Frank Kennedy

Conchie the Rottweiler

After our car was stolen a number of years ago and recovered (faithful readers will remember the horrible details in a previous column) and the lingering suspicion in my mind that former Ontario Premier Bob Rae or any member of his cabinet may or may not have been the culprits, my wife, Ileen, decided to give me a Rottweiler for my birthday for protection.

I selected a big one with a shimmering black coat and brown legs. When he stood on his hind feet he could put his paws on my shoulders. He had a blunted face and suspicious little eyes. The kennel said he was trained and house broken. He took an immediate shine to Ileen, but considered me a bit of an intruder. Often he'd sneak a "friendly" nip out of my ankle when I walked by.

I nicknamed the dog "Conchie"—short for lacking in conscience. When my wife wasn't in, Conchie would chase me around the house and I would have to hide under the bed and call 911. I broke him of this bad habit by threatening him with a stun gun I had purchased.

Animal control

Conchie and I would go out on daily walks with an extra long leash, but when he saw a reasonably good-looking dog of the opposite sex, he would take off on me, dragging me over hedges and fire hydrants until I let go. I would stumble back home and the animal control people would eventually arrive with Conchie and charge me with letting my dog run loose.

Conchie would look a little embarrassed and innocent and my wife would inform the animal control people that Conchie was a sweet, adorable dog who wouldn't harm a soul, and that the problem was with me. She said that I harboured a secret dislike for Conchie, and I that had often threatened him with a stun gun. I tell you, I was lucky to get off with a fine.

Eventually I was so fed up, I donated Conchie to the local SWAT team. I learned later from a policeman friend that they re-named him "Rover."

I thought that the moral of this story was that "conscience" can be looked at in numerous ways. My assessment of Conchie differed markedly from that of my wife and the animal control people. But there's more.

'Big John'

I was talking to a neighbour of mine, "Big John" O'Toole after church one Sunday.

Big John (one of his many names) was a faithful weekly Mass-goer; but ironically, he was also a thoroughly experienced hit man, and was called on by the mob for the more "difficult jobs," as he referred to them.

Big John was always complaining to me about his children not going to Mass. "What kind of a world is this?" he asked that day. "Where are my kids going to get their values?"

"But Big John," I replied, summoning up all my courage, "doesn't your conscience tell you that you shouldn't be going around killing people? You're breaking one of the Ten Commandments, sir!" (I always called him "sir.")

"I don't ‘exit' anybody who doesn't deserve to be ‘exited'!" cried Big John. "They've done something bad. They are the real criminals. My conscience is clear."

I was about to suggest to Big John that he could have a great career in politics, when his cell phone rang. "Do you mind if we carry on this conversation some other time?" he asked. "This is an important business call."

Suddenly, three squad cars and a paddy wagon arrived and heavily armed officers poured out and surrounded Big John. A police sergeant yelled triumphantly, "We've got him! How long, Big John, did you think you'd get away with it?"

"My lawyer will do the talking," said Big John. "What are the charges?"

"Three hundred dollars in unpaid parking offenses."

Big John seemed almost relieved, but I was indignant. For a moment I'd thought he'd finally get what he deserved.

"Put him in the paddy wagon," said the sergeant. "I warn you, Big John, our dog Rover there in the back won't take kindly to any attempt to escape."

As they drove away, I heard Big John shouting, "Hey, that's no ‘Rover,' that's Conchie! Help! Get me out of here!"

Rather tickled by this turn of events, I realized the real moral of the Conchie story was this: no matter how messed up our consciences are, justice will prevail, after all.