A Face Only a Mudder Would Love

Believe it or not, this is a golden retriever. Actually, he's quite a handsome golden, but with all the rain we've been getting, he becomes a mud puppy... every time he goes outside.

         Some people complain about their dogs not wanting to go outside when it's raining. Sometimes, I wish I had that problem. Once Radar's out for five minutes, he might as well be out for five hours, because after a few minutes, it would be impossible for him to get any muddier...

         This dog loves the water and loves the mud. 
    
         When he comes in from prancing and galloping in the raindrops and digging in the mud, he's covered from nose to tail with mud... and has a face only a mother would love.

        It makes me wonder if my WIP is the same. Will I be the only one who loves it (or likes it slightly)? Will I think it's a seamless, entertaining and moving story... but no one else will have the same opinion? Right now I'm up to 65,000 words, but have reached a crucial point in the storyline. Will I muck it up? Or, will I be able to successfully navigate around the obstacles so that--eventually--I'll be able to finish it?

       Only time will tell...

       What story do you have about a pet or a kid who did something--and only you were able to laugh about it?

Kill the Word "Never"

           A couple of years ago, I said (and had been saying for a long time) that I would never write a romance story. However, a couple of romance anthologies called out for submissions, I wrote two short stories and one (not my best one, in my opinion) was published.

          I have said (for decades) that fiction is not and has never been my thing. I'm a creative nonfiction type of gal. Memoir is what I like writing. And yet one of the pieces I'm most proud of is a fictional short story about Bigfoot. (I still haven't found a home for it.) Currently, I'm 50,000 words into a fictional manuscript. There are times I feel like saying, "I will never finish this," but I bite my tongue and remain optimistic...

         And even though I know that death is inevitable, I thought we'd never lose Huey. Huey came to us as a foster dog a few years ago. His owners had moved and just left him--a senior dog--to fend for himself. He was always funny about thresholds--he'd do several quick left turn-arounds before coming up the two steps into the kitchen--and in fact when he first came to us, we'd have to lift him into the house, because he'd refuse to cross the threshold.

This is Huey when we first got him.

        When Teddy (the little dog who lives behind us) would be out running the perimeter of his yard, Huey galloped (as much as an old guy can gallop) and tried to join in the fun. Huey was always in the mood for getting petted. At times he was a grumpy old man, but he earned it. After all, he was just shy of being sixteen years old.

        Last week I got up and Huey couldn't get up. His hind legs could no longer move. We made an appointment for that evening. He was fed lots of treats, he got to take a last ride in the car as he savored the smells--the windows down and the wind blowing his ears back--and he was put out of his pain.

        Here's a picture of Huey on his last day:

         So, the first two nevers I should do without. Perhaps I'll write another romance (but probably not, as I'm not very good at it). I'm sure that I will write more fiction and am determined to finish my manuscript. However, there is one never I am going to hang onto.

          I will never forget Huey...