From the author: During Xena's end-times I often supposed I ought to write her memoirs. Yes, without

question, to honor her. I also felt that in doing so the world might come to know one of

the truly great dogs of our time. However, selfishly, before her demise I also wondered if

doing so might lessen the inescapable fracturing of my psyche when her body was to be

no more. There was an abyss ahead, this was certain.

One afternoon about a year before she perished all became clear. We were resting

together quietly. Dancing up and down her lovely spine, photons of winter sunlight

sparkled blue and magenta on her wavy coal-black hair. Her all-seeing eyes held my

heart still. There it was then, surely, no doubt. My assignment. Xena asked me to cast

up for others the story of her life, beyond her wildest dreams.