When will I be finished with it, you ask? Soon--very soon. I have about six chapters to go, but for those who don't write, or for those who do write but stick closely to a detailed outline, that's not my method of writing at all. I begin with a basic outline of sorts--more like notes, divided into chapters, with notes about what I hope to cover in each. Since this book will be the third one in the series, I'm already well acquainted with the main characters. Oh, new supporting characters are added in this book, of course. There's also traveling involved, and since the tale is told from Sarge's viewpoint, readers might find his thoughts on the places he visits and the people he comes in contact with very interesting, humorous, and especially insightful for a dog :).
As I've been writing this book, the twists and turns the plot has taken have amazed me. This story just seems to take on a life of its own, and I sit back and watch where it will take me. Some of the statements coming out of the mouths of the characters have floored me as well! I told my husband the other day that there have been times I've been sitting at my computer, typing away on this story, when ideas would just pop into my head so quickly that I could barely type fast enough to keep up and get them down! I'm a fast typist, too. I've also laughed out loud, too, while sitting here typing, because Sarge said or did something that hit me as outrageously funny.
Tate |
Joey |
. . . Duke was more
wary of me, and in my mind, he also seemed more respectful, as he should be, of
course. Oh, I didn’t wish to harm the
dawg, but merely wanted him to become a decent representative of our breed. His training far from over, I was determined
to get through to him that he needed (1) to respect me, his elder, (2) to never
let the cats get the best of him, and (3) to learn the tried-and-true dachshund
methods for obtaining what he wants.
Some of these are inbred, meaning they are natural instincts of our
noble breed, but even with that, his could use a little polishing up. That’s where I come in—to get him where he
needs to be.
The first order of business would be
to teach him how to obtain yummy people food, which we seldom get to
taste. Oh, I know that it isn’t supposed
to be good for us, it might upset our tummies, or we’ll turn into pure nags if
given any. Although these notions of
humans are probably rooted in truth, my main question about people food has
always been this: if it is so bad for
us, why do humans talk about it, watch it on TV, get it ready to eat, go to the
store often to get more of it, and then eat it all the time themselves?? I submit that if humans can eat it with such
great satisfaction—down to smacking their lips, licking their fingers, even
rubbing their tummies after meals—then it is logical that we doxies, with our
superior noses, should enjoy it even more than they do. They have been given the misguided idea (probably
from dog food makers) that dog food is the only thing that is good for
us. I just do not see it myself. Therefore, I am constantly honing my skills
for acquiring human food.
Of
course, several humans in my family already understand this entire situation
about giving us dogs people food: Papa and Sellars, of
course, and occasionally the sisters, but Mama reprimands them when they drop
me bites. Papa is far more cunning than
little children, so he always manages to get his hand down underneath the table
where I’m sitting near his chair. The
grandchildren, less experienced than he, simply pick up bites from their plates
and drop them for all the world to see.
They’ll learn when they get older, but meanwhile, I hope they pick up a
thing or two from Papa. He’s the master
at sharing food while doing something else, thus keeping others from even
knowing what he’s doing. He’ll be
telling one of his famous stories, all the while getting bites of my favorites
down to my open mouth. One time he told
me that I looked like a crocodile, just sitting there smiling with my mouth
open! He’s funny like that.
Another aspect of Duke’s training
will be to help him sharpen his skills involving the cats. Oh, I understand and accept the fact that he
wants to play with them—I ended up playing with Tate and Joey at Aunt Bethany’s—but
he must realize that cats don’t always play fair. Perhaps it’s a good thing that he’ll play
with them, thus saving me from having to do so myself. They will act like they want to just play
fight, then the next thing a dawg knows, he’s got a scratched-up nose, and that
hurts. Duke hasn’t been on the business
end of a cat's sharp claws yet, but one of these days I’ll hear him
yelping, and it will be too late.
He also has to be wary of the
grandchildren, but he’s pretty much gotten that figured out by himself. He’s been hugged too tightly once or twice,
had an ear or his tail pulled already, or been hit with a flying toy—so he’s
learned from the school of experience on that score. I must admit that it didn’t take too many
times before he learned to stay out of their way. They don’t mean us any harm, it’s just that
they are little, and Mama can’t watch them every second. She’s careful to make sure they don’t hurt
us, but as soon as her back is turned, something will happen. That’s the way it is in our house, a.k.a. the
circus.
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