Author Archives: Dominic Sabourin

Mans Best Friend

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“Mans best friend.” This symbiotic relationship between man and animals can be traced back to prehistoric times. Domesticating animals was a smart way to benefit from animals while reciprocating by feeding them and giving them a home. For example, dogs have stronger jaws and are efficient at tracking prey, so they were useful for hunting or protecting land. In almost every corner and culture in the world, you’ll find pets. Although many domesticated animals are still used for work, more and more pets are purchased for companionship. Breeders and shop owners sell animals for aesthetic purposes. The sales of exotic animals have increased a lot, which the ultimate sign of status.

I’ve been interested in animals ever since I was a child. My mom, jokingly, would tell people I was going to become a Veterinarian. That idea quickly dissolved when I reached high school and almost failed Biology in grades 11 and 12. I also liked animals that were intact and not cut open. Now I’m in Radio Arts and Entertainment, but my love of animals has never dissipated.

I have lived in my mom’s house all my life. Unfortunately, we weren’t allowed to have pets since we have landlords. That was the excuse my mom gave us, but in my opinion, it was mostly because of the work involved. My satisfaction usually came from my grandparent’s houses. My grandma owned a black lab for many years but unfortunately passed away before I was old enough to remember it that much, and my grandpa had cats for many years. Fortunately, my grandma’s acreage is adjacent to two other properties. These two other properties always had dogs around. Whenever my brother and I would visit her, we would whistle a few times and Mason would run over with excitement. We were kids that stayed out all day and could give a dog all the attention in the world. Mason was a medium-sized black dog with hints of tan on his tail and around his nose. There was one other great bernard who occasionally came over named Doser.

These two dogs stayed with us religiously when we were there. Around noon my brother and I would go outside, call them over and stay there until dinner time. The two dogs were easily pleased and only needed a few branches to keep them satisfied. When they were there, I treated them as if they were my pets and I know the relationship was mutual. Mason hasn’t come around for a few years now. Even though they hung out with us, they were technically not ours.

I wished for a cat or a dog, and many of my friends and family members did have proper pets. For my eighth birthday, my mom let us get two hamsters as an alternative. They probably cost less than 20$, the cage probably costed more. It was no puppy, but for a pet-loving kid who had never owned one, I was ecstatic. I got a white one and named it Snowy while my brother got a brown one. The two hamsters were initially in cardboard boxes, but we decided to move them into a proper cage. We set up the cage in the bathroom and put them both in. Everything was going fine, we thought nothing of it, what could go wrong with two males living in the same cage. We quickly realized that these two hamsters were born to be archenemies. They were fine at first, but as roommates go, eventually they got irritated with each other.

One day we came back from school, both of them were bloody from fighting. My mom came up with a brilliant plan on how to separate them. She would construct a wall that would split the cage in two. Each of them had their bachelor pad and should have been satisfied, but life couldn’t be that easy. One day I walked into the bathroom, did my business, and when I was leaving noticed something strange. The barrier was still intact, but both hamsters were on one side of the cage. Perplexed, I looked closer and realized my brother’s hamster was very gashed up. He had squeezed himself under the metal wired barrier just to fight Snowy. He was obviously very motivated because even after injuring himself, he still ended up doing a number on Snowy. Even with all the roadblocks, the two hamsters ended up living for two years.

I definitely realize the commitment needed to keep a pet. Although these two hamsters were a handful to take care of, I’m not put off by owning a pet. I wouldn’t scrutinize my mom with surprising her by bringing home an animal, I frequently check cats up for adoption. So eventually, I have no doubts that I’ll own a cat or a dog when I have my own place.

Theatre Nostalgia

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Theatre can be traced back to the Ancient Greek civilization of Athenian in the 6th century BC. People would sit or stand on stone benches in arenas and amphitheatres to watch greek playwriting. This is where acting was creating. Slowly but surely, now in the 21st century, theatre entertainment is at a click of a button. Digitization has transformed theatre in arenas into films in theatres. Now, theatre is at the convenience of our own homes, with streaming platforms releasing new content daily. The more we step into the future, the more it seems that entertainment gets more accessible and more remote. It used to be an event. My grandma tells me about getting all dressed up on a Friday night to go watch a movie with friends. Whereas I watch movies as I get ready to go out with friends. Theatres back then cost 50 cents for admission, whereas now it can cost upwards of 15 dollars.

