Gone to the dogs

As I am sure you are aware, husky dogs have traditionally played a central role in Inuit life, and whilst the Honda and Ski-Doo have long since replaced the dog team as the preferred form of transport in these parts, many huskies continue to be kept as pets. Some huskies are still bred to race though, and events such as the Ivakkak cross-Nunavik race (similar to the Iditarod in Alaska) are highlights of the cultural and social calendar.

Basically what I'm trying to say is that there are an awful lot of dogs in town, and with such numbers come the inevitable strays. Many are friendly, and will tag along with you as you walk, but every now and again you will come across the odd renegade stray, and life then becomes just that little bit more interesting.

One of my work colleagues was confronted by such a stray recently, and for a few minutes she was forced to do her best impression of one of those police dog handlers that you sometimes see at displays; you know, when they wear huge 'Michelin man' padding on their arms then get their expertly trained dog to attack them. Trouble was, she had no assistance from the Michelin man! Luckily, the man who drives the sewerage truck was on hand to help beat her canine assailant into retreat before any real damage was done - not quite the Milk Tray Man I know: that's how things are done up here - but Cujo is still on the loose, somewhere.

Twice this week I've been followed by a rather imposing looking stray husky on my way to work, and whilst my perambulations about town have so far been uneventful, I get the worrying feeling that it's only a matter of time. Dominick tells me that you should look at a dog's tail to work out what mood they're in, but it's the other end that I'm worried about. Oh well, best summon some of that British stiff upper lip, I guess. Now, what would Barbara Woodhouse do...?