Presto the Dog

Within weeks of being brought home, Presto’s owner had originally given him the name Rover. The young Border collie’s fearless dawn-to-dusk strays far from the house and barn on that remote and massive Saskatchewan farm made it a fitting choice, and in the sweltering heat of that summer “Rover” got to know every inch of the place like the back of his paw.

It wasn’t until fall passed into the brutal prairie winter that he earned his new moniker. Each day, as the deadly cold night bullied the sun over the horizon, the farmer and his wife would each bring in an armload from the woodpile and build a heartily warm fire in their fireplace.

Somewhat to their surprise, the change of seasons hadn’t changed Rover’s routine one bit. Indifferent to the snow and howling wind, Rover would foray out into the endless stretch of white each morning with a fresh set of paw tracks for any who might be so hardy as to follow him.

One night, only minutes after the flames had fully taken hold of the stack and the couple had taken their seats, there came a scratch at the door. Rover accompanied the gust of frigid air that invaded the room as the farmer opened the door but for a second. At first he seemed apprehensive to approach the strange light, but as the ice beads around his snout melted with each tentative step, Rover was utterly hooked on the nightly fire.

The next day, the fact that Rover disappeared into the frozen expanse came as no surprise. The fact that his arrival that evening came only shortly after the flames had again filled the windows with an azure glow was determined to be a “coincidence.” Some five days to a week later, there was no way his clockwork arrival could be seen as a coincidence any longer.

The flames began to light the room and the heavenly warmth reclaimed the air of the home. As the farmer sank into his recliner with a contented smile, the wife chose to break from the norm and moved to the door instead. Peering through the glass, it was only minutes before a familiar shape came labouring through the snow banks. She opened the door just as he drew near and jokingly said “Presto!” as is she had conjured a chilly pooch from the night.

Needless to say, it stuck.

The routine was played out nearly every night between early November and March for years and years. I say nearly because as Presto grew older there was the occasional time he’d skip his daily jaunt and stay in, particularly if the grandkids were up from Regina for a stay. Most nights, however, the tiny orange-ish glow on the horizon meant it was time for him to hurry back across the wasteland to enjoy his beloved fire-time.

Eventually, the time came that the old man’s age necessitated an end to their farming days and, at 13, Presto was getting on in years as well. The couple sold the farm and moved into a Regina town home to be near the family. With all the time in the world, they had plenty of it to invest in new hobbies; one of which was figuring out how to use the home computer their son-in law had bequeathed to them. The Mrs. developed a fondness for online shopping.

The transition to “city life” wasn’t a smooth one for old Presto. As much as he enjoyed the walks to the store or to the lake with the old man, they just didn’t have the same sense of the rural unknown to them. And of course, the fact the town home didn’t have a fireplace meant there was something missing each time they arrived home on a winter evening. Presto wasn’t much for central heating, however adequate it might have been. Furthermore, the Mrs. was always on that computer when he got home, perusing something called cymaxstores.com. Presto preferred her knitting with a mug of tea and a lap-blanket, much more classic as far as he was concerned.

One night, as Presto and his beloved owner returned from a suitably sub-zero ice fishing trip, a forgotten yet familiar sight greeted Presto as they came through the door. Could it be, he thought, wondering if his failing eyes might have been deceiving him? The Mrs. was eagerly observing him as a he slowly and apprehensively moved across the room, much the same as he had so many years ago, toward the flames. Her new Classic Flame Electric Fireplace wouldn’t be popping the embers that would grab Presto’s attention like the old farm one did, but it did have the same visual appeal and radiating warmth for the old boy, and she could almost sense his joy as he plunked himself down in front of it. In fact, the kids and the grandchildren became so enamoured with it that they too chose a Real Flame Heritage Fireplace from the expansive selection of fireplaces at Cymax Stores Online.

This of course meant that Presto could enjoy his winter evening fire even on the nights when the grandparents traveled cross-town to see the grandkids, including his favourite, Christmas Eve. Long after everyone had retired, they’d leave the fireplace switch on and Presto would lie there as content as could be.

Just like old times.