There they lie, snurfling, stomachs gurgling, chasing rabbits in their sleep.
No, not your editors or agents. Not this time, at least.
No, I’m talkin’ dogs.
And they deserve a little credit for our myriad of successes.
[Hey, my post — my delusion.]
- They foist exercise upon us. They darn near will themselves into their harness, after they’ve planted their two front paws on your chest, that is.
- They drag us from our ergonomically questionable work positions to feed them.
- With their need for occasional backyard visits, they force us out of our stuffy, dust mite-infested, outgassing [the plastic products in the window, not you] office for a breath of fresh air.
- Their irritating self-grooming ventures distract us from our pathetic, self-flogging ‘I-can’t-put-together-a-clear-meaningful-sentence-if-Western-civilization-depended-on-it’ abyss.
- They jolt our comatose pulse rate with their citywide announcements that a squirrel/cat/prowler is traipsing along our back fence/car’s hood/living room.
- Lapping up the remains of our breakfast on the nightstand reminds us they need a mid-afternoon snack. And you could do a little clean-up. [Yes, those are dishes from two mornings ago.]
- They suggest new characters for our stories [the ever-salivating cubicle worker, the retiree in serious need of ear-scaping, the witless boss oblivious to his ill-timed scratching].
- They provide an audience seriously engaged in your read-aloud of the day’s draft, the faux-beef ‘Woofalicious’ treat planted on your shoulder, notwithstanding.
- Finally, they subtly remind you that your loved ones still hold trump over any one of your writing endeavors.
So, yes, I’m sure a few agents and editors belong in the pantheon of writing productivity.
But leave a little room for dogs, and their water and kibble.