Is the quality of film going up or down? Movies can be produced at a faster rate than ever before, and in my opinion, that can sometimes hinder quality. That being said, the experience factor has never been higher. Theatres are trying to find new innovative ways to watch movies. We have UltraAVX, D-Box, and now VIP movies, which gives you food and alcohol options.

I was always a big fan of movie theatres. Throughout Elementary school, going to the theatre happened once in a blue moon, and it usually needed to be a special event. The theatres weren’t so extravagant back in my youth. If I was lucky enough to see a movie, there were two theatres I visited, Park Theatre on Cambie Street and the Oakridge Mall cinema. Both theatres had a long history, Park Theatre opened in 1941 and Oakridge cinema opened in 1985. Park theatre is still running, but Oakridge theatre closed in 2012.

Oakridge theatre was apart of our youth. Before eating cake and opening up gifts, we would often watch a movie. Just outside the entrance was a row of payphones. When you set foot into the theatre, there were a few booths for buying a ticket. All the future and present movies playing were postered on either side of the wall. A staircase separated the buying booths from the main area, where you could buy your candy and popcorn. Like every theatre, corresponding movies were advertised on different doors around the main area. My friends and I always tried to enter higher rated movies. We would nervously walk up to the teller and ask for the ticket, waiting to see if they would ask for our age. Usually, they did, and usually, they refused us entrance. Sometimes we had our parents there to usher us in. Our parents thought little of PG13 movies. They would try to reassure the teller.

For my brother’s 11th birthday, my mom set up a party to go watch RED. We were all very excited, a group of friends going to watch the newest badass movie. We all got to the gate, and my mom told the worker she wanted x amount of tickets for us. Like always, I was looking at the vendor’s expression. We were usually by ourselves while trying to sneak into an older rated movie, but this time we had my mom, so it was bound to be successful. Like clockwork, the vendor asked our age, and my mom responded correctly. The vendor then told my mom that we weren’t allowed to watch it alone. My mom disliked theatres, especially “cheap action movies,” so she would need to indulge in the entertainment if we had any shot of watching it. My mom was adamant about not going in and insisted that giving her consent was good enough. We considered other movies, but they were all so lame, and we were already anticipating watching RED. My mom, not wanting to trample on our dreams, she sat far away from us and watched RED in agony.

Back in 2009, one movie, in particular, broke the gates grossing $2.7 billion. The fusion between 3-D and CGI made this movie the talk of the town. I was nine years old and had never experienced a proper 3-D movie in theatres. My mom had seen multiple glowing reviews and surprisingly suggested we go watch Avatar on the weekend. Thankfully the movie was playing nearby at Park Theatre. It was the first time I experienced putting on glasses for a movie. You can smell the carpet when you walk into the Park Theatre. I think this rustic sense gives the place character. Park Theatre has always been small, with only one screen, one concession, and usually only a couple of workers. I don’t think I had seen the place so packed before Avatar. It was unlike any other experience.

Two weeks ago, I had tickets to Cineplex, two entries, two sodas, and one popcorn. I invited my friends to tag along and watch a movie. The plan was to go eat and then head downtown to Scotiabank. Unfortunately, we were running late, so we looked up the movie we wanted to watch, and to our surprise, it was playing at Park Theatre. The events of the night turned unexpected. We tried going into a bar to get food. We were caught off guard when we realized it was Stand Up Comedy Night. I had always wanted to go to a stand-up bar, so I was pleasantly surprised to have stumbled into one. The show was going to end just as the movie was starting, and the bar was neighbouring Park Theatre. After the awesome comedy show, we stumbled into Park Theatre. The nostalgia hit me, only two workers were there, and we bought our snacks from the small concession before walking in. Only us and a handful of other people were there. We could pick our own out of the sea of seats. Just like I remembered, the theatre was cold, carpet laid the floor, and the floor matched our seats. I couldn’t have been happier.

Blurred Kayaking

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When I think about enjoyable memories, it sometimes feels unbelievable. As if I’m trying to piece together a dream that I’ve just woken up from. It’s as if I have the climax but no beginning or end. Maybe if I had a camera or a journal, it would be more concrete.

The Human Memory: “Memories are not frozen in time, and new information and suggestions may become incorporated into old memories over time. Thus, remembering can be thought of as an act of creative re-imagination.”

