Sandi Kahn Shelton

This date on the calendar has said WRITE 20 PAGES OF NOVEL for some time now.

That’s how far behind I am on my five-pages-a-day regimen, due to such interruptions as Thanksgiving and the laptop taking to crashing four or five times a day just for fun, and–oh, why not just admit it?–a certain ignorance of just what is supposed to happen next in the book.

So, twenty pages. Very do-able.

Here’s what I did to prepare myself: I called and canceled my scheduled walk with my friend Karen. I turned off the email program, took the laptop to the part of the house where the wireless thingie doesn’t reach so that I couldn’t read the entire Internet, turned down the volume on the phone ringer, and made a whole pot of Darjeeling tea.

Jordie The Writing Dog settled down on the floor by the desk where he could maintain the required vigilance that writing deserves. I read the last few pages of what I wrote when I was still in my right mind, and found a flicker of an idea still rattling around in my head, and then–oh, blessed day!–I started writing.

But then I noticed a weird thing. Whenever I would stop typing even for an instant, Writing Dog would struggle to his feet and come to stare at me. Wagging. Breathing loudly. Resting his head on my thigh. Using his head to knock my fingers off the keyboard.

I was so touched. How like a loyal golden retriever to offer such unwavering support. To say, in doggie fashion, “I know you can do it! Just keep going! Keep going! I have no idea why you need to do this, but I’m sure whatever it is is just wonderful!”

“Thank you!” I told him. “Feel free to go back to your nap. I’ll take it from here.”

But he didn’t go away. This was not encouragement. He wanted carrots. He believes carrots to be the best treats in life, and although he used to only get them for returning back to the house without making us chase him through the neighborhood, now he believes he is to get them whenever he thinks of it.

By the end of the day, here was the scoreboard:

Pages written: 3.2

Times the words “NO carrots, go lie down!” were stated: 1,457

Number of times typing hands were bumped from keyboard: 2,589

Number of carrots ultimately given to Writing Dog: 2 gazillion

This, I am proud to say, is Jordie, the sweetest dog in the world–really Mahatma Gandhi in a dog suit, although he has gotten very old and a little bit confused by the way things work.

For instance, lately he will come into a room where we are reading or watching television, and look completely baffled as to just who we might be. It’s not until one of us speaks to him that he seems reassured that–oh, yes! It’s those people I’ve lived with for the last eleven years! The ones that feed me!

But speaking of food, he has never yet met a carrot he didn’t love. (He thinks carrots and pieces of ice are treats.) Hard of hearing as he is, he never misses the rattle of the bag of carrots–or even the opening of the refrigerator door. That he knows better than he knows his own name.