Can I Have Some Cheese with that Whine?

/in /by

The collective Evelyn David agreed to write a short story for Tony Burton’s holiday anthology (http://www.wolfmont.com), A Gift for Murder. All profits benefit Toys for Tots. Doing a mitzvah (good deed) AND seeing another story in print – a win-win for all.

But writing is hard, and writing short stories is even harder (commence high pitch whine).

Tony has set a limit of 4,000 words per story. So far we’ve written 2,000 and barely killed anybody, let alone introduced any suspects. We have no room for herrings, let alone red ones.

Writing short is supposed to teach you discipline. You learn to find the single exact word to describe someone, rather than an orgy of adjectives. You spark the reader’s imagination so she fills in the blanks of the bare bones scenes you are creating.

Do you remember those summer reading lists in high school? Was it just me who immediately glommed on to The Pearl by John Steinbeck? I am embarrassed to report that I have no memory of the story other than it was 96 pages. But I now realize the incredible genius of Steinbeck that he could tell such a poignant story in so few words.

So we will soldier on, determined to build a whodunnit that will confound and delight readers in under 4000 words…and I will probably whine my way through the process. Do you think Steinbeck also was a whiner?

In the meantime, I’m also getting ready for my Southern Tour. Saturday at Deadly Ink in New Jersey; Sunday at Barnes and Noble in Manassas, Virginia; Monday at Middleburg Library, Virginia; Tuesday at Cambridge Library, Maryland; Wednesday at Mystery Loves Company Bookstore in Oxford, Maryland; and Wednesday night at Delmar Library, Delaware. See Evelyn David’s website for details, http://www.evelyndavid.com/.

Evelyn David

The Apology

/in /by

I’ve been thinking about all the public apologies that celebrities, politicians, sports stars, comedians, and religious leaders feel the need to make. My sense of it is that they all apologize for the wrong thing. They should be apologizing for wasting my time with their carefully worded, audience tested, attempts to save or rehabilitate their reputations.

They are not really sorry.

They may be sorry they got caught.

Or they may be sorry that a careless or stupid statement on their part was spun by the press or the supposed injured party into something it wasn’t.

Innocent or guilty a public apology is demanded – by the media.

Take illegal drugs, lie about it, get caught – apologize to the public.

Cheat on your spouse, lie about it, get caught – apologize to the public.

Bilk millions from your supporters in the name of God, lie about what you used the money for, get caught – apologize to the public. (Religious leaders must add tears to the performance. That’s a deal breaker. No tears, forget the whole thing.)

Sometime in the last 30 years or so, the public apology came into vogue with no signs of going the way of poodle skirts. Am I the only one who thinks apologies should be private? Am I the only one who thinks that when the media repeats an idiotic remark to millions, when the original statement was only heard by a handful of people, the media shouldn’t be the ones to ask for an apology for all the millions that were offended by the remark?

It seems now that even if you say exactly what you mean, and what you say is the truth, the media falls all over themselves trying to find a reason that you should apologize to those people who were offended by what they thought you might have “meant” to say instead of what you said. Are you still with me? Crazy isn’t it. Leon Panetta, hold firm. Don’t do it. Don’t apologize for something you didn’t say. You might have been thinking the thing they want you to apologize for, but you didn’t say it.

As I’m writing this blog another politician appears on CNN to apologize for having an extramarital affair. No lie. Just happened. People, listen to me! I don’t care. He should apologize to his wife, not the nation. And no, I don’t want to see his poor wife standing by his side during the apology.

Right after the politician story? A racist email story. The email was bad. It was in poor taste. (No, I won’t describe it.) It was originally seen by a limited number of people in one state. Now it’s been seen by millions. The talking heads want the author of the email fired (she works for a state legislator). The state legislator had to defend following employment rules and just giving the woman a written reprimand. I expect any minute to see the email’s author in front of a camera giving a public apology.

The next story concerned Iran. You know – the election. The crazy guy who wants nuclear weapons? Hey, he stole an election and he isn’t apologizing for anything.

