Briar Cottage was the somewhat over-romantic name that the old flint cottage boasted, but as I was to learn later it was always known as 'Old Jim Brown's Cottage' - so my friends found out to their cost. There was an outhouse to the cottage as well as four rooms and all these were in a sorry state. The roof was in need of re-tiling and the interior had to be rewired before I was able to move in. But, in spite of everything, I was reallly pleased as the cottage fitted my basic
requirements:- It was situated in peaceful and beautiful countryside where I would be able to write undisturbed.

The garden was large so there was ample room for the dogs' kennel and a spacious run for them.  After three months of hard work, and with much help from friends, I finally moved into Briar Cottage, one sunny June morning two years ago. All my furniture, books and various
oddments had been safely installed the night before moving day, so I was free to wander around, hanging paintings and arranging ornaments on the day itself.

Quite soon my cottage was fairly presentable, so I decided to continue the work on my latest
book before turning my attentions to the wild and over-grown garden. The dogs were happy and settled in their new run, so I was content to leave them there during my working hours.

It was two weeks after I moved in that the trouble began. I remember quite well that it was a
clear morning with all the promise of a hot day, so I took my typewriter outside to put in a few hours work before lunch. Before long distressing cries from the dog-run interrupted me, so naturally I rose and went to see what was the cause of my dogs' cries.  To my astonishment
Jenny, who was only a year old at the time, was cowering inside the Kennel, howling pitifully. Sheba too was upset - crouching outside the kennel - but her hackles were up, and she was staring through the wire netting of her run.  Gradually Jenny came slinking over to me, tail between her legs, and quieted down. Sheba gave me an apologetic lick. Then slowly, her tail began to wag.

This alarming behavior of my two dogs greatly disturbed me, and after much puzzling I came to the conclusion that they must have had their first encounter with a snake.  Everything went smoothly for the next few days - my book coming on nicely, the dogs had settled down very well, and I had made a few friends in the village. The next unpleasant experience happened to me - it had been very hot all day, so I had opened all the windows in the cottage before going to bed, and left my bedroom door open. I awoke with a start in the early hours of the morning, having been suddenly aware of warm breath on my face. My first thoughts were that an intruder
had climbed in the window and that I ought to put a light on.Quickly I leapt out of bed and ran to the light switch.

At the same instant my alarm clock fell off my bedside table for no apparent reason, and I was very conscious that someone or something was in the room, watching me. The net curtains blew gently open as I stood by the light switch shaking, and trying to pull myself together. After
this scare I decided to bring the dogs in from their kennel as I was too frightened to sleep in the cottage alone.

The familiar sound of the milk bottles clinking together on the doorstep next morning was so
normal and commonplace that I would have been tempted to dismiss the night's happenings as an unpleasant dream had it not been for the presence of Jenny and Sheba in my bedroom. I
didn't do much work that morning, and after lunch packed the dogs into the car and drove over to visit my parents who only live twenty miles away.

Both were alarmed at my tale and suggested that I should have a telephone installed in case of further intrusions, and that I should bring the dogs inside at night. My father then proceeded
to phone the G.P.O., who finally agreed I was a special case and could have a telephone installed at Briar Cottage before the week was out. Feeling a lot happier I went home and passed an uneventful night with one dog lying underneath my bedroom window sill and the other stretched out beside the door.

The following day was extremely hot and I soon gave up any ideas of working. Instead I pottered around the garden in a t-shirt, old denim shorts, and flip-flops. To my delight I noticed some raspberries growing in a previously unexplored part of the garden, and was just leaning over to pick some when I almost fell over backwards. Something had brushed past my legs,
and it was not my imagination because the hairs on my legs were standing on end. I think my reaction then was one of absolute amazement for I could see both my dogs lying in the shade of a withered apple tree, and no cat could have remained undiscovered for long with those two dogs loose in the garden! Could it have been a rabbit then? This theory I soon dismissed as being highly improbable, and decided to try to forget the whole affair if I could, although it was most strange.

It was when my newly installed telephone rang for the first time, causing a vase to fall off the
hall table and >break, that I really became worried. I knew then that there was something in the cottage that had obviously had a fright when the telephone rang. Still puzzling over what the something could possibly be I collected my purse and walked down to the village post-office to buy some stamps. I must have been looking rather worried, for the lady who served me asked me whether something was wrong. The temptation to tell all was too great, and I poured out my tale of odd happenings at Briar Cottage. A crowd of people had gathered behind me by now, and the silence was finally broken by one who asked me to go home with her as she had something to tell me which she thought might solve the mystery.

Of course, I agreed to go with her as by now I was very anxious for everything to settle down, because I could not write while I was in such an uneasy state of mind.  On the way to her small, white-washed house my companion introduced herself as Jessie Connelly. She was
friendly, well-dressed, and I judged for her age to be around thirty- not much older than myself. Once inside the house she told me a very sad story.

About twenty years ago she had climbed into what was the Jim Brown's garden to pinch apples. This became a regular occurrence after she'd discovered a young Irish Setter chained
to a makeshift kennel. Surprisingly it hadn't barked at this young apple thief and this encouraged Jessie to go forward and stroke the handsome dog. Gradually she had realized that the animal was half-starved and was never taken out of the garden for a walk, and even that noone else in the village knew of Jim Brown's dog.

Once, she'd seen him beat the dog and had run forward, trying to stop him. He'd threatened her with the police and all sorts of things for trespassing if she didn't keep quiet about the dog.

