I have two dogs, Kipling, the younger dog has become my protector and if I have a tumble with the boys or Terry, he flies into the fray and attacks them! He's my constant shadow, forever under my feet. Occasionally I'll slip away from his sight and hide and he tears madly around, in and out of rooms, checking all my usual hiding places, following my trail, but always losing it. He becomes quite agitated if he is unable to find me as I slip from room to room. He's my ally, my confidant, my constancy. He's always there. He never answers back, abuses or expects anything from me. He just gives his devotion willingly and affectionately. He sleeps by the side of my bed on the floor each night and if I rise for any reason, he pads along beside me. I'm woken each morning, by a wet nose in my face and a tongue that attacks any bare skin as soon as the radio alarm goes off. When I write, as now, he's either at my feet under the desk or atop the desk, a furry ball of fluff. He loves company. What would I do without him I don't know but it's a pity that some men aren't more like dogs ... (though some would disagree!)