Let’s see –

The news in order of importance –

Apology for something that wasn’t said.

Apology for a bad joke.

Apology for an affair.

Apology for having someone on staff who sent a racist, private email not using public computers, or on public time.

A political crisis in Iran that might mean the overthrow of the government.

I’m sorry, but this is crazy.

Actually I’m not sorry.

It’s not my fault and I’m not going to apologize for this crazy, mixed up world.

Evelyn David
http://www.evelyndavid.com/

P.S. Evelyn David will be signing Murder Takes the Cake and Murder Off the Books, this Saturday, June 20, from 10-2, at Petco, 4915 E. 41st Street, Tulsa. Hope you can join me!

Deep Thoughts

/in /by

Today’s one of those days where I’m all over the map, so I thought I would do a round-up (see #1 and #2) on some topics that I’ve written about previously and let you know about some promotional gigs that Evelyn David and I will be doing and how they’re going. I hope you’ll indulge me this meandering post.

1. Youth Lacrosse: On Saturday, our kids got beaten up so badly—and I don’t mean that euphemistically—that Coach called the game midway through the third quarter. He decided that our kids didn’t need to be taking sticks to the face, ribs, and legs all in the name of winning a game in the third and fourth grade league. Just wasn’t worth it. Thanks, Coach. And thanks for your email on Sunday, apologizing for calling the game; as you saw from every response you got, we’re all behind you. We just don’t care that much about winning. We care more that our kids can get to middle school with all of their teeth and bones intact.

Fortunately, Sunday was a new day and the team played their last game. I am proud to report that it was played clean, with everyone surviving the nine to three loss with their teeth, bones, and pride intact. Child #2 was thrilled with the fact that he scored the last goal of the season, which by all accounts, was a beaut, complete with NOT ONE, BUT TWO spin moves. Kid is thrilled with himself.

2. Chick Lit: I’ve been thinking about this classification for a while now, wondering whether or not I like the sound of it, especially as it relates to the Murder 101 series. I am big fan of chick lit, and will read anything by the biggies in the niche—Jennifer Weiner comes to mind immediately but I am sure I can think of more. And regardless of whether or not it falls into this category, I’m ordering fellow Stiletto ganger Susan McBride’s Cougar Club as soon as I can because it looks like a complete hoot and I am hoping that I’ll be done with book #5 at that point and can relax. (Yeah, sure.)

A friend was kind enough to drop off an article from the NY Times this past week in which a character in a book being reviewed remarks that if Updike was a woman writing today, they would have slapped a pink cover on the Rabbit series because after all, they’re about relationships, right? Good point. The writer goes on to say that you can tell a chick lit book by its cover. How? Well, if it’s got shoes, a martini glass, even an Adirondack chair, you’ll know that it’s a book for you, if you’re a fan. I don’t know what the writer would say about books that include blood-splattered writing pads (see Final Exam, the fourth installment in the Murder 101 series); I’m hoping that is the mark of an excellent mystery.

Oh! And I almost forgot! My friend, Sheila Curran’s, publishes her second book today and I’ve read it. It’s fabulous. It’s called Everybody She Loved and you will not be disappointed.

3. Book Signings: The Northern half of Evelyn David and I had a book signing this weekend at a great bookstore in her town called Anderson’s. We’re currently on the “Cupcakes and Corpses” tour. Evelyn, as is her way, baked all of her own goodies and brought them, beautifully displayed on a tray. I bought three dozen red velvet cupcakes from a friend with a baking business because as I said repeatedly (I love when a joke works), “If I had made the cupcakes, we would actually have some corpses around here.” So thank you to Anderson’s, Evelyn for setting up the gig, Susan for baking my cupcakes and making me look so good, and everyone who came to support us (most of all!). We sold a good number of books, had a great time, and met wonderful people. And any day that I get to spend time with Evelyn David is a good day in my book, so it was a success all around. The next stop on the tour is the Village Bookstore in Pleasantville on Saturday, June 20, from 1-3. Once again, I will be bringing Susan’s cupcakes and you don’t want to miss that!

