Writers and Their Four-legged Sidekicks

A while back I asked my fellow WF members to tell me about their pets. I love animals and know many of you do, too.

Dale Jackson says:

"A good cowhorse is an indispensible tool and an absolute necessity for all phases of cow work. A good dog like the Border Collie is like having an extra cowboy with you and, as you can see, they are great dogs to be around. The German Shepherd is the homeguard and takes care of business keeping things secure at the ranch.

In terms of writing, I find that having an insight into animals is a valuable way to better understand human behavior as it translates into the characters in our books. These guys are more like partners than pets, and they have a way of becoming a part of everything we do.

My first two novels borrowed heavily on the relationship between men and horses and, in the second book, UNBROKE HORSES, the horse became a metaphor for the struggles of the young protagonist whose survival depended on his ability to recognize his own challenges in the actions of a small band of unbroke horses.

It’s impossible to minimize the importance of a good dog and a good horse."

Dale's novel UNBROKE HORSES won the 2013 Peacemaker Award for Best Western Novel.

This comes from Cheryl Pierson:

"Livia, I'm including a picture of our dog, Embry, with my daughter Jessica. This was taken a couple of years ago after Embry recovered from his stay at the Oklahoma State University veterinarians' teaching hospital. He had steroid responsive meningitis that almost killed him. Thank goodness this story had a very happy ending.

Embry is my "granddog" who lives with us now since Jessica has moved to a smaller place. He weighs in at 200 pounds and he's half Great Pyrenees and half Anatolian Shepherd. He's a herder by breed and the four people in our family are his "herd"--all others are intruders and will be bitten if they get too close. LOL

Embry still thinks of himself as a puppy and will sometimes try to sit in our laps. When I'm working, he comes in and will lie on the floor beside my chair. I have to turn my chair almost sideways so that he can raise his head from time to time and give me a hug. I've also learned to type pretty well with one hand for long spaces of time while I pet with the other. He does help me think better, and I've noticed that I add dogs to my stories more often since we've had him."

Cheryl's most recent publications are the short story "The Kindness of Strangers", which is available as an e-book, and the story "Outlaw's Kiss" in the anthology WISHING FOR A COWBOY. Her daughter Jessica is a talented artist who recently illustrated the children's book SARAH'S MUSIC.

Keith Souter tells us:

"I don't actually own a pet at the moment. I used to have a cat called Lily, who was my constant writing companion. If I was outside writing in the sun, then she would be basking in it close by. If I was at my writing desk, she would probably be curled up on a cushion in the bay window to the side of the desk. Sadly, she died a couple of years ago, but she is buried outside my study window, just six feet from where she used to sleep and keep me company. I was pretty upset when she died, so I wrote her into a crime novel, called FLOTSAM AND JETSAM. This is one of my Inspector McKinnon novels set on the Outer Hebridean island of West Uist. To make the story work, she ended up being transformed into a dog, but in my mind it is still Lily.

 

Now, I don't own a pet, but I regularly get to dog-sit my daughter's dog, Walt. He's a schoondle, a cross between a schnauzer and a poodle. We go jogging every morning when he stays with me. Well, really he walks and I run alongside him.  He is mischievous and he makes me laugh. When I have a plot problem to sort out we go for a walk and a play and generally the plot difficulty sorts itself out. I genuinely think that he helps me unravel things. He too is being worked into a story, this time a YA novel. This is in my Victorian adventure series about an orphan called Jack Moon. The second in the series is provisionally entitled THE GHOSTCATCHERS. Walt is a stray dog who happens to be psychic, so he allows Jack to communicate with his best friend, who died."

Keith is a regular contributor to WF's bestselling series WOLF CREEK and is also writing a series about the adventures of a dentist in the Old West, THE CASEBOOK OF DOCTOR MARCUS QUIGLEY.

Jim Griffin joins in with his answer:

"I have always had pets, ranging from goldfish to canaries and parakeets, to cats and dogs, to horses. Can’t imagine life without a pet or two.

Yes, I do draw inspiration from my pets. The horses in my Western stories are all based on horses I have owned. They reflect my own horses’ appearances, personalities, and peculiarities. In fact, if I hadn’t owned a horse, I never would have started writing. It was James Reasoner who encouraged me to write after he contacted me for answers to some questions which he had about horses. If that had never happened, I never would have attempted to write a Western novel.

Since I’ve been writing, my Shih Tzus, first Chauncey and now Dogie, have always stayed by my desk while I’m working on a book. Whenever it’s time to step back and take a break, I can always count on my dog being there to help me relax with a play session. That helps clear my mind and get back to the task at hand.

Finally, while they are hardly pets, there are two packs of coyotes which live in the town open space behind my place. Their nightly howling certainly sets the mood for writing Westerns."

