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'Page 4, News, Tuesday, July 3, 1990 Editorial The Terrace Bay-Schreiber News is published every Tuesday by Laurentian Publishing Limited, Box 579, 13 Simcoe Plaza, Terrace Bay, Ont., POT-2W0 Tel.: (807)-825-3747 Fax (807)-825-9233. Second class mailing permit 2264. Member of the Ontario Community Newspaper Assn. and the Canadian Community Newspaper Assn. a a Tax this Brian! I saw an interesting bumper sticker at a gas station last week. It read "Tax this Brian" along with the hand gesture that is known as the one finger salute. I also read in a Thunder Bay paper, a comic that sent me into fits of laughter. It pictured a dead Mr. M on the floor with a man above him saying, "Oh Dear...Someone's poisoned the Prime Minister...any suspects?" Another man replied, "About 26 million." Mr. Mulroney's credibility has suffered incredibly in many Canadians' eyes, especially since the Meech Lake disaster. The way he handled the whole deal left a lot to be desired. Talking to premiers one by one seemed to me, to be a pressure tactic. Stalling and leaving everything until the last minute didn't make anyone much happier. Many blame him for the whole thing since he is supposed to keep this vast nation of our's running smoothly. And people are angry over the proposed Goods and Services Tax. As if we aren't taxed enough already. One woman I talked to stated, "There's tax on everything...federal -- income tax, provincial sales tax, hidden taxes in gas etc..,, municipal tax, school tax, and now they're going to bring in the GST!" Maybe someone should send her the above bumper sticker. A lot of people weren't exactly thrilled with Free Trade either. Canadian Forces bases, factories, and businesses were forced to close down after the Free Trade was brought into effect, leaving thousands out of jobs. What's the great PM going to cook up next? It better be something good to bring up the nation's spirits and help us forget the recent disasters. How about an election? Angie Saunders radius); $36 in U.S. ph a: Sane PAE Publisher............. A. 'Sandy' Harbinson ates: pe . ; : year / seniors $10 (local); Office Managet.............Gayle Fournier om $27 per year (out of 40 mile News Editor................. Angie Saunders = rH, To the Editor: Dear Sir or Madam. Enclosed is a summary of events. which happened to a fami- ly we met on our walk last year on behalf of crisis centres. Economic difficulties are list- ed as a major factor in family vio- lence. We sent:this summary to each federal member in March of this Advertising Rep.......... Sheryl A. Knight @\\( \\S aN SSS NS SS ist << NS AS é NS NSN Ye year, with the exception of Audrey McLaughlin, her's is on the way. To date there have been six responses. We thought you should know about the Normans and Federal Corporate Violence to individual families by a pub- licly subsidized corporation. The beer company on the same vessel was paid for every Tel.: 825-3747 veces bottle lost, we have since learned. What about people? We pro- pose the Normans should have a tax credit of $107,000.00 plus interest from 1977...or CN. Make good their loss either by cash of contracts or travel or education benefits, stocks or bonds or some- thing...but not just nothing! The Normans live in a trailer. Sincerely, John Bowman "Dear Arthur: I love your Sometimes, when it's very column! It's the first thing I read when I pick up the paper. But I'm curious -- surely it doesn't take you seven whole days to fill half a page of newsprint. What do you do the rest of the week?" Faithful reader in Richmond Well, Faithful, (can I call you Faith?) -- you're right. It doesn't take seven whole days to write a column. Some weeks I find myself with whole spare minutes on my hands. Much of it I spend as I'm sure you do -- letting in the cat and putting out the garbage, subduing dandelions on my front lawn, broken-heartedly weeding strands out of my hairbrush and wondering if I should take up crocheting toupees. But mostly, Faith, old pal, -- mostly I spend my spare time doing what I'm doing right now -- sitting here, staring at the mute accusatorial, phosphorescent glow of a blank computer screen, waiting for inspiration to strike. close to deadline as it is now, I pray a little. "I'm not asking for The Great Canadian Novel, Lord," I'll say. "Just a little notion -- you know -- something that could maybe fill a half page of a newspaper." I look out my window. Nope. Wrote about looking out my window last month. Hum a few bars of Get a Job. Glance at calendar on wall. Study fingernails. (Hangnails. Have I ever written about hangnails? Probably.) Despairingly look down at feet. And there it is. My inspiration. Rufus the Wonderdog. My stalwart furred amigo and staunch four- pawed companion! A last minute desperation move? Not a bit of it. Rufus is a dog worthy of a whole series of columns -- it not a feature length documentary. Okay, you're not seeing him at his best right now, collapsed over my bedroom slippers, snoring with his tongue hanging out, but at least you can see his basic features. Colour: black and white, just like a Holstein (and at 85 pounds, built kinda like a Holstein, minus the terrific at Meet Rufus, the wonderdog shepherding because he's He has other talents that are Arthur Black horns and udder.) Breed: Australian Shepherd -- or so the pet store owner seemed to mutter out of the comer of his mouth while he was counting my money. I take it on faith that he's Australians, certainly good for nothing else. Well, not true. In times of crisis, Rufus responds like a trained member of a crack Canine Commando Corps. A knock on the door, an explosion, a raised voice, a low-flying bluebottle fly -- Rufus' response is instantaneous and unquestioning. He growls, barks, then gallops directly to his owner (me) and sits on my chest. Worse luck for me if I happen to be standing. Other attributes? Rufus hates squirrels ('though not enough to actually, you know, confront one) and has deep misgivings about any human being under the height of 36 inches. Though not precisely a coward, Rufus will never be "confused with Don Cherry's bull terrier (or with Don Cherry, come to that). He's a non-fighter. A pacifist. If he barked with a lisp I'd solder a bow tie to his collar and name him Lester B. less endearing. He's the only dog I know who howls when he hears the National Research Council Official Time Signal. He's the only dog I know who passes gas at the sound of Barbara McDougall's voice. Which is why we don't watch the news much around our place. Rufus is not what you'd call gainfully employed. In fact if the deadbeats of the world ever need a mascot, I would nominate my mutt to stand (lie) for office. : But he's cute and he loves to lick you right in the face when you need it-most -- and once, his sham, preposterous John Crosbie bark actually drove a flock of pesky Jehovah's Witnesses from my door. And then of course there's the time he shuffled into my office, collapsed on my carpet slippers, looked up at me with those big Uncle Tom brown eyes... And saved my bacon, 30 minutes before my deadline.