It started with my friend Cheryl. She and I were roommates when I first landed in San Francisco. Cheryl is a voluptuous, brainy, magnetic law professor – if that doesn’t sound like a contradiction in terms. She is also a terrific writer who invited me to join her writing group. I was having trouble finishing a writing project, and I thought that if I joined a group it might help. After several weeks I was summarily kicked out of the group by the other writers who felt I lacked “seriousness.” That really stung.
Cheryl tried to cheer me up. She decided I needed a dog. I had been talking about getting a dog for years. I’m crazy about dogs. I’m the kind of guy who gets teary-eyed when I pass the pet food aisle, but wasn’t sure I was prepared for the commitment.
Once Cheryl decided I needed a dog, it didn’t really matter that I had doubts; Cheryl is a force of nature. She dragged me to the San Francisco ASPCA where we found a shaggy mutt that seemed perfect. But when I applied to adopt her, I was rejected. I was told that I was “not emotionally suited” for this dog, whatever that meant. Ouch.
But once Cheryl put the idea in my head, I couldn’t stop wanting to adopt a furry friend. After applying to several rescue groups, I found the love of my life at Second Chance Rescue. She was a skinny small yellow border collie-lab-golden mix. She had the sweet personality of a golden and the intellect of a border collie, which is fortunate, because the other way around would be intolerable. But she had been badly abused and was scared to be left alone. I named her Micky after my grandmother.
Around the time that Micky came to live with me I had begun writing about the Founding Fathers. When I sat down she would nestle by my feet and sleep soundly, but if I got up to move around she would pace nervously. Once her pacing started it was hard to quiet her down again. I knew that if I stood up I would have to deal with her neurotic behavior. So it was easier to just keep writing. It didn’t matter if I was hungry or wanted a bathroom break. It wasn’t worth disturbing Micky.
So Micky became my muse, and with her jealously guarding my time, I wrote and wrote and wrote. Sometimes a whole day would pass with me glued to my keyboard. I would loose track of the time until she woke up and started licking my hand because it was time for her walk.
There is an apocryphal story that President Truman once said, “If you want a friend in Washington, get a dog.” I don’t know about that, but I now know that if you want to write a book, get a rescue dog.
If you like reading this blog, check out my new book, UNLIKELY ALLIES.
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