The truck lugging the kayak rack stopped. On the north tip of Tofino, twenty of us grade 10s bunched up around the kayak launch section. Two seaplanes were docked to the right of us. To the left of us, a huge blue building was perched on a dock. Our blue camping backpacks sprawled out, bursting with tents, food, and extra clothes. It was time to unload the kayaks from this multi-levelled rack. Some of us needed to climb up on the metal beams to reach the top. We started sliding the kayaks, letting them fall into the arms of our classmates who are anticipating the catch. We’ve practiced this ritual more than once. Like clockwork, we’ve promptly unloaded all the kayaks. Some of us dug into our bags probing for small snacks to eat while our teachers gave the last instructions before launching. We would be embarking on a four-day kayaking trip around the archipelago that surrounds Tofino. We would visit multiple islands before reaching our final destination at Vargas Island. We put our waterproof skirts on and dragged the kayaks in the water. We dug our paddles in the sand and pushed off, lunging us towards the open ocean.

We paddled for hours in and out of channels surrounded by small islands dense with trees. We ended up on this rock surface with moss growing out of cracks. This site was overlooking the ocean and a big marsh. This marsh was dense with waist-high trenches. Little shrubs of grass and thicker dirt pathed the way between these trenches. We set up the tents. In the morning, we set up the small stoves on the rock to cook breakfast. I remember the sound of the metal stoves cratching against the rock. I was probably eating trail mix waiting for the pasta to boil. At some point, either before or after eating, a couple of us walked down to the marsh. The dirt was not as wet as I would have assumed. As the tide came in, the trenches slowly filled up with water. We could look up and see the group set up on the boulder. Some watched us, while others were concentrated on their activities. Only my friend and I stayed to watch the trenches fill up. We discovered that small fish were making their way into the channels. We started trying to catch the fish with our hands. To our surprise, it was easier than anticipated. The water in the trenches was warm to the touch. The warmth was probably secreting from the dirt that had been laying in the sun all day. At some point, I was submerged in the water. With the grass between my toes, I stood still waiting for an opportune time to grab a fish. They would slowly surround you, and if you were quick enough, you could grab one. I wasn’t expecting the fish to have that much strength. I only grasped it for a few seconds, felt it wiggle then released it.

We must have left, onto the next destination. On the way, my friend I fooled around, pirating other people’s water bottles and quickly paddling away. I remember paddling into a patch of bull kelp. Bull kelp could reach a height of more than 100 feet. They have a bulb filled with carbon monoxide on the top to keep it afloat. Sea otters also tie themselves to bull kelp when they sleep, so they don’t drift away.

We reached Vargas Island. We approached a small beach that disappeared into the forest. The beach was probably the size of two basketball courts. We pulled the kayaks past the tide line so the boats wouldn’t float away at night. A few yards into the forest, two spaces were conveniently cleared for tents. Two separate groups set up tents on the dirt ground. We were once again briefed about the importance of stashing away any food or even scented body products. There were wolves on Vargas, and facing a wolve was on no one’s bucket list. Unfortunately, someone had accidentally left food in their vestibule, which is the entrance of a tent, and apparently, a wolve had gone through his bag trying to find it. That was the only close encounter with wolves.

One of the days, we hiked to a beach. It must have been the day after the wolve incident because some were nervous a close encounter would recur. The path we took was tight, it had the sense of being a maze, tall blackberry bushes would hinder any horizontal movement. In some parts, the mud was damp and slippery. To not fall, you’d need to watch your footing. We walked for a good hour. Suddenly we were exposed to the sandy beach. The beach was endless, as far as the eyes could see. Small rock mountains stood partially on the beach and in the ocean. Boulders laid down on the wide beach.

An hour or so away from our small beach was this endless beach. For the three days we stayed at our campsite, we made it our own. There was a small rock wall that had a small waterfall from a current that ran down the island. We used this waterfall to refill our water supply. There was a sterilizing process that made the water taste a bit metallic, and you could never filter out all the small bits of debris. We watched sea anemones constrict on food and crabs that we fed them. We played football in the daytime and made fires at night.

Writing this has helped me remember parts that had faded before. Although I don’t remember paddling out of Vargas Island, I know the trip back to Tofino must have been long. Getting back from a trip is always different. Everything is in disarray. Your bag is unorganized, you feel as if you’ve lost multiple items, and because you haven’t washed in decades, you long for a shower. At the moment, you’re exhausted and can’t wait to get home, unaware that in the future, you’ll look back at it in awe.