I think that’s it for today. I hope all of our readers are enjoying spring; we here on the East Coast are wetter than we’ve ever been. Seriously. Enough, Mother Nature. We hear you.

Maggie Barbieri

For Goodness Sakes, It’s My Turn

/in /by

I didn’t really forget this was my day to blog. I have it on my calendar, but for some reason I thought I’d already done it and posted it to appear today. Obviously that’s not what happened.

So, here I am, late and apologetic.

Because I haven’t planned, I have no idea what to write about. I’ve been really busy lately, planning for the Public Safety Writers Association conference which I’m leaving for tomorrow. I’m the program chairman so I’m excited and a tad nervous.

PSWA’s conferences have been small, partly due to the fact that it had to be reorganized for reasons I don’t need to go into. Last year we had 15 people in attendance. I can assure everyone that the small number made absolutely no difference, we had great speakers and a tremendous amount of fun. We’ve doubled the number plus three this year. Our speakers are fantastic, everyone who wanted to is on a panel. People are coming from as far away as New York and Florida. The good thing about Las Vegas where the conference is held, it’s easy for everyone to get there and airfares are reasonable.

A plus for me is my sis lives in Vegas as does her entire family–four kids, a bunch of grandkids and greats. We’ll spend our first evening and night and morning with her, then onto the conference. Oh did I tell you, I also do the registration, so I have to arrive at the hotel fairly early.

Before I leave, I hope to add some to my w-i-p, which is another Rocky Bluff P.D. crime novel. I’m at the most exciting part, so it’s fun writing except I have to make myself slow down. It’s in my head and I can’t wait to put it into the computer.

Anyway, that’s what distracted me from doing my blog as I was supposed to.

Marilyn
a.k.a. F. M. Meredith

The Power of the Word

/in /by


I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it.

I thought it was one of the Founding Fathers who made that declaration, but it was actually Voltaire. Maybe you knew that.

I’ve been thinking about Free Speech a lot lately. As a writer, of course I have always supported the First Amendment, with the caveat that as Oliver Wendell Holmes ruled: The most stringent protection of free speech would not protect a man falsely shouting fire in a theater and causing a panic.

I grew up chanting sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me. And yet, in the last few weeks, we’ve seen deadly action spring from vicious, hateful language. In my zeal to protect free speech, I am left with the horrific results when the debate ends and the gunfire erupts. James W. von Brunn, who murdered a security guard at the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum, had a web site that spewed hatred. He was, in some ways, an equal-opportunity bigot – willing to kill anyone who didn’t fit his vision of a “pure” American, e.g., white.

Eugene Robinson, columnist for The Washington Post, certainly a free speech supporter, raised a valid question. When does “blast-furnace rhetoric,” which though ugly is legal, cross the line because it incites others to violence? You can make the argument that neither the far right nor the far left is responsible for the nutjob who moves from advocating to shooting bullets. But Robinson suggests that many talking heads on all-news cable shows are riling up some dangerous people when they call President Obama a “socialist,” label Sonia Sotomayor a “racist Latina,” and claim that Democrats want to “take away your guns.”

As with all of our guaranteed freedoms, they depend on people never abusing them. Each of us has the right to her own opinion. We can and should make cogent arguments to defend our positions, and work within the political system to effect change. BUT we also need to avoid demonizing the opposition – and we must vote with the remote and turn off the television when a talking head tries to spike his ratings with rants designed to appeal to the fears and prejudices of the audience.

These are serious times that demand serious discussion. There’s no room at the table – or on television or radio – for those who aren’t willing to talk about issues without resorting to scare tactics or hyperbole.

I’m a realist. I know there are crazy people out there. But the media must stop providing these nutjobs with the “ammunition” that they then use to justify their violent actions.

Evelyn David

Fuse Beads, a Metaphor for Writing

/in /by

My kids are gung-ho these days for an arts-and-craft activity called fuse beads. This involves a tub of 10,000 multi-colored plastic beads that the kids meticulously place on forms to create rainbow colored dogs, fish, or other designs of their choice.

