Gisele barked once and paws furiously digging, uncovered the body of her beloved. Even in an unnatural death, he was lovely. Pangs of love stabbed through her heart as she nudged him, whimpering. No response. Not one ebony lock of hair twitched, not one thick eyelash fluttered. Seizing the fine fabric of his cuff in her strong teeth, the Irish stag hound shook the arm vigorously. When she let it go, the arm, clad in a woolen jacket, fell to the floor in a cloud of dust.<br/><br/>Frustrated, the hound sat next to the man and absently scratched at a flea on her muzzle while she thought of ways to bring him back. What if this time, he didn't wake? There was a first time for everything. Bone weary, Gisele stretched out beside the man, snuggling her long shaggy body close to his. He was cold, so cold and the stag hound generated enough heat to make the need of a fire place unnecessary in the long winter.<br/><br/>Gisele dozed and dreamed of summertime, walking on two feet, walking  with a man she loved and hoped to make come to love her as passionately. She thought of the day when she shyly told him that she would follow him to the ends of the earth. When she had bared her heart to him and to her surprise, he had listened thoughtfully, seriously, nodding his consent.