HALIFAX, NS—It’s 9:51 p.m. on a Monday. Tiger patrolman Clark Clarkson gets a call from his dispatcher with an all-to-familiar report.
“Is it the Tiger again?” he says into his radio. “I’ll go pick him up.”
Lying in the middle of Wickwire Field, with a half-dozen bottles strewn around him and a large pile of vomit next to his head, is The Dal Tiger.
Dalhousie Sports fans may recognize The Dal Tiger from his various appearances along the sidelines, and during halftime of Dal sporting events. What they may not know is the dark past that continues to haunt the jovial mascot.
“I was maybe two months old when they picked me up,” says The Dal Tiger. “The poachers came and tranquilized my mom while she was bathing, then they just scooped me up, loaded me onto a freighter and away I went.”
The Dal Tiger was raised in captivity at the Oaklawn Farm Zoo, in Millville Nova Scotia. He recalls being a star attraction in his youth, until one fateful afternoon.
“I was doing my usual thing, you know, walking around my 10×10, doing a roar here, a stretch there, hopefully some people will come by and cheer for me. They only feed you if you get a good crowd reaction,” said The Dal Tiger.
“A couple of the zookeepers thought it would be funny to let me try whiskey,” The Dal Tiger says before pausing.
He shakes his head, mumbles something to himself, and yells, “Look I’m a tiger, I eat my prey asshole first. Self-control isn’t exactly my strong suit.”
That was the start of The Dal Tiger’s alcohol addiction.
Soon it became such a problem that the staff at the zoo began searching for ways to get rid of The Dal Tiger.
Flash forward to the present day. Patrolman Clarkson walks over The Dal Tiger and nudges him with his boot.
“Come on, The Dal Tiger, let’s get you home,” says Clarkson.
“I hate this fucking place,” slurs The Dal Tiger.
“Shouldn’t have signed that contract,” says Clarkson.