Like many Guyanese, I grew up with dogs as part of my home space, beginning at the village of Hague, West Demerara, where I was born and spent my early years and later at Vreed-en-Hoop, where we also had a dog. When I migrated to Toronto in the 1950s, dogs were again in play when I acquired my own house in the suburbs, and when Tradewinds moved to Grand Cayman in the 1980s after our music had become popular there, I had several dogs on the three-acre spread where our family lived in the eastern part of the island.
The tradition continues with my return to Guyana to live on the East Coast, with currently three dogs roaming the property and it’s amazing what these so-called dumb animals can pick up, modifying their behaviour simply based on observing human beings. It’s like a miracle. Our dog Jet, the Belgian Shepherd, for instance. I hang my keys on a nail on the side of our shoe rack by the front door. The second I go over there and pick up the keys, Jet bolts for the front door. If it’s closed, she waits there for me to open it and she runs out. If it’s open, she runs out and heads straight for the van, and when I get there she’s standing beside the vehicle, tail wagging, almost vibrating, to get inside; she wants to go for a drive. All three dogs love drives. I did nothing to teach Jet this.
