Life in Paris revolved around many activities at The Salvation
Army. One of those activities was
the participation in La Musique
Nationale – the French national Salvation Army band –
of which Glen and John were members. In 1990 Elizabeth, too, joined the
band. Often Elizabeth and Eleanor
accompanied them on various outings with the band. One such outing was the annual music workshop weekend of the
band held at Morfondé. Morfondé
was a large residential centre for adolescents operated by The Salvation Army
in Villeparisis, not far from Charles de Gaulle airport. The campus covered several acres with
residential buildings, administration building, an auditorium self-service
restaurant and barns which were part of a working farm which figured in the
training for the adolescents in the program. Barns, of course, meant animals. And Beau, as a Brittany
spaniel, had a penchant for hunting.
In Beau’s mind space to run and animals were made for each other. It seemed logical to him.
The program for the weekend was intense – with rehearsals on Friday
night and all day Saturday, a worship service on Sunday morning and a concert
in Paris on Sunday afternoon. The
members of the band stayed at Morfondé and ate in the self-service restaurant
there. Most of the resident
adolescents had gone to be with their families for the mid-winter break on this
first week of March, 1989.
The weather was glorious.
The whole family was there and Beau had come along for the Sunday. He stayed in the car for a while during
the activities, and we let him out during the lunch-hour break. A lunch hour break in France meant time
for a proper meal – with bread, salad, entrée, cheese, dessert and a long, slow
coffee. The Sunday meal was roast
chicken – a good feast as I recall.
We had Beau out for a sprint as others were going through the line in
the cafeteria. At six months, Beau
had grown and now had the sprint of a gazelle. He criss-crossed the spacious terrain with glee. Then he
spied a live chicken, which had escaped from the chicken coop. Chickens, it appears, are like dogs in
their desire to get out of enclosures and run around. The hunter genes took over and Beau was off like a
rocket. Without breaking stride he
took the chicken in his mouth and gambolled across the grounds with John,
Elizabeth and Glen in frantic pursuit.
The sure sign of a good hunting dog is a soft mouth so that the game
is not hurt – just held. Beau had
the soft mouth of the hunting dog.
He also had the speed and agility of a hunting dog. There was not a
chance of our catching him. What
if he ran into the dining with the chicken in a terrified squawk between his
teeth as our colleagues finished their chicken meal? What would this do to Beau’s welcome in the environs? What would it do to our family’s
reputation as responsible dog owners?
Glen was in a state of total despair. It was left to John to save the day. Out of the corner of his eye as we tore
across the field in pursuit of Beau John spied an empty watering can. Grasping it as he ran he aimed at Beau
and flung the can, catching the dog in the right hind leg. Beau opened his mouth to bark his
protest. That second was all the
chicken needed to go free.
Our relief was palpable!
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| Winner of 2009 Award of Merit Human Interest Article |
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| Winner of 2011 Word Guild Award Christian Leadership |
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