Observing Frank Schroeder and his chocolate brown Standard

Poodle on the streets of Hedley, it would be impossible to guess where he has been or what he has seen. His stature has been reduced 4 inches due to a curvature of the spine caused by osteoporosis. He and Teddy present such a peaceful picture it’s unlikely anyone would think he had once been a gun carrying guard at the B.C. Penitentiary.

“Although the prison system was already changing during my 5 years at the Penn, many of the old line guards were still present,” he said. “They revelled in telling us how things were done in the past, especially the floggings.”

He recalls vividly the incident in which Mary Steinhauser, a prison counsellor was taken hostage by inmates. “Those guys were brutal”, he said. “I knew Mary, she sometimes sat at the dinner table with me. When the guards rushed in to end the standoff, they shot her.” She was liked and respected by the inmates and it was widely believed by them the guards deliberately targeted her. Frank doesn’t agree with this view.

After 5 years at the Penn, he was transferred to Matsqui Institution. For three years he did night duty in one of the towers overlooking the prison fences. He was expected to shoot in event of a break out or riot. An experienced hunter, he was familiar with a variety of firearms, but he never shot at a prisoner. For the last 2 years of prison work he was a Living Unit Officer and this offered an opportunity to make a positive difference in some inmates. “I took one of the men skiing,” he said. “He was doing time for murder and had been in prison for years. I taught him to ski. I also taught him how to order a cup of coffee in a restaurant. After a year I could trust him to ski alone.” Years later, while camping in a remote area of B.C. he met the man. He was working in forestry.

“Wearing the uniform hardens you,” he said. “I didn’t care for the atmosphere so I took a real estate course on the side. On April 30th, 1977 I took the uniform off for the last time and put the prison system behind me. On May 1st I began selling real estate.”

It wasn’t Frank’s dream job. He wished he’d been able to get a university education and become a meteorologist. Family responsibilities had made this impossible. He doesn’t complain, though. “I made a pile of money,” he told me, “and after 4 years I took time off to do some things I loved.” He travelled, hunted, fished, and built a house at Lone Butte. A workaholic, he had for some years run a renovation, gardening, landscaping business on the side. Building a house was not a problem. He also earned a brokerage licence and in time opened offices in Lone Butte and 100 Mile House.

The osteoporosis struck him in 2002, but Frank hasn’t allowed it to dampen his zest for experience and adventure. During the years away from real estate, he met Richard Canning, Director of the Canadian Bird Count. Canning is an author and a prominent authority on birds. Frank considers himself lucky to have done a number of bird counts with him since their meeting.

“My first encounter with birds actually happened when I was age 6,” he recalls. “I taught a young swallow to fly. The parents were furious and dived at me repeatedly. It scared me.” To date he has spotted 340 different birds and says, “I’m totally hooked on birding.” He doesn’t have a favourite bird. “If it wears feathers, it can come on my yard any time, in any number.” Teddy, his faithful companion, shares his enthusiasm. Seeing Frank look through his field glasses, Teddy sits beside him patiently and looks too. “Sometimes Teddy notices a bird first,” Frank said.

The man and dog have a special friendship. Both are congenial, but

in different ways. Frank is calm and steady. Teddy’s tail wags a lot.

Recently Teddy was seriously ill and Frank took him to a vet. When he was told his good friend might not survive the night, Frank slept in the kennel with him. Compassionate and caring, this former prison guard is a good addition to our peaceful little community.

Yesterday Linda and I were on our daily trek, which includes climbing Hospital Hill. The “Hill”, famous with the more ambitious walkers in Hedley, lies just past the bridge over 20 Mile Creek. Although there is no hospital on the hill, it retains the name from the days when there was one.

When I say it is part of the route taken by the more ambitious walkers in Hedley, it’s necessary to keep in mind that most of the citizens of this community who actually climb the hill are 70 and over. At the outside, it takes no more than about 5 minutes and serious climbers would scoff at the thought that it’s a challenging climb. Still, it does provoke our heart beat into overdrive and we can distinctly hear our breathing.

Although the sun was bright, the mercury in our thermometer had been at just above zero when we started out. As we were approaching the hill, we noticed a cat warming itself on the asphalt roof of a shed. Obviously the roof was radiating heat we didn’t feel. Seeing the cat, which appeared warm and entirely at ease, I wondered for a moment why we were making ourselves do this. Sitting in a secluded sunny corner, a cup of steaming hot coffee in hand, seemed like a good idea. But, we are humans.

Linda and I were still at the table in our sun room after breakfast last week when a firm knock on the front door surprised us. It was Barry, our next door neighbour. Visits from him are a rarity, so we knew intuitively something of importance had prompted him to come. The January air carried a distinct chill and he was wearing a parka with the hood up. I invited him in but he declined.

“I just came to tell you I’ve arranged for Silk to be put down today,” he said. His voice became raspy and he put a hand to his throat as though to help him speak. I could see this was an extremely difficult message for him to deliver. I again invited him in, but once more he declined. “I thought you might want to come and see her,” he said, “before I take her to the vet.”

He paused and momentarily turned away to look toward his yard, possibly hoping to catch a glimpse of the dog. Then, still in the clutches of an emotional moment, he suggested “maybe you could take a picture of her for the blog. After all, she was sort of a community dog.”

“ I’ll get a jacket on and come over immediately” I said. A few minutes later Linda and I approached the gate to Barry and Sharon’s high wood fence and were accosted by their two black Bernese Mountain dogs, barking and wagging their tails vigorously. Silk, a partial Golden Retriever hobbled toward us, obviously uncomfortable but wanting to be part of this social event.

Although age and failing health had robbed her of her former robust vitality, and weakened hind quarters caused her movements to be laboured, her face retained an elegant beauty. She had not lost her desire to be in the company of friends.

For years, we had frequently observed Silk purposely wandering around town, alert for a rabbit to harass or a human to give her a few strokes. She had arrived in Hedley with the Nimchuk family. They had acquired her fourteen years ago as a 5 month old pup when they still lived on a 10 acre property, where she had freedom to explore. Not having a fence and not wanting to curtail her love of roaming and meeting people, they had allowed her to patrol the town. She had offered friendship to everyone she met, and many of us had gladly given her the strokes she craved. Silk enjoyed people and people enjoyed her.

Now, while he was attempting to keep the two younger dogs away, Barry told us how Silk had attached herself to him and Sharon, and their dogs. “Eight years ago she got a paw caught in the wire fence I had at that time”, he said. “I freed her and she began hanging around and spending time with us and our dogs”. The Nimchuks recognized that she was at ease and happy with them. Silk gradually became part of the family, and we frequently saw Barry and the three dogs departing for a trek early in the morning. It was evident that Silk felt accepted.

Silk occasionally visited the Nimchuks. Ayrelea, one of their daughters, at times took her for a walk. On such occasions she usually groomed and hand fed her.

I snapped a few photos of Silk. She stood quietly, as though understanding these pictures would provide her family and many friends with a means to remember her. Then she lay down, obviously having exhausted her meagre reserves of energy and strength. Calm and unmoving, she watched the two younger dogs capering about the yard. Possibly age had given her the understanding this time would come and she was facing it with dignity and a sense of deep inner equanimity.

Doug and Michelle Nimchuk and their four children arrived to bid Silk a sad farewell. They wanted to take her for one last walk around the block. She was eager and her spirit was willing, but her hind quarters would not support her.

When the time of her departure drew near, Barry lovingly and gently placed Silk in his van for her final ride. She was truly a lady of distinction. The town has lost a faithful friend.