I saw him for the first time early one spring when the wind was still icy across leftover snow, fragrant with just  the first tinge of new life.  He was bedraggled and thin from a long winter with too little food and not enough shelter,  but proud and independent, and wouldn't come near. He looked like a small lion with his orange fur, white ruff, huge head and slow, majestic gate. His fur was standing all on end in places, spiked and matted and knotted in others. He was beautiful. 

I saw her the first time after a long, damp, miserable winter. I was pacing along the edge of the building and there she was, watching me.  I wasn't afraid, I knew she wouldn't hurt me.  I've been kicked, but long ago when I was young; my instincts are better now. She spoke; I didn't answer, but the sound of her voice touched something deep inside me; I'd remember her quiet offer. She called me Spike.

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His story is  true. He was with me such a small time - I miss him terribly.