I have mixed feelings about this craft. When the kids are using them, the beads inevitably roll en masse onto my kitchen floor and scatter, creating a spectacular mess that apparently disturbs only me. Worse, no fuse bead creation is complete until it has been covered with wax paper and ironed. The heat melts the beads together so that each lovely creation can be preserved forever. That’s nice and everything, but kids can’t iron so we all know who gets this job.

I tolerate these inconveniences because as a mother and a writer, I believe it’s important to foster creativity in kids. It takes my three-year-old son about a half hour to complete a design. His intense concentration during this time is incredible and when I watch him dig for the right color, or move a bead from one peg to another because the first choice wasn’t satisfactory, I know I’ve chosen a good use for his time. It’s great for his coordination and imagination and beats the heck out of watching TV.

The other day we sat at opposite ends of our kitchen table. My son worked on a multi-colored bead fish while I caught up on bills and letters. A 10,000 Maniacs CD played on the stereo and each of us worked without talking, both concentrating. Then he looked up and said, “Mom, want to see my fish?” It was barely started, but I told him how nice it looked and we returned to our work.

A few minutes later, he broke his silence again, wanting only my approval and encouragement before carrying on. It occurred to me then that, except for the mess involved, my little boy and his beads are much like me and my writing. We both have an idea how we want our project to turn out. We’re willing to spend the time it takes. Rearranging pieces to get the right effect is not only necessary, but fun. And we both want an outside opinion partway through, just to be sure.

Usually, I feel what I call “Mom Guilt” where my writing is concerned. My kids are still young (ages 3, 7, and 8) and even if I’m not at my laptop writing, I’m frequently away somewhere in my thoughts, plotting. Since my mental energy is often divided between my children and my work-in-progress, I sometimes feel I’m letting the kids down. This exchange at the table was the first time I recognized that being a writer had the potential to improve my ability to parent.

In the half hour we sat together, he must have asked my thoughts on his fish at least a half a dozen times. Having the same conversation with a three-year-old every few minutes is tedious. There are only so many ways I can express that a fish is pretty or colorful or awesome or cool. What previously would have been a repetitive exchange became meaningful when I finally made the connection between his pursuit and mine. Empathizing with his need for input, I became more patient, encouraging, and sincere. It felt really good to have an old conversation in a new way with my little boy.

The revelation helped with the Mom Guilt issue, but didn’t address the gazillion fuse bead creations overrunning my house. It was here I found the second parallel between fuse beads and writing. With three kids, all craft zealots, artwork piles up around my house all the time. I save my favorites but have to remind myself as I’m clearing out paintings, sketches, or bead creations, that there’s simply not enough room to keep it all. “It was the experience that mattered,” I tell myself, anytime I’m gathering up craft shrapnel for covert disposal. The value is not always in the art itself but in the time spent making it—the exercise in creativity, constructive use of their time, and the satisfaction of bringing a mental image to physical form.

I’m beginning to view my scenes like my kids’ copious artwork—as creative exercises, constructive uses of my time, and a physical manifestation of something imagined. Whether I use those scenes or cut them, the time spent exploring ideas is golden. I learned a lot from those obnoxious little beads.

Rachel Brady

Rachel Brady’s debut suspense novel, Final Approach, will be released in October or can be pre-ordered from Amazon. A graduate of Wright State University and The Ohio State University, Rachel works as a biomedical engineer when she’s not writing mystery and suspense fiction. Her interests include health and fitness, acoustic guitar, and books of all kinds. She lives outside of Houston, Texas, with her husband and their three children. Visit her on-line at http://www.rachelbrady.net/ or read about her experiences as a new author at her blog, Write It Anyway. Fellow internet junkies can follow her on Twitter or add her as a friend on Goodreads.

Is it Thursday? Already?

/in /by

Time for me to blog again.

And again, my thoughts are scattered. Just got home from Oklahoma City. I was there for the day to meet with my federal counterparts. The topic was hydrology structures on coal mining sites and the need to correct a conflict in the text of our state regulations. Sometimes figuring out the mystery of environmental regulations that were drafted and passed 30 years ago is impossible, even for a mystery writer.