Jessie, being young and at an impressionable age, hadn't dared to speak of this cruelty to her parents, but instead sneaked regular offerings of table scraps and the occasional bone to Gipsy (she had privately named the dog). When she spotted Jim Brown going off to the pub
she would run to his garden and let Gipsy off her chain to play.  Then, that Christmas, Jessie's mother was taken into hospital and so Jessie was sent to her grandparents for two weeks. When she came back Gipsy was dead. She had probably caught pneumonia in her cold damp kennel, but Jim Brown had left her lying there, still chained up for days before he removed her
body.

Jessie told me that she'd cried so much after this that her parents had to be informed and were
really angry not to have been notified earlier. "Perhaps we could have saved Gipsy then,"  Jessie said, "However, I think you are now being haunted by Gipsy's ghost, but - don't be frightened anymore. She was a very gentle dog in spite of the cruel treatment she had from Jim
Brown. Your two happy dogs have probably woken her spirit, and she'll want to make up on all that she missed when she was alive."

At this point Jessie stopped and looked at me, as if she was afraid that I might think her stupid
for suggesting that the ghost of an ill-treated Irish Setter was haunting my cottage.   I couldn't speak though, because there was a terrific lump in my throat and the tears were welling up in my eyes. Jessie went to make me a cup of tea and gradually a feeling of anger against the now dead Jim Brown overcame me.

When Jessie returned I declared that I was no longer afraid and I would try to let Gipsy rest in
peace if there was any way I could. She suggested that I should talk to her and generally treat her as one of my own dogs.  This seemed a good idea and I planned along those lines on my
way home.

After tea that evening I made my first overture towards Gipsy. When I called my dogs for a
walk I called her too. She did come with us that evening although she wouldn't venture near me. The grass parted gently as she ran in pursuit of the other two setters, and I heard the
leaves rustling in the woods as she tried to keep up with her new companions. Jenny and Sheba had been decidedly nervous at first until I convinced them that it was perfectly normal to bring a ghost-dog on our walk!

After that Gipsy was one of them, joining in their mad games and mock-fights. A few days passed before I could persuade Gipsy to come right up to me. I had sad down in the garden, stretched out my hand and called her softly. Soon I felt warm breath on my hand, and then all the way up my arm to my ear. It tickled my ear and I laughed gently. The warm breath then went around my neck and down the other arm - I was being inspected. After this initial nervousness Gipsy was my constant shadow. I spoke to her as much as possible and was able to tell that this pleased her.

Newspapers would be "fanned" off the table as she wagged her tail. There are many happy advantages to having a ghost-dog; they cost nothing to feed, they are very clean and do not leave a set of muddy footprints on the floor after walks in the rain.  They will sleep anywhere, although I must confess that Gipsy tended to favor my bed and, in spite of the apparent
"nothingness" she was a considerable weight on my feet.

However, Gipsy had disadvantages too; I could not check her in any way other than speaking
crossly. She wouldn't heed 'no dog' rules, often with catastrophic results. Once she followed me to the village shops when I wanted to do a quick shopping. The village store has 'No Dogs
Allowed' notice prominently displayed, although I suspect this is to protect the overfed black cat which passes its daylight hours asleep on the shop counter, rather than for reasons of
hygiene.

This particular day I made sure Gipsy stayed outside and went in to await my turn in the queue.  The service was slow and leisurely so by the time it was my turn a number of people
had gathered behind me. As the shopkeeper turned to me the cat suddenly shot awake! His fur went on end and spitting furiously in my direction, it streaked along the counter and onto some
shelves. Tins fell, jars broke, bags of flour split open - in fact the shop looked as though a "typhoon" had hit it! People looked at me in amazement - obviously they'd never before seen
anyone who had such a horrific effect on cats. I knew that it was Gipsy of course, so collecting my bag I muttered a hurried 'goodbye' and escaped from the shop, trying hard to restrain my
laughter. it was a long time before I dared shop there again.

My first real problem with Gipsy occurred when I had to make a business trip to America. Jenny and Sheba I had arranged to leave in kennels, but I couldn't think what to do with Gipsy. She obviously couldn't go to kennels with the setters- that was out of the question. I couldn't
take her with me either. It was Jessie who finally came up with a solution - offered to 'housekeep' at the cottage for me and look after Gipsy, Jenny and Sheba at the same time. Gipsy had remembered Jessie from earlier years and was always pleased to see her.   Time passed and Jenny, Sheba and I all grew to love Gipsy very much indeed. My writing progressed nicely and I became engaged to my publisher, Philip was soon accepted by Gipsy and he fell for her charm too! We planned to knock down Briar Cottage and build a house in its place. The three dogs and I stayed with Jessie while the building went on and she was one of our first visitors after we moved into our new house.

The garden was an awful mess so we decided to knock down the rubbish heap and build a patio in its place. it was a horrible shock to find a rusty chain attached to a dogs skeleton amid the rubble by the rubbish heap.  It was the remains of Gipsy and Philip decided that she deserved a better burial than this.

Later that day we buried her near the dog-run, and I cried then as I had never cried before when we lowered those pathetic bones into the shallow grave beneath the lilac tree.  We were happy to have given Gipsy a peaceful resting place at last but then, as silently and mysteriously as she came, Gipsy went. A bit of my heart went with her.

People wonder at the simple inscription above Gipsy's grave - "Gipsy 1954-59 and 1974-76.", and that is one of the reasons why I have written down her story.  Last week Philip brought me home an Irish Setter puppy whom I have named Gipsy.  I will make sure that she has a happier life than her namesake.

The End.