Monica Armstrong

The Purpose of A Poodle
I saw a Marine recently, performing the ceremonial rifle drill. At that moment I suddenly I felt the warm and steady presence of a dear friend, lost 15 years ago. There, as if she were leaning against my knee was the spirit of Betty, my beautiful black standard poodle. This once grand, now humble Philadelphia neighborhood was the scene of the Battle of Germantown, led by General George Washington’s Continental Army and General Howe’s King’s Brigades in 1777. The buildings and gray stone walls of the nearby church and still bear pockmarks from the muskets fired that unusually hot steaming day.
For over a decade, noble Betty, whose full name was Queeny Elizabeth, and I roamed about our old city streets between home, work and play. As always, our busy sidewalks hosted a variety of characters of many colors and dispositions. One outstanding individual was a fellow who, for years, daily patrolled a particular block that held a small cemetery dating back to those revolutionary times. Tall, lanky, dressed in boots and crisp camouflage fatigues, the soldier marched solemnly back and forth, his broom stick held with precision at his shoulder. Silently, with great dignity, eyes straightforward, he performed the ceremonial rifle drill at each corner, day after day, month after month. His presence, his silence and his broomstick often intimidated the less local passersby. One day, the soldier blocked Betty and I as we ambled by the cemetery.
Standing tall, eyes averted, posture parade ground stiff, he saluted us. “ Ma’m!” he barked, “What is the purpose of a poodle, Ma’m!” Startled to be addressed after years of silent passing I paused. Hmmm. My girl, recently groomed and wearing a brightly patterned red neckerchief, gently waved her pompom tail as she stood at attention at my side.
“The purpose of a poodle is joy” I said. “The purpose of a poodle is to make people smile, to love and protect their person, to give complete loyalty to their mission.” A moment passed. “Yes Ma’m! ” with a sharp, silent salute, a repeat of the rifle drill and a slight flicker of eye contact, this wounded yet ever loyal and protective soldier wheeled around and took up his personal parade, guarding the fallen of the Battle of Germantown. It was his honorable mission just as it had been Betty’s to protect me. Monica Armstrong

Monica Armstrong

The Purpose of A Poodle
I saw a Marine recently, performing the ceremonial rifle drill. At that moment I suddenly I felt the warm and steady presence of a dear friend, lost 15 years ago. There, as if she were leaning against my knee was the spirit of Betty, my beautiful black standard poodle. This once grand, now humble Philadelphia neighborhood was the scene of the Battle of Germantown, led by General George Washington’s Continental Army and General Howe’s King’s Brigades in 1777. The buildings and gray stone walls of the nearby church and still bear pockmarks from the muskets fired that unusually hot steaming day.
For over a decade, noble Betty, whose full name was Queeny Elizabeth, and I roamed about our old city streets between home, work and play. As always, our busy sidewalks hosted a variety of characters of many colors and dispositions. One outstanding individual was a fellow who, for years, daily patrolled a particular block that held a small cemetery dating back to those revolutionary times. Tall, lanky, dressed in boots and crisp camouflage fatigues, the soldier marched solemnly back and forth, his broom stick held with precision at his shoulder. Silently, with great dignity, eyes straightforward, he performed the ceremonial rifle drill at each corner, day after day, month after month. His presence, his silence and his broomstick often intimidated the less local passersby. One day, the soldier blocked Betty and I as we ambled by the cemetery.
Standing tall, eyes averted, posture parade ground stiff, he saluted us. “ Ma’m!” he barked, “What is the purpose of a poodle, Ma’m!” Startled to be addressed after years of silent passing I paused. Hmmm. My girl, recently groomed and wearing a brightly patterned red neckerchief, gently waved her pompom tail as she stood at attention at my side.
“The purpose of a poodle is joy” I said. “The purpose of a poodle is to make people smile, to love and protect their person, to give complete loyalty to their mission.” A moment passed. “Yes Ma’m! ” with a sharp, silent salute, a repeat of the rifle drill and a slight flicker of eye contact, this wounded yet ever loyal and protective soldier wheeled around and took up his personal parade, guarding the fallen of the Battle of Germantown. It was his honorable mission just as it had been Betty’s to protect me. Monica Armstrong