My new office (remember the move I mentioned a few weeks ago?) is still not finished. All our desks, files, computers, etc. are in storage. My staff and I are working from our homes, vehicles, and another field office located about 50 miles away. Although working at home sounds like fun – for me it’s not. I already have an unorganized mess in my living room involving the next Evelyn David book and the promotion materials for the one published last month. Adding in mining reports, mining mail, and copies of regulations and forms, has pushed me right over the edge. My living room is officially a national disaster area.

Tomorrow morning I will drive 15 miles to the new office space, stand outside the half-finished building, tap my foot and glare at the contractor. Then I’ll head to the post office, pick up the agency mail, date stamp it and log it into a notebook while sitting in the parking lot, then drive home. After some lunch (or a late breakfast), I’ll return phone calls (all our office calls are being forwarded to our Oklahoma City office) and deal with e-mailed mining inspection reports that I have to approve.

Since it might be two more weeks (sigh) before we can move into the new space, I’ve set up a weekly Tuesday meeting with my staff at the Pizza Hut. The meeting conditions are primitive (no buffet except on Fridays – the buffet being another causality of the poor economy) but we’re a hardy bunch. We’ll manage.

It was raining off and on all day. My two hour drive home was grey and long. Since my work routine has been totally destroyed, I’m having trouble keeping track of what day it is. I think the painting is supposed to start tomorrow on the new office. And since tomorrow is my blog day, it must be Thursday, which is also trash day – meaning I need to go outside tonight – in the rain – and drag the trash bin to the curb.

On a positive note, both Evelyn David books are selling well. So well they keep going out of stock at Amazon and Ingrams. This means when I promote the book, 50% of the time the buyer has to wait, which makes both halves of Evelyn David very nervous. Our publisher told us today that we had two choices: sell less books or mentally learn to deal with the “out of stock” issue. I may have to take up some kind of meditation or maybe medication! (Note: Barnes & Noble still copies of both Murder Off the Books and Murder Takes the Cake available to ship now.)

I got my latest Amazon order in the mail today. No, I’m not the one buying up all the copies of Murder Takes the Cake! In a mad splurge, I ordered season one of True Blood on dvd and a book recommended by the DorothyL listserve – The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie. The book looks good! It’s a hardback, yet didn’t come with a dust jacket. Is that a new practice? Or did Amazon just forget to send it to me?

On an unrelated note – buyers beware. I purchased a blackberry curve from T-Mobile. After three months I’m still waiting for my $100 rebate. Several weeks ago, they wrote and asked for another number off the cell phone box. I think this is the point where most people give up, having tossed the box after filling out the rebate form. Not me. I kept everything. It was still in a pile near my desk. I put the additional information in the next day’s mail to T-Mobile. I also kept copies of all the correspondence. I’m going to get that promised rebate! The rest of my life may be out of control – but if necessary I will make getting that rebate my mission in life! Hear that T-Mobile? You’ve been warned!

Next week I’ll blog about something important. Maybe North Korea and those two American journalists that are being held hostage there. Or maybe the economy. Did I mention the state agency I work for just got a 7% budget cut for next year? It seems clear that in Oklahoma the economy is going to get worse, before it gets better.

Nothing seems to come easy anymore. Maybe it never did and I just didn’t notice.

I’m sure tomorrow will be a better day.

Right! At least it will be a different day.

Evelyn David
http://www.evelyndavid.com

Reunion Weekend

/in /by

I had the pleasure of spending Saturday evening into Sunday at my alma mater’s annual Reunion celebration. Although it is only my 24th year out of college, my three best college friends—with whom I roomed during my sophomore and their junior years—were attending their 25th jubilee. I was also honored to be a guest presenter there and had the pleasure of speaking to a dozen or so women from the class of ’59, one of whom is the mother of a friend here in the Village. I spoke about the Murder 101 series and these wonderful women restored my belief in my own public speaking skills.

