Ah, Peace, nothing like a good country dog!

The dog who turned me into a dog-lover wasn't even my dog. Her name was Luna, and she belonged to a dear friend: both long passed on. Luna was a vision, a huge dog of unknown ancestry, picked up free at a farm market. She had the most lustrous long white fur, spotless and shining - the guard hairs seemed transparent, like a polar bear's. She most resembled a ghostly Newfoundland, except her snout was longer and more slender, and she had the most beautiful dark brown eyes. I never heard her bark or whine, though she would make excited whimpering noises and Bill said she sometimes howled when they camped out in the woods.

The first time I saw her, she walked over and laid her head in my lap. I house and dog sat for Bill when he had to be away, and Luna was a better and more reassuring companion than many people would have been. A very kind and gentle dog. Bill swore that for a week after he slaughtered his chickens, Luna wouldn't look at him, she was that upset with his shocking behaviour. She'd looked after those chickens!