Dog at rest outside our house in Two Mountains, Quebec, circa 1971.

Like many things from childhood, memories of favourite pets are, rightfully, suspect. A child has so little to compare their first pet with, that no one should take a 55 year-old man too seriously when he proclaims that his dog was the best dog. Nevertheless, I do make that claim. And I am supported in that belief not only by my parents and my younger brother, but by my late Uncle Marcel, as well as more than one of my cousins. Uncle Marcel spoke about the pleasure he took in visits from Dog after we had moved out of the second-floor apartment he had rented to my family for a couple of years. Dog would arrive at his old home, wet from swimming la Rivieres des Prairies from what was then the Town of Two Mountains to Laval Ouest, stay awhile and then go off on whatever missions a dog would have. (Yes, it was a very different world in the 1970s; nowadays animal control would no doubt have picked Dog up toute suite.) Anyway, whether Dog was as exceptional an animal as he looms in my memory, and the memories of others, he was my best friend for most of my early childhood. And I am not ashamed to say that I miss him still. Read more ...