Jim writes the original e-book series A RANGER NAMED ROWDY, is an important contributor to the WOLF CREEK series, and wrote the West of the Big River novel THE RANGER.

Charlie Whipple says:

"I brought home our first dog, Taro, for my oldest daughter's sixth birthday. My wife was not pleased at all, but we've never been without a dog since. The current resident is Tomlin, a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel who will turn 11 on February 21, 2014, the same birthdate (different year) as daughter No.2. 

You see, when wife Yukiko went to the shopping mall, she always wandered by the pet shop. Tomlin was a leftover. Time after time. Then she heard that leftovers were sometime euthanized. That did it. Next time she came home from the mall, she had Tomlin. He's gray haired and getting old, but we hope he'll stay around for a while longer.

While Tomlin is in the other room sleeping on our bed, I write. This year, besides the Wolf Creek series, I've had a novel entitled Monty McCord published from Black Horse Westerns, one called Diablo accepted, one called Road to Rimrock bought by Thorpe for large print. My Stryker's series of ebooks is under way. Stryker's Law, Stryker's Ambush, and soon, Stryker's Bounty. 

Also in ebooks, under Charles T. Whipple, you can find Nami of the Waves, a fantasy tale, fifth in a series, of 10th century Japan when all the mythical creatures were alive and well." 

Finally, Meg Mims tells us:

"I have two dogs, but I took in Benji in 2012 and wrote a novella about a rescue

dog in Santa Paws (totally new story, but the cover resembles him!)

This year I'm writing about a black cat rescue for Santa Claws - we had to put

our black cat down this summer. So she will be 'immortalized' in that 

novella, sort of."

James and I have four dogs of our own, including the two little ones who are usually in my lap while I'm working, forcing me to twist sideways to reach my computer. They may not be very good for my back, but they certainly work wonders for my heart.

 

A Writer and Her Dogs by Livia J. Washburn

For most of my life, I've had dogs. The times when I didn't have been few and far between. And for the most part, the dogs I've shared my life with have been pretty smart. Buster Brown, a little brown dog (hence the name) would get a mouthful of food from his bowl, take it back to his bed, and drop it there so he could lie down and eat at his leisure. Bob (who despite the name was a girl) was smart enough to have two families feeding her for years without either being aware of the other. Cheyenne, a Great Dane who knew in her heart that she was really a lap dog, herded our other dogs around and made them stay on the porch where it was safe. Cheyenne also would sneak into the kitchen at night and grab cookies so neatly, leaving others so we didn’t catch on for a while.  With two small children in the house, guess who got the blame for that until I caught a hangdog face full of cookies.

Not that all of our dogs were really all that bright. Bailey, our Beagle, was absolutely neurotic when it came to storms. The sight of a dark cloud in the sky, followed by even the faintest rumble of thunder, would send her into a panic. You wouldn't think an overweight Beagle could climb a chain link fence, would you? But when a storm was coming, Bailey could. I don't know where she thought she was going, but she was determined to get out anyway. Other times she decided to escape from our fenced yard and go adventuring, but she could always find her way back. Unfortunately, the other dog who was in the yard with her when she unfastened the gate latch, couldn't.

Which brings us to Clifford, a miniature Schnauzer, who would go off with Bailey and then have no idea how to get home, so we'd have to go looking for him. Clifford may not have been smart, but he made up for it by being the sweetest, friendliest dog I've ever seen. You know those pictures of dogs you see on the Internet where they're grinning? Clifford was like that all the time.

What does this have to do with writing, you ask? Well, in addition to all the affection dogs bring to our lives (and that helps keep a writer sane, let me tell you), for years now they've been my close companions when I'm working. And by close companions I mean they're literally in my lap with the laptop. For a long time, our current old-timer (he's 18) sat in my lap with the computer while I was writing. Since he's gotten older and stiffer, he prefers to be in his bed, or his homemade wheelchair when he's up trying to convince me it’s dinner time, but I also have a pair of adorable miniature pinscher/Chihuahua crosses named Nikki and Nora (after the Dashiell Hammett characters, of course) who like to curl up in my lap so that I have to set the computer over to the side and work at an angle. It's a little awkward at times, but did I mention they're adorable? When those little faces look up at you with such love, there's no way you can find it in your heart to make them move. At least I can't, anyway. (Nora's the one doing the prairie dog imitation and Nicki is on bug patrol. )

So whether it's awkward or not, I intend to keep on drawing comfort and inspiration from the close presence of my little friends. In fact, they're here right now, and judging by the looks on their faces, it's time to put the computer aside for a little while and concentrate on ear rubs. I think I can spare the time.

