It is sad news that old Pat, the Prime Minister's Irish terrier, is dead. He was a more familiar figure in Ottawa than many politicians and, I fancy, knew a great deal more. He had better opportunities, of course. When you sat at Mr. King's table in Laurier House, with candles throwing shadows on the portrait of Sir Wilfrid and his lady, old Pat always lay under the table, on your foot, one eye open.
Upstairs, in Mr. King's third-story study, which is the heart of Canada's government, Pat listened to history being made and was never removed from the most secret conversations. He slept in Mr. King's bedroom -- the room where Laurier died -- in a basket, beside his master's bed, and last thing at night Mr. King put him in his big basket and covered him carefully with a shawl. Once in Victoria Mr. King dreamed that Pat was ill and immediately telephoned to Ottawa, but Pat appeared in good health then.
In the life of a peculiarly lonely man, with few real intimates, Pat was a friend completely trusted. Laurier House will be a lonely, gloomy place without him.
Bruce Hutchison, 31 July 1941/Courtesy Victoria Times.
