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venture.
    â€œYou might be surprised if I told you,” says Cerberus.
    The words send a shiver running down my spine.

Chapter Two
    I was born on the same day as Telemachus, the only son of Penelope and Odysseus. Some would say that this is auspicious. I wasn’t so special. I was after all one of eight littermates.
    Telemachus entered the world in a similar manner to myself—bleating and howling for his mother’s teat. We are not so dissimilar—man and dog. Four legs or two, we enter and leave this world in much the same way.
    The kennels were kept behind the palace at Ithaca, no more than a stone’s throw distance. Some kings like to keep their breeding kennels far away from their palaces for fear of smelling our rich aroma or hearing our pleas for attention. It was not so with Odysseus.
    My master has many praiseworthy and honorable traits. Foremost amongst them is his empathy. He would often take thetime to stop and talk to the most common farmer; to ask them how they were faring and what their hopes were for the coming harvest. This interest in the well-being of others did not stop at humans. He had a great respect and admiration for animals too—especially horses and dogs.
    I won’t delude myself into thinking that Odysseus cared about
all
animals. His primary interest in horses and dogs derived mostly from self-interest. And when I say self-interest, I mean hunting and warfare.
    Odysseus loved to hunt more than almost anything. I don’t think I’m being disloyal by saying that his love for the hunt was at least equal to the love he bore Penelope and Telemachus—and to a lesser extent, myself.
    He kept the kennels close to the palace so he could keep a watchful eye on things. Breeding great hunting dogs was a special interest of his.
    I still remember the day I first saw him. I must have been about a week or so old because my eyes had just opened. This gave me a distinct advantage over my littermates as most of their eyes remained stubbornly shut. While they crawled about, mewling, relying solely on their other senses to find our mother’s teat, I found it with ease, much like a skilled archer finding his target.
    I have fond memories of those times, nestled into the belly of my mother, covered with the warm and comforting wriggling bulk of my brothers and sisters. I was suckling away for all I was worth when I heard the voices.
    I don’t claim to be special but I know that I am unusual. Most relatively intelligent domesticated animals understand simplecommands like “come” and “stay.” Some can even be taught tricks. But what I can do is different. I was born with the ability to understand humans.
Fully
understand them. I suspect that like many of my abilities, it was a gift bestowed upon me by the great Goddess Athena even though I consider myself unworthy. Why waste such a beautiful gift on such as myself? Compared to my master or other great Greek heroes, I am nothing. When all things are weighed and considered, I am just a dog.
    Hard as it is to believe, however, I came into this world with a mind already functioning like someone much older and wiser. I like to think that maybe the spirit of a dead warrior had chosen to inhabit my growing body when I was inside the belly of my mother, filling my empty shell to the brim with thoughts and intelligence beyond that of normal dogs. If that is the case, I hope he wasn’t too disappointed to find himself in the body of a dog. I guess if you had been consigned to Hades for all eternity, life, regardless of which form it took, would be a welcome prospect.
    I probably should have been born human but the Fates decreed otherwise. I am comfortable with that. Despite my attempts at humility, I like what I am, especially because it gave me the opportunity to experience a life surrounded by extraordinary people. There is beauty and joy to be had in this form. I can run faster than any man for one thing and my