The Day Dog-Detective Albert was Born

I fell in love with the original "Albert" while staying at an ancient 18th century hamlet in southern France. A commune of farmers had originally built the hamlet to house their families, tend to the fields below, and raise goats and sheep.

Our host had converted the interior of these farmhouses into individual apartments, while still maintaining the original stone walls and cobblestone steps. We were offered one of these apartments for our summer sojourns, which began my love affair with southern France and Abou.

From the moment Abou jumped into my lap and licked my face, I knew he would be my Muse. I joined him on his hikes and while I conjured up paragraphs he ran through fields of clover tracking down his prey. Abou was a small dog with the strength and courage of a giant.

Then one summer, another dog came to greet me when we arrived at the hamlet. Our host said that Abou had been run over by a car. They'd replaced him with another Jack Russell, but there was no replacing Abou. His spirit accompanied me when I took walks in the clover fields, but my grief was palpable.

Several years later, sitting in my writer's cabin, also perched on a ridge, but in Carmel Valley, California, I was scanning photographs in pursuit of ideas. My eyes gazed into a photograph of Abou and me. I ached for his companionship. It suddenly burst into my head, as all good ideas do, that he could live again in the historical mystery I was writing. He could aid my character, Sarah, in finding out the truth about her sister's death. Voila!  Detective-Dog Albert was born.