.

or a retired brewer.

Many's the one of that gentry I've helped to retire in my day." He finished his bottle, caught Michael suddenly by both jowls, and, leaning forward, rubbed noses with him.

As suddenly released, with thumping tail and dancing eyes, Michael gazed up into the god's face.

A definite soul, or entity, or spirit-thing glimmered behind his dog's eyes, already fond with affection for this hair-grizzled god who talked with him he knew not what, but whose very talking carried delicious and unguessable messages to his heart.
"Hey! Kwaque, you!" Kwaque, squatted on the floor, his hams on his heels, paused from the rough-polishing of a shell comb designed and cut out by his master, and looked up, eager to receive command and serve.
"Kwaque, you fella this time now savvee name stop along this fella dog.
His name belong 'm him, Killeny Boy.