Social connection and a sense of belonging are vital to our health and well-being. We are very fortunate on Denman that we can be as reclusive as we wish and with very little effort have social connection when we need it. I worry however that Rufus may not have had enough social connection over the winter, living as he did on a remote part of the island. I met Rufus when he was living a little closer in, on Lake Road, and he picked me up hitch hiking. With a chuckle he pushed his dog into the back seat to join the others. Said dog kept sticking his head and a lot of his body between our bucket seats in the front, insisting on his right to ride shotgun and slobber all over me. Rufus kept on chuckling as he shoved him back, probably thinking I must be alarmed by the dogs and the state of his car. Actually the state of his car was much like the state of our car, only it smelled like dog whereas ours smells like manure. And I like dogs. And I liked him. Months later I chatted with him when he was staying at Sudasi’s. And then I’d see him every so often outside the store and we’d talk. We also talked on fb messenger about his apple cider vinegar. I appreciated his posts on the DI fb Bulletin Board, and I respected his intelligence, his honesty, his humour, his sensitivity and his sense of irony.  I think a lot of people on this island feel like I do, a sense of loss and sadness that he is no longer with us, even though they may not have spent a lot of time with him. Maybe because we are on an island, we seem to become familiar with one another through some kind of osmosis, shared environment and occasional meaningful interactions that bond us. I can’t speak for everyone, but the community I know, for the most part, feels like one big extended family that I love and feel loved by, warts and all, theirs and mine. For many of usRufus was very much a part of that and I sure hope he knew it. 

I remember the first day I met you in 2017. The hat, the cigarette, the staff, the dog. Back when it was just you and Paul. A man and his dog. 

You knew what you liked, what you stood for, and you knew how to get stuff done. No matter the problem or task, you would figure out a way to fix it - in your own time, in your own way, but it would be done. And done well. 
You were a man of your word, a man I could trust.

I recall your strength, so evident in your handshake and your hugs. Skinny and strong, there wasn't much you couldn't do. Moving 50 12 x 8 boards without a break and lifting huge boulders into place was impressive to watch. You seemed to enjoy your own strength, proof that you could rely on yourself, that you didn't need help.

You were proudly opinionated too, unwavering in your beliefs - I will always remember our long talks over a cuppa tea on the lawn as I got to know you and learned to trust and respect you. You were easy to know but hard to reach. You said it yourself on your fb page: 

"I want to be cuddled but I also want to be left the hell alone. Being crazy is hard."

You were deeply kind and sensitive, a fighter for the underdog and the weakling. I remember the little black lamb who wouldn't nurse and couldn't walk and yet you brought it to life with your love and tenderness, fed it every 2 hours day and night and let it sleep with you for warmth. It was you we could trust with the care of a newborn - puppy, lamb, sparrow or human child. Thank you Rufus.

I am sad that you are gone, and yet glad that you no longer have to suffer the depression born of loneliness. Now you are free, and hopefully enjoying unexpected beauty beyond your expectations...as you posted a few weeks ago on your page: " 

This morning the storm had passed. The power was out and the dogs were restless. So we dressed up warm and rode to the store. The odd bark of excitement, the sound of 16 paws in the snow, the trees groaning a little, the bike pushing though...I'm so grateful for these moments. They were honestly not expected."

RIP Rufus.