I lost my ever lovin' mind . . .

Well gang, I finally did it. I lost my mind. I was surfing around on the Net when I shoulda been writing, looking at (what else) puppies and puppy rescues, pretty much anything related to all things furry and four-legged, and I was mindin' my own business when I hit a related link, and there he was. My puppy.

And I lost my ever lovin' mind. Started bawlin' like a banshee right there at the keyboard, right in the middle of an ordinary afternoon, just drinkin' iced tea and eatin' Cheetos, and I started crying my eyes out. R came runnin' in, "You okay? You smash a finger or somethin?"

"No," I said, "I found my dog." He just shook his head and went back to fixing things in the big house, and I went back to emailing the lady on the website to tell her she had my dog, and to please hold him for me, I'd be there quick as I could to come pick him up.

To show you how far I've lost my mind, I have to drive all the way to Louisiana to get my mind and my dog back. But that's okay. I'm going to go pick up my mama and take her with me, we'll go make a little Cajun roadtrip out of it, and come back with some po'boys, a puppy and hopefully, a mind that is whole and fully intact, such as it is.

Puppy crisis averted, for now, back to writing that dang book . . .

Looking for Dog in the little things . . .

I've had puppies on the brain all summer long, but I've been on the fence about what to do about it. They're so much responsibility. There's the potty training and the chewing and all the million things you forget when you're in the thralls of being charmed by little puff balls of puppy-ness. And then there's the fifteen years of another life depending on you--no trips without him or without making plans for him, there's just so much to think about.

On the other hand, there's nothing quite like the unconditional love of a dog. Nothing like coming home to someone who is literally head-over-heels happy to see you. Nothing like snuggling up to a furry friend at the end of a hard day. Nothing like a cold nose and a warm heart. No better muse than a dog who thinks you're the most brilliant writer on the planet.

I think I'm a goner. I think I'm getting a puppy. I'll keep you posted.

Remembering Tahoe

I've been thinking about my boy a lot lately and missing him so much it's like a phantom pain. I sit down to write, and he's not there, his soft ears near my knee where I absently stroked them trying to come up with something poiniant, if not poetic. He's not there to remind me to take a break, to dance in the kitchen, to wander the neighborhood, to smell the evening news. It's tough to write without your muse.

It's been a year and a half now. More and more often I find myself surfing the web instead of writing, popping by pet rescues, looking for the dog who's out there looking for me. Knowing when I see him, I will know him and he will know me. I know there will never be another Tahoe, unthinkable, I know, but perhaps there will be another dog and another day . . .