Conrad Boyce is the editor and publisher of the Cosmos. He has a BA in English from the University of Alberta and a diploma in journalism from Grant Macewan Community College in Edmonton. He lived and worked in the Yukon and Vancouver Island before arriving in Ontario in 1995. Beyond these pages, he is the Artistic Director of OnStage Uxbridge, and the technical manager of the Uxbridge Music Hall.
In the Goodbye to Mr. Chips
He was just a barn cat, a tough old black fella who slept on the hay, used an empty horse stall as his litter box, and took his mousing responsibilities very seriously. Actually, none of us knew whether he was “old” or not; Farmer Fred, the man who owns the barn, found him at the animal shelter on Reach Street last fall, and took pity on him because it looked as if he’d been abused, maybe someone had taken a lighter to his legs or something, there were scars there that told a story of a lot of pain at some point in his life. So he seemed old to us, wiser than a cat is supposed to be. He was a bit of a scruff, but he had a purr that filled the barn when you scratched him behind the ears. Fred called him Mr. Chips.
The only reason we got to know Mr. Chips was that right around Valentine’s Day, Fred got a call from his friend Charlie on Brock Road who was downsizing, and wondered if Fred would like a companion horse for his gentle Ben. That would be fine, Fred said, but he didn’t really have the time or money to take care of another horse right now. Then he recalled a conversation he’d had at a wedding a few months back with my wife Lisa. With Fred, the conversation frequently gets around to horses, and Lisa told Fred about her history as a horse lover, and Fred said she could come and take Ben for a spin (or whatever you do with horses, I don’t have much experience in that area myself) whenever she felt inclined. Lisa said that would be fabulous, but being very reluctant to impose on people, I knew she probably wouldn’t follow through on the invitation.
But Fred remembered what she’d told him, and all of a sudden out of the blue on a Thursday night in February, Fred was calling Lisa, asking if she’d like a horse. Free, just like that. Lisa had been around horses almost all of her life, but figuring she wouldn’t get to see them much any more, she’d sold her saddle only a couple of years ago. She’d never owned a horse before. She asked me what I thought. I almost screamed “Yes!”. If ever there was a time that she needed the focus and loving care that a horse requires, this was it.
So the next Sunday, we went to visit the horse. He was a 12-year-old chestnut gelding named Pegasus who hadn’t been ridden in five years. He wasn’t very big, but he had a lot of spirit, and when Lisa talked to him, he listened. So she said yes, and Fred and Charlie walked him over to Fred’s barn that very afternoon, and suddenly our family had gotten bigger. A lot bigger, actually, because the barn was also home to our new in-laws: Fred’s big horse Ben, a couple of Holsteins named Roy and Dale, and of course, the hospitable Mr. Chips, whose barn it had really become over the past few months.
Over the past ten weeks or so, we both came to spend a lot of evenings at Chips’ barn, taking the beasts in for the night, making sure they were adequately fed and watered, mucking out the stalls. But the first thing I would always do when we arrived was make sure that Mr. Chips’ food and water dishes were filled. He was the king of the castle, after all. He wasn’t always there when we arrived - off inspecting the property, no doubt - but he inevitably showed up before we left. Wouldn’t want to miss his scratches.
Before long, Lisa began working more and more with Pegasus, first on a lunge line, then - a lot sooner than she thought - with a saddle ( a new one she’d happily bought). To her delight, he took to the experience of being ridden again with not much complaint at all. And as the snow disappeared from Fred’s fields, all of us would be out there watching the two of them - Ben, Roy and Dale, me, my trusty mutt Lacey (who acted as if she’d been around horses all her life), and most especially Mr. Chips. He seemed to take a very proprietary interest in Pegasus’ training. Pegasus lived in Fred’s barn, therefore he was Mr. Chips’ responsibility. It was kind of funny to watch, this small black cat out there in the midst of all the giant beasts, but obviously to Chips it was very serious; he was always the last animal back in the barn.
As the fields got more and more lush with fodder for the horses and cows, Fred was less inclined to bring them in at night, so unless the weather was good for riding, it wasn’t necessary for us to be there each evening. The weekend before last, though, neither Lisa nor Fred were around, so it was my turn to watch the weather, and bring them in if things got nasty. On Saturday, the rain was relentless, so about dusk I decided to let them all dry off for a while. I got Ben in with a carrot, and Pegasus soon followed, and Lacey and I were able to herd the cattle back home without much trouble. But I called Mr. Chips for 15 minutes, and no sign.
I went out next morning about 8 to send them all back into the fields. I walked into the barn, and my heart sank when no little black cat walked up to welcome me. I let the beasts out, and called again for a long time, but he never came. It’s been ten days now. Fred leaves his food bowl filled, and I suppose there’s a chance he’s just out roaming. But the barn was his place, the animals were his people. He wouldn’t leave them unguarded for so long, not if he could help it.
A few days before Chips disappeared, Lacey heard coyotes across the road from Fred’s place. They’re all over these woods, and I suppose Chips just ran into one, and couldn’t get away. So goodbye, Mr. Chips. You might have been just a barn cat, but to me, you were the real spirit of the place, and I’ll never quite get used to you not being there.
