My new writing help/hindrance

Anyone who has been anywhere near my social media pages the past couple of weeks will have been deluged with images of the newest edition to our household – Granger.

We were broken-hearted earlier this year with the loss of Miss Molly Super Spaniel, for such a small dog she left an enormous hole and the house felt different somehow. Colder. Quieter.

Much of The Sister was written on my lap, carving out a space anywhere I could find, but by the time it was published my eldest son had left home and I bought a desk for his former bedroom. Molly kept me company each day as I wrote The Gift and The Surrogate while the kids were at school and my husband was at work. She’d listen as we ate lunch together and I talked over plot holes and character development with a sense she understood every word.

 

Making the decision to bring another dog into the household wasn’t one we took lightly and we saw 6 litters before we met Granger and fell in love.

Ridiculously it’s been so long since we had a puppy in the house I kind of thought I’d fall back into the old routine I had with Molly with Granger while I write book 4. Ha. Granger doesn’t just lay on my feet as Molly did, he chews them, along with my computer cables, and my chair, and my desk….

It’s a bit like having a baby I think. You blank out the hard bits once it gets easier and then you do it all again. I’d forgotten the crying at night, the getting up to let him in the garden at 3 am, the chewed shoes, the puddles on the floor. 

Despite my exhaustion and inability to write for more than 10 minutes at a time without being distracted, he’s made the house feel like a home once more and I wouldn’t swap him for the world, even if book four might take a little longer than I’d envisaged to write.

 

Flash Fiction – Framed

copyright-scott-l-vannatter

Picture courtesy of Scott L. Vannatter

 

The kitchen window is ajar and I leap inside. My feet plunge into something soft and hot. I hop from paw to paw until my pads stop burning and I sit and lick them clean, staring at the pie I’d landed in. Chicken. Mmmm. I pick out the meat, a little salty but it fills a gap, and nudge the dish with my nose until it clatters onto the floor. I’ll share with blame the mutt. He bounds over, ridiculous ears flapping and slurps up the gravy.

Footsteps approach. I dart behind the bin – I am a ninja.

‘REX!’

Humans – nearly as stupid as dogs.

 

A light-hearted entry this week for Friday Fictioneers. A 100 word story inspired by a photo prompt. Read the other entries here. 

 

Man’s best friend

IMG_4758

 

This weeks streams of consciousness prompt, the word friend, immediately conjured up an image of my old boxer dog, Bailey. Man’s best friend, my best friend. The biggest character, the warmest heart.

IMG_4495

Right from when we brought him home, an eight week old puppy, skidding across our never before seen wooden floors on bambi legs, we knew he would never fail to make us laugh.

 

It wasn’t long until Bailey weighed almost as much as I did but that didn’t stop him being scared of puddles. When he was smaller I could carry him over them, when he was fully grown, we had to navigate our way around the tiniest pool of water, his ears flattened, visibly shaking at the thought of wet paws.

 

IMG_4757

 

Bailey’s size belied his gentle nature. When the boys dressed up as policeman and ‘arrested’ him, he sat patiently, legs handcuffed together long after the boys had wandered off to play something else, until they remembered to go back and release him.

Bailey had a myriad medical problems. His body produced steroids, making him grow to giant like proportions, and his too short eight year old life was spent in and out of surgery. Nevertheless the vets remained one of his favourite places to be. We would walk through the front door and Bailey would jump up and down with joy, often catching his paws on the mesh door mat. He frequently ripped his claws off doing this, blood would spurt up the walls as he spun around in happy circles while the other patients looked on in horror. It wasn’t long before we were ushered quietly in through the back door and allocated our own waiting room.

Bailey loved everyone, but his family most of all, he never strayed far from our side. Once my son left the back gate open and it was a while before we realised that Bailey was missing. We flung on coats and shoes and opened the front door ready to scour the neighbourhood. Bailey was sat on the front door mat, head hung, rain dripping from ears. He sighed, shook his head and padded past us to his bed.

Our house was emptier, quieter, without him and not a single day goes past when I don’t miss him.

IMG_4760

 

 

Written for Streams of Consciousness Saturday – prompt – friend. Write the first thing that comes to mind, no editing allowed.