Said bitch shares a quality with many working dogs - one no doubt born of years of hunter beatings - and that's an insatiable need to collect something in her mouth.

It is at this juncture that I sigh, put on some warm clothes and release the wrath that is my Chesapeake Bay Retriever she-bitch. (The neighbors probably think that the curious fellow next door greets every day by fighting off a rape.) But after a half-hour or so, Annabel has Emeriled it up a notch, and there's no ignoring the lunatic baying coming from the floor of my bedroom, particularly since it's accompanied by Annabel hurling herself into the grate of her kennel with such force that it often moves several feet. a slow, heartbreaking cry from the crate at the foot of my bed that I can usually silence by screaming 'No!' as loud as I can, then collapsing back into my pillow.