Donald Leonard (Dan) Woods
October 18, 1956 – August 22, 2026
Dan surprised himself by living past 50.
He lived quietly in a tiny house beside the Six Nations Reserve that overlooked fields down to the Grand River. He said it was the best place he had ever lived.
Dan befriended everyone – people and dogs alike. He took two lunches to work so that he could share. He was “the old guy” on the Volunteer Fire Department. He mailed books and letters to an elderly man who had no family but hoped for mail daily. He saved food for a stray pregnant dog and convinced others to save food as well.
Dan found ways to make things work. On one occasion, when a visitor was told she could not bring her small dog into a retirement home while visiting a family member, he convinced her to put her dog on her head and wear it as a hat.
Named after his great grandfather, Donald (Dan) Matheson, he went by Dan for most of his life and was known simply as Danny, Dan, Uncle Dan, or more recently, Great Uncle Dan. Dan signed his letters Y.U.D. – Your Uncle Dan.
Like his father and brother, Dan had a beautiful bass-baritone singing voice and could carry a tune all on his own. Like his brother, he was also a perfect mimic.
Dan was an avid reader, cartoonist, and writer of absolute nonsense. Two of his brothers-in-law once received a text that they were accompanying him to Australia for the Heavyweight Kangaroo Boxing Championships.
He was founder and Chief Executive Officer of an elite group called Doctors Without Degrees, a group whose members joined by invitation only.
Dan loved anything small that moved. From an early age he collected snakes, lizards, frogs, mice, baby rabbits, spiders. Once when visiting a friend, he captured and set-free bed bugs, thinking they were small beetles.
Dan tried to protect those he knew and anything young, weak, disadvantaged, or in need of help. In this, he created great good, and on occasion great trouble.
Dan faced illness with courage, stoicism, humour, determined independence, generosity, two packs of cigarettes per day, and a sister who equalled him in all these except the two packs. He gave up whiskey but kept some of the biting wit that went with it.
Dan delayed letting people know about his illness. He wanted to avoid causing pain. He also hoped to see friends and family one more time. After making it to 50 and then past 60, he aimed for November of this year – just past his 70th birthday. He figured November would be a good