Here’s the thing—I bomb with some groups. There have been several presentations I’ve given where I’ve laughed at my own jokes in front of a room of people who looked like they had come to attend the annual Mortuary Science convention. They do not find my jokes funny, my stories amusing, nor me laughing at my own jokes and/or stories at all humorous. I’ve given a few of these lackluster presentations in a row and was starting to lose faith in myself.

But the class of ’59 was a game crowd. This was a group of extremely interested, mystery-loving women. They ate up everything there was to be heard about Alison Bergeron and the books in the series. And they laughed where you were supposed to laugh and even some places where you weren’t. But that’s ok. Rather have laughing than the alternative.

It was a gorgeous weekend here on the East Coast and my alma mater sits on the Hudson River. The Half Moon was sailing past the college just about the time that I was presenting so many reunion goers went out to see it so as not to miss what turned out to be quite a spectacle. (See here for details and some nice pictures of the replica of Henry Hudson’s ship) Being a huge fan of the Hudson—I’ve lived near it my entire life and enjoyed its beauty—I didn’t mind that I had been ditched in favor of the historic flotilla that sailed past the college and toward my home town, where it sailed past Sunday morning. Missed that one, too.

The girls and I spent Saturday afternoon walking around campus, marveling at how little had changed but also at the improvements that had been made. We had some champagne to celebrate our annual weekend together and then a cosmopolitan right before the dinner dance we were to attend that evening. Before heading over to the dining hall, we ventured into the beautiful chapel—where many key scenes from the movie “Doubt” were filmed—and drank in the smell of bees’ wax, floor polish, and incense. It was there that I got a little overwhelmed, thinking about the four of us, the time that had passed, and the struggles we had gone through. When I told my friends what I was thinking, one of the four, my gal Trixie, turned to me and said, “You’re cut off.” (My reputation as a weepy imbiber is legendary among this crew.)

It’s amazing how after a quarter decade it can feel as if no time has passed. At the same time, it can feel like almost twice that time has passed. It’s a weird conundrum. We had a great time at the dinner dance, dancing among graduates going as far back as the class of ’39—ok, maybe they weren’t dancing, but they were there—and meeting new people with whom we shared the bond of being “Mounties” (our college nickname). The camaraderie that existed among women much older than we are impressed me and again, made me weepy. Seeing women who had cultivated the bonds of friendship over the course of thirty, forty, and even fifty years was impressive indeed. We all have different histories and backgrounds but our love of our friends, and the school that brought us together, will keep us together forever.

Maggie Barbieri

Family, Great-Grandma’s Writing Adventures

/in /by


This is a photo of my granddaughter, Jessi, who lives next door, and my great-granddaughter, Kay’Lee. Jessi is Kay’Lee’s aunt. They were together to celebrate Kay’Lee’s 6th birthday. I mainly put the photo in to brighten today’s post–and I like it.

Because Jessi lives so close, we’ve been in on a lot of her life. She even stayed with us during her grammar school days. Now she’s in college, engaged and just landed her first real job.

Now on to my adventures. I can honestly tell you that as a child and even a mom raising five kids, I had no idea what I’d be doing in my so-called golden years. I really didn’t like to drive outside of the town we lived in. I’d only flown once in my life and that was to take my two babies back to the east coast to be with my husband. The plane had trouble on the way, we had to make an emergency landing and I vowed never to fly again.

I’ve always been a writer, had several articles and other things published, but my first book not until I was in my late forties.

That book had been submitted to nearly 30 publishers before it was finally accepted. (I’m the poster grandma for perseverance.) While that one was being rejected I was busy writing another, and another.

Finally, as a published writer, I began going to conferences. My first mystery conferences were held in a mountain retreat with such big name writers as Sue Grafton and Mary Higgins Clark! I don’t think there were more than 30 or 40 people in attendance at either one. What a great opportunity.

I was a founding member of the San Joaquin chapter of Sisters in Crime. Through Sisters I met more wonderful people and learned about Left Coast Crime and Bouchercon. Of course the Internet introduced me to other mystery cons of one sort or another.

