THE litter was whelped under a caravan in a junk yard. Only those who did not know, called it a junk yard. Others knew that it was a place to find the unattainable. Out of production car parts, odd size bolts, old cars, tractors, fridges, washing machines, pumps and more. Alternators, generators and starter motor rebuilds were done in the barn-like building in one corner not filled with spares. The owner also knew dogs and when he suggested taking one of the litter, it coincided with what had been a put-off intention. Then just a month old, he was small, almost square, ankle high and full of yard fleas. I called him Jake, after the small, world-champion boxer.
My retirement years are spent on my veranda. Facing north it looks out over four mountain ranges, each further away and bluer than the previous. The property is more than two hundred years old and Jake came when there