This canine writing lesson comes to you courtesy of not one, but three dogs. You see, its been snowing heavily here in southwest Wyoming and my little guy Andy and I spent several days a few weeks ago camping out at my parents’ house, since its much closer to the library where I work and the roads were terrible. This was actually pretty awesome for me as I got to have triple puppy playtime with Andy and the family dogs Jack and Cleo who live with my parents.
One day while I was cavorting with my trio of wiggle bottomed fuzzy friends, I noticed something rather interesting. Like all dogs they of course like to wrestle and play fight with each other. Sometimes they sound like they’re about ready to kill each other and I get worried, until I notice the tails wagging. All three dogs have different tastes and preferences when it comes to toys, but there is one type of toy that will never fail to get any of their attentions: whatever toy the other ones are playing with.
The toy in question this particular day was a squeaky tennis ball, which had managed through the magic of “someone else is playing with it so it must be mine” to attract the attention of all three dogs at once. As I held the anointed toy in the air all squabbling ceased and all attention riveted on my hand as though it were a golden beacon of divine light. I would toss the toy and three wiggle bottomed fuzzy missiles would rocket down the hallway, all vying to be the first to lay jaws on the anointed toy.
Jack, on being the first, would rush back to my side and proceed to gnaw on the ball in his usual attempt bring about the demise of the squeaker. Captain Destructo Jaws, as he is sometimes called, is easy to get the toy from for another throwing, however.
Cleo, on being the first, would immediately rush back toward me, but detour around the other dogs. Being a dog obsessed with fetch her one and only goal on getting the ball is to get it back to me unhindered so that I might throw it again. To that end she will keep an iron jawed grip on it until she is certain it will end up safely in my hands and not with one of the other pooches.
Andy, on being the first…well, being still a puppy and not yet wise in the ways of fetch he just runs around with the ball in his mouth, very proud of himself, until he gets distracted by something and drops it. Little goof.
There are various strategies employed for being the first. Being the first off and after it. Distracting the other dogs by messing with another toy en route. Distracting the other dogs with teeth to slow them down (this strategy usually results in neither dog being first and the third getting there ahead of them). Jack’s frequently employed strategy of “I’ll just wait here and steal it when one of the others brings it back”.
Poor Andy, having plenty of guile but not yet the strength or experience of the other two, is rarely the first to the ball as of yet. Not for lack of trying. He’s got determination on his side. But my little dude just wants it so badly he keeps trying harder every time. One of these times, unfortunately, his headlong dash to beat Cleo resulted in a headlong bonk into the wall when he tried to cut a corner too fast. He was fine, but needed to sit out the next couple throws to nurse his pride.
This admirable but self injurious persistence got me to thinking about a time in my own life when I was pursuing a writing technique for productivity I had been told at a conference was essential for success for all writers. A simple thing really. A simple thing which I, for whatever reason, found remarkably difficult. No matter how hard I tried to make it work.
For several years I labored away with this technique, wondering why things were falling apart and why I seemed to be making less and less progress as time went on, rather than more as was supposed to be happening with this technique. I, however, did not realize for a very long time that it was the technique itself causing the problem. I of course started to blame my own failings and shortcomings and tear myself up inside for not being good enough. Eventually it got to the point where I actually dreaded sitting down at the keyboard to work, and when that happened I thought for half a year that the end was nigh on my writing dream.
Finally, ready to throw in the towel forever but too stubborn to just give it up without a fight, I decided to have a deep, honest look at my life over the several preceding years and try to figure out what the problem was. What resulted was a remarkably eye-opening conversation with myself, wherein I finally realized what the real issue was and made a change that set things back on track.
I’m not going to pretend things have completely reversed themselves. Quite some time has passed and I’m still not quite back to where I was prior to implementing what for me turned out to be a doomsday technique. Yet I am well on my way there, and now armed with better mental and emotional tools to handle similar situations in the future. If a literary fiction writer were penning my life this is probably about where something ominous would happen and the story would end.
So, you’re probably wondering what happened with Andy when he finally got back into the game of fetch? First one to the ball the next two throws, and a huge smile on his face the rest of the day.
Canine Writing Lesson #5: He who runs into the wall instead of stealing the ball must rethink how he chases at fetch.
Human Translation: When everything is falling apart and it seems your dream is doomed, the time has come to have an honest conversation with yourself.
