These dogs are frequently thought to be forerunners of death. They are seldom found very far from the sea, and some folklorists believe them kin to the man-eating water horse or the selkie seal people. Originally told in the British Isles, these stories migrated with the British and Scottish settlers, following them all the way to Nova Scotia. This is one I heard around a campfire. I’ve added a little to it. To say that Willis Dougall was a drunkard was a little like calling an ocean deep. Willis used to tell his friends that he’d been born in a drought year with a thirst that ran bone deep. He was, as folks would say, clearly under the care of the bottle, and he’d lost track of the cork a long time ago. One fine Nova Scotia morning, Willis Dougall set out for the town of Antigonish, accompanied by his brother, Dane. They decided to ride along the sunny reaches of the harbour. They rode up and over and down the steep rugged North River hill through the level stretches around the landing where the ships came in.