The Wrath of Wasps

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In the ’90s, my grandma’s house was beachside, overlooking the ocean on the Sunshine Coast. Similar to Vancouver, the name Sunshine Coast is deceitful because it rains around 40% of the year. It must be fun they said, living beachside they said, until Fall approaches and the windchill hits. When she was still living there, my grandpa set out to find a new location to live. After some research, he found a farm that was being sold in half. A 10-acre property to which one half contained a house and the other half a barn. He thought nothing of it when buying the plot with the barn. In his eyes, this barn was already home. He convinced my grandma that with a little work this barn could become a home. A few years later, with some spit grit and a whole lot of duct tape, a one-floor barn house was born. Although I couldn’t do half of what he did, the home is not perfect.

Because I was in school, the only time to get away was during school breaks. We would visit in the winter, spring and summer. This acreage became my second home. It gave my brother and me a place to run around free with no worries. We would build forts in the forest, climb trees, play sports, help my grandpa with his questionable projects and always get up to mischief. It would usually go unnoticed but not always.

Unlike other seasons summertime wasn’t littered with rain or snow. The sun would bring out several creatures, some nice and some not so much so. A black bear or dear would be a rare pleasantry, whereas several Hymenoptera insects were all too common. Insects like ants, bees and wasps fall into this order. Most insects are tolerable, but the wasps are not. Wasps at my grandma’s home are all too familiar. It is easy to stay away from wasps as long as they don’t nest near you, but this is impossible at my grandma’s. Yellowjackets build their nests on the forest floor that surrounded the property. Paper wasps have open nests and build them under overhangs at every entrance of the house. I typically tilt my head, peeking up at the overhang before opening the door and making a swift exit dodging anything that flies my way only to run into yellowjacket territory.

I have been stung by a bee, but even after all these years running around, never by a wasp. Family members have been stung, my brother has been stung twice, and thanks to us, my mom has as well.

Our shenanigans would usually go unnoticed because they happened in the forest. The forest was sometimes too repetitive it was necessary to leave to find something new and exciting.

My grandma’s place has a front and backdoor. The front entrance opens up centred to the dining room table. To the left is the living room and to the right is the kitchen. My grandma is responsible for the front entrance. The entrance is not just for shoes and coats but has an antique armoire filled with family photos and fancy guest cutlery. On the other hand, the back entrance is my grandpa’s responsibility. Sprawled across the back floor are old work boots and dusty jackets hang from plastic coat hangers. Instead of an antique cabinet, there’s a cheap wooden shelf. Instead of family photos and refined cutlery, there’s an assortment of tools and pesticide bottles. A young boy would be interested in the back entrance rather than the front. It also has way less traffic if someone would want to take something.

One day we got sick of the forest. My brother and I slipped to the back and grabbed a bottle of lethal bug killer liquid. Wasps at this time were prominent, and we knew just the right nest to conquer. It was a warm afternoon day so the wasps were as awake as ever. They were doing just great. The hose is at waist height at the side of the house. A nest was set up where the nobs of the hose were. My brother and I stood seven feet back, positioned ourselves and started spraying. Wasps started going frantic. They swarmed around the nest trying to sting any intruder. Some fell to the floor, but some flew away to safety. We were unaware of what was happening around the corner. My mom and grandparents were having lunch on the patio. They realized there was a sudden increase in wasps in the area. Not more than a few seconds later, our bodies were still positioned towards the nest spraying, but our heads were turned to the left looking at our mom sprinting towards us. We dropped the bottle. The only thing that saved us from her wrath was the swarm of wasps that we unleashed. Of course, she ran right through them. We heard her shriek behind us. We didn’t mean any harm, so we stopped right away.

Wasps either ruin you barbeque or, worse, hurt you. They are usually viewed as a nuisance rather than beneficial. Most of the time, humans only interact with a small portion of wasps out of the thousands of species. They won’t bother you if you don’t bother them. I know the stigma that surrounds wasps needs to change. From someone who doesn’t enjoy the company of wasps, here’s something. They are beneficial to the environment. Some species are predators and control the population of other insects that may be intrusive. Because some wasps drink nectar they carry pollen from one plant to the next. This labels some of them as pollinators. Larva feeds the adults by transferring their protein diet into carbohydrates. The carbohydrates are transferred into sugar droplets that the adults can eat. Wasps bother your dinner parties when they’re forced to find other sources of food when the larva are gone.

