Tag Archive for: Clio

Two is Definitely More than One

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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

Does the Dog Die?

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The Southern half of Evelyn David thought things had gone pretty well. It was her first library talk after the publication of Murder Off the Books. Good turnout, delicious refreshments, the group had laughed at the jokes and listened with interest to the creative process that goes into writing a murder mystery. She opened up the floor to questions.

“Can you promise me that no dogs or humans are killed in your book?”

Hmmmm.

Well, it was easy enough to promise the first. We guarantee that no animals were harmed in the creation of this mystery.

But as to the second? No vows could be made.

In fact, as a murder mystery, it seems to me that there is an implicit agreement between readers and the author: somebody will bite the dust. In Murder Off the Books, in fact, somebody kicks the bucket (or has the bucket kicked for them) in the first paragraph.

We decided to ignore the old showbiz warning: Never work with kids and dogs. Whiskey, the adorable and adored Irish wolfhound in our book, weighs 120 pounds, is six feet tall when she stands on her hind legs, and has never met a cheeseburger she didn’t enjoy. She instinctively knows the good guys from the bad guys, offers licks to those she loves, and growls to those who are dangerous. She brings warmth, goodness, and yes, humanity, to a book that explores the origins and effects of evil.

Animals in books serve many purposes – much like they do in our lives. Of course, Whiskey is a plot device. In Murder Off the Books, the hairy beast is a sounding board for our protagonist Mac Sullivan’s inner thoughts. Whiskey is also comic relief, our version of the gravedigger in Hamlet. She provides the audience with a laugh in the midst of murder and mayhem. And unlike the humans who surround her, Whiskey is clearly drawn with no shades of gray. Everybody, but bad guys, likes Whiskey.

But including a dog in the narrative is tricky. You have to appeal to readers without turning them off. I still can’t re-watch Old Yeller because while I understand the dramatic purpose of the dog’s death, I vividly recall the childhood trauma of hearing the rifle shot and understanding what had transpired off-screen. I’m perfectly fine with killing all the villains in whatever gruesome manner an author chooses – but anything with four legs must survive. Thank goodness Trusty in Lady and the Tramp had no more than a broken leg.

I recognize that over-crowded animal shelters and Michael Vick’s off-season “hobby” are clear evidence that, in real life, animals are frequently at risk. And yet, I can’t write fictional stories with that kind of storyline. It’s not that those books can’t be done with taste and care – but my imagination won’t let me travel that road.

Clio, the Irish terrier who shares my office while I write, fulfills many of the same roles that Whiskey does. She’s privy to my musings on how to create fictional havoc; she offers comfort when writer’s block descends; she’s always good for a laugh as she rolls on her back, four legs in the air, and waits for a tummy rub. Maybe that’s the reason why I can’t create stories where animals are harmed? It’s too close to home.

In the meantime, I’ll just re-read The Thin Man. I’ll visit speakeasies, sip martinis with Nick and Nora, and toss a treat to Asta. She’s a schnauzer with a nose for murder. I’d like to introduce her to Whiskey.

Evelyn David