Shimmering orange tints blazed back the reflection of the torrid light.
He was Sunnybank Lad; eighty-pound collie; tawny and powerful; with absurdly tiny white forepaws and with a Soul looking out from his deep-set dark eyes.

Chum and housemate he was to his two human gods;--a dog, alone of all worshipers, having the privilege of looking on the face of his gods and of communing with them without the medium of priest or of prayer.
Lady, only, of the Place's bevy of Little People, refused from earliest puppyhood to acknowledge Lad's benevolent rulership.

She bossed and teased and pestered him, unmercifully.

And Lad not only let her do all this, but he actually reveled in it.

She was his mate.