Yes, boys and girls, my friend Lucky Me is now safe and sound at my home… our home… in the Laurentian mountains. But the poor little thing had a long and perilous voyage.
First of all, as soon as I adopted him, he was stuffed into a plastic bag and thrown on a plane in St Albans, UK. After landing in Montreal, he was loaded on a truck and brought to the post office, here in Mont-Tremblant, where my letter carrier picked him up and proceeded to deliver him to my mailbox.
This is where it gets tragic…
Yesterday, the letter carrier put Lucky Me in box number 4-A but left me the key for box 4-B (to understand the whole box/key thing, see the pictures in this post). Which means Lucky had to spend all night in a metal prison at minus 42 degrees Celsius (minus 43 F), and had to wait all morning, today, for the letter carrier to drive by and switch him from box 4-A to box 4-B.
But that’s not the worst of it.
As you can see, it’s obvious that at some point, the bag was ripped open and closed up again — clumsily — with transparent tape.
Who did this?
Someone at the airport must have suspected something crooked because Lucky Me had a one-inch gash right beside his tail, underneath the tag (cute tail, eh?).
Did they think Lucky was smuggling drugs? diamonds? explosives? human organs?
So without the use of any anesthesia whatsoever, I quickly stitched his wound while he was still numb from over 24 hours spent in the freezing cold. The little guy’s a trooper!
In view of all this, I can’t help but think Lucky and I were meant for each other — he’s a rock ‘n’ roll soul, used and abused, still standing and eager to move on. YESSSSS.
from Lucky and me