When I was 18, I watched a Youtuber named Coyote Peterson getting stung by a hornet. Not to worry, these Hornets “are native to Asia.”
Now, I’ve come to peace knowing that some times, I’ll need to be alongside wasps. I’ll go a step further in saying they’re not a big deal, I haven’t gotten stung in 21 years, and they’re good for the environment; But if those murder hornets, whose queen can reach up to 5cm long, find their way into my grandma’s property, I’m burning the place down and forcing her to move. Those memories made there are not worth getting violated by a murder hornet.

The Gateway

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As school started, the quick transition from summer into fall was around the corner. Our group had become interested in longboarding at the start of the summer. I got a Never Summer board for my birthday in August. A blue phoenix graphic and the company name imprinted the smooth bottom of the board. We spent whole days riding and finding new hills to descend at uncomfortable speeds. We needed to take advantage while the sun was still present. One weekend a few weeks into school, we decided to meet up, but this was going to be no ordinary event.

We all lived in the same area, surrounded by parks and places to hang out. On that day, I grabbed my longboard and rode up to my friend’s place seven blocks away. Out of the three of us meeting up, he was the only one who didn’t share a room with a sibling. I entered his patio door, walked up the carpeted staircase and entered his room where they were playing videogames. After chatting about the most random of subjects for a half-hour an unplanned question sprouted. Before this moment I was pessimistic about the idea and had never given it much thought. One by one around the circle we answered yes, myself included.

We were lost in incompetence and didn’t know where to find it, but we knew a guy. We sent a text and waited with anticipation for his reply. “I can help you out.” It was a done deal. Butterflies started filling my stomach from the thought of trying something new. Before I knew it, we were riding towards his house. After arriving, he informed us about the procedure and stated the price. We only needed one.

The door closed behind him. We gathered around as he revealed what was hidden in his palm. I had never been so close or even seen it before that day. We took turns holding it and inspecting it. We still required his assistance even though it was in our possession. We continued to Hillcrest Park. We discarded our past plans. A couple of new friends joined us, unaware of what we had obtained. We found a concealed spot, a row of four concrete stairs leading to the basement of a building. This spot was perfect. We all sat down and pulled it out of its bag. One pulled it apart, laying down the pieces on the screen of a phone. To make the cylinder, we wrapped the thin paper around a pen. We lit it up and passed it around. I held it with my thumb and index finger. I raised it towards my mouth, pursed my lips and inhaled. The end of the paper lit up and crackled as I inhaled. I opened my mouth and relaxed my jaw, letting the smoke slowly exit and dissipate into the air. We had officially started our new chapter of highschool.

Opposites Attract

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The age-old question do opposites attract? In the midst of the pandemic, I have entered into a new relationship. Although just being on the market a few months ago, I’ve known her for a good part of a year now, and we share the same friends. I wonder to myself how did I end up in this position. I’m the furthest thing away from disappointed, but here’s a secret about myself. As many can relate, I’ve grown up being the quiet one in the group. I tend to keep to myself and only express myself when I feel comfortable. I go with the flow and often lean on other people when it comes to decisions. That being said, I’m not much of a flirt. That’s what I mean when I ask how did I end up in this position. At this point, you would be correct assuming I wasn’t the one initiating the mingleation. We hung around each other from time to time, and a relationship eventually bloomed from a friendship.

I knew we were different in the sense of being reserved. She’s direct and never gives a second thought when pursuing a conversation. On the other hand, I tend to approach circumstances cautiously, almost overthinking situations. Although I knew her for a while, I quickly found out more about her as the days passed. Little differences between each other started to appear.

One day we were downtown, on a whim, she was inclined to buy new shoes. The shoes in question are common and can be found at multiple retailers. Without trying them on or checking the price she purchased them. The world is not imploding because of this purchase. To the majority, this sequence of events is very normal, but growing up my mom was very thrifty. She often searched for the best prices possible, and frequently repaired or refurbished items. Being raised in my mom’s house I inherited this ideology. As a result, I routinely shop at consignment stores. I’m not appalled or against shopping at retail stores. I simply enjoy laying out all my options before concluding and enjoy getting the best bang for my buck.

She lives in the moment, without the thought of future regret. This is her life and she lives at her own pace. Saying one way to live is better than the other comes down to personal opinion. This balance of caution and spontaneity works in unison. We are not polar opposites. Both of us enjoy many of the same things. More often than not we are too busy sharing similar interests, but when an opposite attribute emerges we take notice because it’s irregular. Like many, we aren’t attracted to each other because we are opposites but on occasion piggyback on each other in times of discomfort. In time hopefully, I inherit some of her attributes. Adapting and learning from life so I can add pieces to make my puzzle whole.