Dad are having the time of their lives. It's the best of all possible realities. It's like we are watching TV, but we're not. It's like we're interacting with each other, but we're not. It's like something happen to bring us together, but it didn't. Cool.

Anyway. The result is there is still blood on the sidewalk from where the guy bled all over the place. Who knew dog-teeth wounds bled so much? Why don't they clean that up? Maybe I should call the cop-shop and inquire. I just might do that.

A successful trip all around. I bet my Dad has told this story to his dentist by now.