I’ve been to Alaska twice to LCC and then Bouchercon–and of course I flew. The first time, after the con, I traveled in a big Suburban on a frozen river to visit and talk to students at a school in a small village. Exciting. I met two Native women at the con–and kept in touch with them via email. When I went to Alaska the second time, after Bouchercon, I went to one of the Native women’s home in Wasilla, stayed with her for three days and visited a middle school where I talked about how to write a mystery.

With a friend I met through the Internet, I flew to New York to attend the Edgars. Wow, what an experience. From there we took the train to DC and went to Malice Domestic, and flew home afterwards.

With hubby, I’ve flown to all sorts of places in the U.S. we would never have even thought to visit if it hadn’t been a mystery conference or other conference being held there.

I’ve been a part of and am now on the board of the Public Safety Writers Association–a group of people who write non-fiction or fiction about any type of public safety. Through this group I’ve met so many people in law-enforcement, forensic experts, people who are great for picking their brains but who’ve also become good friends.

I’ve gone on ride-alongs with police officers, including a son-in-law.

I’ve had the privilege of talking about writing and my books at several libraries in California, done book signings, put on fun book launches here in Springville where I live and also in Crescent City where I shared the signing duties with the Tolowa woman I wrote about in my book, Kindred Spirits.

Best of all, I’ve met so many interesting people, readers and other authors–including a couple of the authors on this blog.

Who ever knew I’d be having so much fun as a great-grandma? When will I slow down? Only when I have to.

Marilyn a.k.a. F. M. Meredith

Two is Definitely More than One

/in /by

I’m the mother of four children, so I shouldn’t have been surprised. Moms know that when you have a second child, the amount of work grows exponentially. So I should have realized that two dogs is definitely more than twice the amount of wear and tear. And don’t get me started on how they’ll entertain each other…unless tearing around the house like it was the dragway at Daytona Beach is your definition of entertainment.

Our oldest and his wife are on vacation, and we, the grandparents to adorable Nook, are babysitting for two weeks. Nook is a Portugese Water Dog, all black curly hair except for her right front paw, which is white. She is four years old, so just past adolescence. She loves adult companionship, which translates to mean, let me sit on your feet so you can’t go anywhere without me.

Clio, the resident Irish terrier, is nine years old, so let’s call a spade a spade – she’s eligible for Social Security. She entered this household when there were four kids still living at home – and she learned quite early to pick her battles in terms of what she needed. She wanted her dinner promptly at 5 pm (and seriously you can set the clock by it). She wanted her sheepskin blankie from her days in the litter to sleep on. And she wanted Honey Nut Cheerios on top of her kibble in the morning. Otherwise, she was happy to watch television with whomever had gotten the remote, and had no preference whether it was a Mets game or Masterpiece Theater. The likelihood of some popcorn hitting the ground under either scenario was excellent, and she is always ready to serve as a canine vacuum cleaner.

Clio has taken seriously her role as big sister. She’s taught Nook that when you come in from the backyard, you have to walk down the steps to the basement and then right back up again (to get rid of any lingering dirt). She’s also clearly informed little sister that going outside to do your “business,” entitles you to a doggie treat. Clio was incredulous, and her face showed it, when Nook wandered off the other morning without the biscuit. Of course, Clio immediately rose to the occasion and was happy to oblige by polishing off a second treat in under five seconds. Making sure everyone knows that she is the alpha dog of the pack is accomplished by immediately doing her business wherever Nook has done hers. What this means is that any walk with the two of them takes double the amount of time because Clio has to mark the previously marked spots. Oy!

Still, as with the two-legged children I’ve known, these furry companions have their moments. Growling one minute, snuggling up the next. But do I have any interest in permanently growing the canine population in this house? Nope. Like grandparents everywhere, I love to indulge this little one – and then send her home!

Evelyn David

Murder Takes the Cake by Evelyn David
Murder Off the Books by Evelyn David
http://www.evelyndavid.com