Chapter 1

Blue chose me. I adored him from the start and was thrilled when he made it clear to his previous owner that he wanted to go home with me that day.

We’d moved to England from Italy but my husband still worked on the Continent. Glen would fly over whenever possible on weekends, but mostly I was alone with our three-year-old son in a centuries-old Cotswold stone house in the middle of twenty-six acres. I did not enjoy my dark walk to the stables for the nightly check on our four horses.

I decided a big dog was in order, a fierce-looking pet. Scouring the ads, I saw a couple of Bull Mastiffs for sale and drove over to see them. They rushed to the wire fencing of their outdoor kennels with KILL!written all over their faces. These were no pets!

In despair I reread the paper and spotted a fifteen-month-old Great Dane looking for a new home. All I knew about the breed was that it’s huge; curiosity made me dial the number.

His house was the size of a postage stamp, with an even smaller garden, in a crowded neighbourhood. Whatever possessed his owners to buy such a large dog?I mused while ringing the front bell. A massive, dark form loomed on the other side of the bottled glass door with a man in tow, who opened the door. Next to his owner stood a very polite, huge Great Dane who looked at me inquiringly. Three feet at his shoulder, he was dark grey with a white bib and two white paws. He didn’t make a sound.

When I put out my hand out to stroke his head, the dog graciously allowed me to touch him. As I needed to know how dog and boy would get on, I’d brought my son with me. Ross fearlessly copied his mother, instinctively trusting the animal whose big black nose pushed into the little hand stretching high to touch him.

“Hi, come in,” said the man, holding out his hand. “The name’s John Jones.”

“I’m Hilary Walker and this is my son, Ross.”

We shook hands and followed him into his diminutive sitting room, where Ross and I sat on the sofa and he sat opposite us in an armchair.

“What’s his name?” I asked, pointing to the gentle monster.

“Smoky,” he replied, then asked anxiously, “What kind of dog are you looking for?”

He fondled the animal’s large grey ears as its chiselled head leaned into the arms of his seat. When I told him, he asked, “You just don’t want a guard dog, then?”

“No,” I admitted, “I want a pet who lookslike a guard dog.”

John was reassured. Then another thought worried him. “Do you have enough room for him to live in the house with you? I really hate to let him go, but we’re not allowed pets here. And anyway, this house is too small for him.”

“Our house is pretty big and we have twenty-six acres for him to run around in,” I explained.

John smiled. “Sounds ideal. But could I check your property before you take Smoky?”

“Of course,” I replied.

Then Smoky did something extraordinary. He moved away from John’s chair, padded on huge paws over to mine, and turned round to plant his very substantial rear end in my lap, confident I’d be flattered. I was! Pleased as anything at his showing such trust and acceptance of a stranger, I continued talking as if nothing had happened and stroked the tall, broad back of the heavy dog sitting coolly on my legs. I had to peer round him to maintain eye contact with his owner. When I stroked his face, he pressed his wide muzzle into my palm. You’re okay,he seemed to say. Ross leaned across and cuddled the huge torso—Smoky turned his head in benevolent approval. You’re a good kid.

Tears formed in John’s eyes as he related how well the dog played with his little daughter and how loath he was to part with him. His next home hadto be a good one. I learned that his particular color is called blue and that Great Danes have small hearts for the size of their body and therefore a short life expectancy—usually six to seven years. Over-exercise can easily twist their intestines, but they do need a lot of room for wagging their never-ending tails. I was soon to learn Great Danes knock a lot of stuff off coffee tables and shelves, and have heads the ideal height for circling shark-like around the dinner table, looking for scraps.

Suddenly John said, “Look, I can see the dog likes you and I saw your Range Rover outside, so I believe you’ve enough space for a big dog. Why don’t you take him now?”

“Are you sure?” I could see how hard this was for him.