Meet Cora!

Cora came home with me today. She is a miniature schnauzer. She had been at the shelter about three weeks. I think she has been well treated, but she has the air of someone who is not going to get too attached until she's sure. She had been a breed dog for schnoodles. The people at the shelter said she was looking for a nice place to retire, so I'm hoping she'll enjoy the view from my porch and the lack of amorous poodles. I'm looking forward to our sharing the adventure of retirement.

Things That Are Easier Than Writing

My friend Harriett pointed out in her blog that reading religious pamphlets left at your door is easier than writing, which is just one reason working at home can be distracting. That inspired me to come up with a partial list of other things that are easier to do than writing:
1. Weeding the garden. I have a bed that is nothing but waist-high weeds. I was just going to pull a few, to see how easy it was. It was easier than writing. An hour later, I had weeded half the bed.
2. Writing letters. I hardly ever write letters. Today I wrote four.
3. Picking raspberries. Not just a handful. Every one I could find.
4. Combing the cat. And I have a cat you can comb for an hour and still remove mounds of loose hair. Some day, I think, she'll completely unravel.
5. Cleaning out my e-mail in-box, reading every e-mail in the process, and doing a little comparison shopping on the computer being advertised on the side of the screen.

Jane Yolen's famous advice, "Butt in chair," is hard to follow. It seems easy. Just settle down in front of my computer and stay there (and stay off the Internet). Some days, when the golden light of inspiration flows through my fingers, it is easy. Those days, I look around after two hours and say, "Where did the time go?" But other days (today, for example), when each word has to be pulled out of my brain like a stubborn dandelion, it is excruciating. I don't want to settle down. I want a glass of water. I want a cookie. I want to go out and play.

But I think I'm figuring it out. Even though I've heard it over and over and have even preached it to others, it's just now sinking in. Writing is more likely to get done if I sit down and make myself available every day, whether I'm inspired or not.

But first I have to go to the bathroom . . .

On Groundhogs and Puppy Dogs

I'm going to have to make a big decision. I'm under siege from a herd of groundhogs who are circling closer and closer to my fenced-in garden. They are also tunneling under my shed and under my house. It's only a matter of time until disaster strikes. I've tried doing the humane thing, setting out a Havahart trap baited with a slice of apple scented with vanilla. This is apparently sure-fire groundhog candy. Last year when I caught a groundhog, I put the trap in the back of my car and drove to some woods two miles away. I opened the door and the groundhog ran out, did a U-turn and headed toward my house. I think it beat me back. This year when I managed to catch one, I didn't make that mistake. I drove across the Delaware River on a one-lane bridge and let it go in a park. That groundhog will either have to swim, cross that bridge, or hitchhike to come home. The trouble is, the rest of the groundhogs have somehow figured out how to get the apple without releasing the trapdoor. So that's not working. I'm not into guns or poison or hiring people who are (yet). What to do?
I realized one day that I didn't have this problem when I had Sisko. He was a peaceful-natured dog, but groundhogs annoyed him, and he would chase them into their burrows when he got a chance.
The solution seems obvious. I looked at dogs at rescue shelters online and saw several I could imagine bringing home. Unfortunately, they were all located hours away. And it feels a lot like online dating. Glowing descriptions so often don't match reality. Then I saw Jo Jo on the Web site of the local shelter. She's just what I had in mind: a small terrier mix, not too young and not too old. However, when I went to see her, there was a problem. Her puppies had just been weaned and were in a cage down the hall. She could hear them, and she was worried about them--too worried to pay any attention to me.
I might give it a week and go check on her again. But the cooling-off period is giving me a chance to have second thoughts. Do I really want another dog? As is, I'm free to take off for the city or a writing retreat or a workshop whenever I want. I don't have to have my train of thought interrupted when I'm writing to let a dog in or out. I don't have to let a dog out at four o'clock on a winter morning. I don't have any vet bills.
On the other hand, the companionship of a compatible dog is hard to beat. And there are those groundhogs . . .