The day the bridge blew up in Halcyon

When love of a dog sets logic aside
The day the bridge blew up in Halcyon
By Terrance Seamus Gavan
Lest you get the wrong idea.
It’s important to know that Paddy Baldurson is a dog lover.
It’s also important to know that Paddy Baldurson has an eclectic view of the world.
I first met Paddy back when I was a young reporter with the Halcyon Packet and Times in the Manitoba Interlake.
Paddy was a 74-year-old seed farmer and very involved in local politics.
He was a former Reeve of the Rural Municipality of Reykjavik and he was like me, half Irish and half Icelandic. When I first arrived in Halcyon, in 1988, my hard knock editor Lorne Bjornson told me to get to know Paddy. Said he would be a great contact for local news and rumor.
Well, over my five years with the Halcyon P and T I did get to know Paddy Baldurson very well. But we seldom talked politics – or gossip.
Mostly we talked dogs. And we had many rollicking discussions.
Paddy was never without at least three dogs in tow. He ran a kind of rescue mission for Black Labs out at his ranch.
No matter how many dogs you meet in a lifetime, one always stays with you.
Paddy’s old collie/black lab cross Mel – short for Melancholy – was such a dog. Mel was the personification of her name. Paddy had taken Mel in when she a very young puppy. She came from abuse, was left on an open Manitoba Highway during one of those prairie Nor’westers that seemed to drop onto the bald prairie from right out of the Siberian Gulag.
That was back in 1974 and Paddy figured that Mel was about a year old.
For the first two weeks Mel was wary of everything and showed all the classic shyness of a dog who had been abused. Paddy had a way with dogs and it didn’t take long for Mel to come around.
“One night she came up and put her head on my lap, and she looked into my eyes with trust, love and just a wee touch of melancholy,” smiled Paddy. “Only one name would fit after that. Melancholy she was and she’s been Mel to this day, the best dog I have ever known … and I’ve known a few in my time.”
Mel became, over the years, the Halcyon town mascot. Paddy loved high school sports and he and Mel became a fixture at football, track meets, basketball, volleyball and hockey games.
In the spring of 1991 Paddy flagged me down and I pulled in off the highway into his yard. Mel was lying in the shade and she looked up, but after two futile efforts to rise, she just wagged her tail in greeting. Spunky went over to see her and she licked him on the face.
Paddy was crying. I knew what was happening.
“I don’t think I can bring her to the vet to put her down,” said Paddy, biting back tears.
“Can I do anything?” I said, the tears coming as I rested my hand on his huge shoulders that were shuddering now through the tears. Paddy just sobbed and shook his head. I went over to stroke Mel’s big black head. She licked me, wagged her tail, but couldn’t rise. Her breathing was shallow. She was 18 or 19 years old and she was fading, but she wasn’t in pain.
Two days later, on July 1st, I got the call. It was Paddy. “Mel’s been sleeping for 18 hours, but she won’t let go,” said Paddy. I said I’d be right over.
I wasn’t prepared for the sight that greeted me in the yard. Paddy, had Mel dressed in a flak jacket, which was rigged with 5 sticks of dynamite and attached to what looked like an alarm clock trailing wires. I had heard various stories about Paddy and how he had been involved at Camp X with spymaster Bill Stevenson in the Muskoka’s during World War 2. I knew he had a blasting license because he had been hired by the RM to manage some tricky demolitions’ work from time to time.
“I can’t bring her to the vet,” said Paddy through tears. “This is all I can do for her now. Will you help?”
I remember nodding and setting off on what was to be our last journey across the Viking River and up to Jardosson’s Bluff on the edge of Paddy’s home quarter. Paddy had Mel wrapped in her favorite quilt. We put her in the back of his trailer attached to the hitch of his Yamaha 4-wheeler. She was in a coma sleeping peacefully.
We went across the old and rickety Landmark Covered Bridge that straddled the Viking River. It was built in 1866 and there was fight on to restore it.
We got to Jardosson’s Bluff, overlooking the blue-green expanse of Lake Manitoba. Paddy laid Mel down in the alfalfa fringe of the Oak bluff. And then he set the timer.
He nodded and said “Five minutes.” We both said a short prayer and drove slowly back to the old condemned covered bridge.
We were half way across the bridge when for some reason I looked back. And there was Mel, at full gallop across the prairie, risen like some dynamite-infused Lazarus from that coma.
I tapped Paddy on the shoulder. It didn’t take long for the two of us to realize that Mel, miraculously metabolized, was now coming at us like a smart missile. “Holy crap!” said Paddy, quickly checking his watch.
We arrived at the other end of Landmark Bridge just as Mel was entering. We stopped at the far side of river bank. Paddy was counting down. “nine, eight, seven …”
And out came Mel, like a bullet and right at us. “Three, two, one.” The explosion was deafening and both Paddy and I were lifted off our feet and lay flat on our butts in the sweet smelling alfalfa.
I felt a nudge. I looked up only to find mel, big brown eyes staring quizzically right at me. Then I was immediately accosted by Mel’s tongue, licking my face with delight.
Paddy and I looked down the bank at the sight of the Landmark Bridge slowly crumbling into the Viking River. Mel was too busy cavorting to take much notice of the noise or the destruction. The flak jacket had apparently slid off in the middle of the bridge.
The insurance paid for the historical restoration of the old Landmark Covered Bridge.
It’s the only covered bridge in Manitoba and it’s a big tourist attraction.
No one in Halcyon calls it by its historical moniker.
Around Halcyon the old restored landmark is known as Mel’s Big Bang.
Mel was rejuvenated, and enjoyed a remarkable six months of mobility.
She passed away peacefully with her head in Paddy’s lap, in front of a roaring fire on Christmas Eve 1991.
And every Canada Day since 1991, there’s been a huge fireworks display in the meadow surrounding Mel’s Big Bang on the shores of the Viking River.
Proof enough for me: that sometimes it’s better to go out with a whimper … not a roar.