My husband James Reasoner and I recently reprinted a historical novel of ours about the California gold rush, Rivers of Gold. We have an interesting dog as one of the characters.

EXCERPT:

 He woke up to the sound of angry shouting.

 "Hang him!"
 "String 'im up!"

 "Damn thief!"

 Nathan rolled over and lifted his head, blinking against the bright morning sunlight that slanted under the wagon. The outraged yelling was still going on. Using his elbows, Nathan pulled himself from under the wagon and looked toward the nearby hills, which seemed to be the source of the commotion.

 He saw a group of men clustered around a spruce tree. One of them waved a coiled rope in the air and cried, "Got my dust, he did! He's been sneakin' around the camp lookin' for something to steal for days now! I say we get rid of him!"

 One of the other men lifted a single-shot rifle. "I can shoot him," he offered.

 The first man, the one who had evidently lost his poke to the thief, shook his head and said loudly, "Shootin's too good for him. I say we string 'im up!"

 Nathan felt a shiver of apprehension go through him. During his days as an Argonaut, he had seen a few examples of the rough justice that was dispensed in the mining camps and heard stories of other times when miners' courts had been convened. Such proceedings didn't really follow any rules, and they were usually more concerned with vengeance than justice. From what he had seen and heard so far, some poor fellow was about to be hanged, and Nathan wasn't sure he wanted to wait around to witness the gruesome spectacle of a man strangling and kicking away his life at the end of a rope. He stood up quickly and began gathering his gear. The shouting from the mob grew louder and angrier as Nathan pitched his blankets into the back of the wagon. He could roll them up later, after he was away from here; and he could stop when he was well out of earshot to fix himself some breakfast.

 As he reached for his gun belt and buckled it around his waist, it struck him as a little strange that he hadn't heard the accused man trying to defend himself. Of course, if the thief had said anything, the other men likely would have just shouted him down. Still, Nathan thought it odd that a man would go to his death, would allow himself to be lynched, without even trying to speak up in his own behalf.

 At that moment, there was a burst of loud snarling and growling, and one of the men yelled, "Look out, he's bustin' loose!"

 Involuntarily, Nathan jerked his head toward the mob. He never would have expected the sight that met his eyes. A dog had broken free of the circle of men and was running toward him with a loping, ungainly stride that still managed somehow to cover ground in a hurry. The animal was a huge, ugly brute, with shaggy brown fur and a blocky head almost as large as a horse's. Its tongue lolled from its mouth and it trailed slobber from its muzzle as it raced toward the creek and the wagon.

 Nathan's eyes widened. Was the dog attacking him? He tensed, ready to vault up into the wagon bed, then he realized that wouldn't do him any good if the dog meant to maul him. A beast that large would have no trouble leaping into the wagon after him. Nathan's hand went to the butt of the gun on his hip. He might have to pull the Colt and try to shoot the dog. That thought made him so nervous he completely forgot about the things the miners had been saying only moments earlier.

 Before Nathan could slide the revolver from its holster, the dog veered away from him and darted underneath the wagon instead. Nathan stepped away from the vehicle, worried that the dog meant to go under it and attack his legs. The animal stayed where it was, though, whirling around to face the men rushing after it. It bared its fangs and growled harshly at them.

 The furious miners pounded up but stopped about a dozen feet short of the wagon. The dog was snarling at them now, and Nathan thought the sound was almost like a dare for them to come on and try to force the dog out from under the wagon. Nathan had backed away a good distance himself, and he still had his hand on the butt of his gun.

 One of the miners threw an angry glance at Nathan. "That your dog, mister?" he demanded.

 Nathan shook his head. "I've never seen the beast before," he replied.

 "It came a runnin' toward you like it knowed you," the miner pointed out.

 Before Nathan could again deny owning the animal, one of the other men said, "Don't be a fool, Brody. That damned dog's been around nigh onto a week, a long time 'fore this fella got here."

 "I don't care," the man called Brody said hotly. He was the one carrying the rope, and Nathan realized that he was the one claiming to have been robbed of his gold dust.

 But how could he have been robbed by a dog?

 Brody shook the coiled rope at the dog and went on, "Look at the way he's hidin' under that wagon! I still say it's mighty suspicious."

 "Look, mister," Nathan began, "I'm mighty sorry about whatever happened, but I don't know that dog, and he doesn't know me. He's just looking for a place to hide because he's so scared."

 One of the other men laughed and said, "He ain't scared, he's just found hisself a place where he can fort up and chew our arms off if we try to get him out.

 Brody slapped the rope impatiently against his thigh. "I'll get him out. He's got to hang, I tell you!"

 "You're going to hang a dog?" Nathan asked incredulously.

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