The writer’s dog sits patiently by the writer’s desk. Most days this is the kitchen table because it’s got the best light in the house. The writer’s dog drowses and waits while the writer scratches the itch called writing. Is it time for a walk yet? The writer’s dog usually has a better sense of when it’s time to take a break than the writer does.
The writer’s dog is, after all, an expert on narrative. He knows you’ve got to have variety and action, a change of scene every so often. Characters can’t just sit around. Something has to happen!
The writer’s dog also knows that there are really only two stories: a stranger shows up at your door (intruder alert!) or someone goes on a journey.
For the writer’s dog every walk in the neighbourhood is the Odyssey, the epic of Gilgamesh, and the voyage of the Beagle, all rolled into one. Everything must be sniffed, investigated, poked at, and if need be, peed on. Who knows what we’ll meet on the way? It’s such an adventure! Who is that coming toward us on a bicycle: friend or foe? Every passing car is Don Quixote’s windmill. Come back here, you, just come back here and see what you get!
The writer’s dog will tell you that The Wizard of Oz is about a dog going on a perilous journey and getting home safely. Sure, there’s a girl involved, but it’s Toto who makes the big discovery and saves the day.
The writer and his dog are both obsessed with leaving their mark. I am here, the writer announces with a line of words. I am here, the writer’s dog announces with a dribble of golden drops. Some days the writer thinks the pee probably gets more visitors than the words.
The writer and his dog both thrive on a little love and affection. The writer’s dog, being much cuter, generally gets more. The writer doesn’t mind, though: most days he’s okay with being left alone. Just give him a kind word or a head scratch now and then and he’ll be fine.
The writer and his dog tend to agree that a nap is the finest moment of the day.
Neither the writer nor his dog understand negative feedback at all. How could they give my book a bad review? I poured my heart and soul into it! How can you get angry about me chewing up your slipper? It tasted so good!
The dog and his writer both love to gnaw on things. The writer will chew the bone of an idea, then decide he’s done with it and bury it, only to dig it up again to gnaw away some more. The writer’s dog already knows this process will never be finished. There’s always a little more to get out of a bone.
Whatever he’s engaged in, the writer’s dog gives it everything. He holds nothing back. He greets the writer at the door as if every time they meet is the first time and the last time.
The writer’s dog reminds the writer what paying attention really means. It’s something you do with your entire being.
Lovely. There is something to be said for always being in the NOW. A luxury, I suspect, at odds with the process of creating a fiction. Doggonit…
Love this! 🐶