Strangler

Remembrance Day has long meant more to me than having a few beer at my local bar and listening to and telling stories about the Hell on Earth we know as war. My dog Strangler died on Remembrance Day 25 years ago.

Strangler was a big Northern Girl. Alpha, intelligent, strong, fast, independent, affectionate and good humoured. I rescued her from a neighbour who was treating her badly, just as others had done before him. I do not know where she originated from but I suspect she was a commercial dog team lead dog at one time who escaped an uncertain fate and found her way to me: a man who had never had a dog.

She both rolled in and ate shit, a downside of all the northern dogs who have journeyed with and bettered me in this life. Strangler had fewer opportunities to engage in this brown behaviour than the dogs who followed her into my life because homelessness and the rise of living and shitting outdoors did not really get going until late in her life.

She did not nor would not be fenced in much as I tried and she knew the neighbourhoods I lived in and their surrounding neighbourhoods better than I. Street smart, she did so without ever being injured as she wandered. Her memory was such that after being driven to visit friends she would often escape the next day and go straight back for another visit. After one house move her first escape came to an end when the local butcher phoned to tell us she was having a good visit with him.

Northern dogs are known for their sense of humour. Strangler was no exception to this rule. Her favourite prank was to slip her long tongue into your mouth when you were least expecting it. She never tired of doing this and the laughter in her eyes never diminished each time she did so.

I sure do miss my Strangler all these years later.