Loving Frieda took a long while. She used to try and tear me to bits, and felt the same way about my dogs. She is unpredictable around people, and a terror out in the woods. She is the biological opposite of my dogs in every way – she is a mixed breed, a rescue, has all sorts of aggressive tendencies and traits, will tear off into the woods after rabbits and deer, and run for hours. She is explosively arousable, hates being on a leash, and loves to terrify passersby. She is a hunter and a runner, and I suspect she was trained as a security dog.
  It was three months before she would let me touch her or leash her up. Now, she is still arousable, and unpredictable. But she walks in the woods with my dogs, will more or less sit and lie down, loves to lick me on the nose. This morning, my dogs were out in the yard, and Frieda was out back in the pen where the goats used to be – we have to separate her as she is still unpredictable and can get aggressive quickly.
   She has never been in the farmhouse, staying with Maria or in one of the barns and pens when she is here. Maria was off working, and I went out back, let Frieda out of the gate off leash, and said nothing. She followed me into the house, sniffed around, grabbed a bone then followed me into my office. When I sat down – still not saying  a word – in front of the computer, Frieda lay down at my feet, took a deep sigh, and went to sleep. There, with a new writing dog I wrote a chapter in my novel.
  When I was done, I got up and Frieda did too and we went outside and she went into her big kennel and chased some sticks. It was as if she had been writing with me for years.