Once as a kid who'd only been walking for a year I decided on a hot summer day to crawl into Queenie's dog house. It was very hot and she was a full-sized Collie. What a dog. She nipped me on my cheek because I was yanking her tail. She got what for from my Aunt and Uncle, and so did I. Anyway, a bear came down from the mountain (Laurentian's, so just big hills for you folks in sight of the Rockies or Selkirks or Coastal Range. She backed it off and had it running back up the hill in about two minutes according to my Uncle. He went after the bear with Queenie, ax in his hand. (As a btw, my uncle had that same ax for over 30 years. It had had two new heads and five new handles. Thanks Bill D.)

She was unintentionally left at home by her nominal owner, Uncle Billy who was not a real uncle but my Uncle for all that. He'd got stuck out of town and Queenie held her bladder for at least 24 hours. The poor old gal met him at the door and for the first time he could recall she went outside without his permission and let loose a flood that would scare some folks. There she was barking, wagging her whole hind end, the chorus of which kept time to her tail.

She would block me if I tried to leave the yard or go near the road. No one taught her that. It's just the way she was. She died in her sleep. Uncle Billy, now too passed on, was in tears for a long time.

Much like Bee's dog, she would 'patrol' the beach when people were in the water. She disliked the water, but if she thought people were distressed she'd go in after them. She plain and simple liked life and humans. Got on well with other dogs, too, with the understanding that she was the matriarch and that was that. She had a certain regal quality to her and imo richly deserved her name.