Giving Thanks (and doggie treats) by Eric beetner

 In honor of Thanksgiving (in the US), share something you're grateful for. Specifically, something that helps you do your work as a writer more effectively, efficiently, or joyfully.

It might sound odd or just something I want to be true, but I write better with a dog at my feet. My first 9 novels were written with my dog, Maybel, snoring gently by my side. After she passed, I worried I would’t be able to write anymore. Had she been my muse?

I have three dogs now, and one or more sits with me nearly every night when I write. They take turns, they trade spots, they jockey for space in the donut-shaped dog bed on the floor next to my desk, but they are there.

They offer a quiet comfort while I’m writing, which I do in silence. The lighting in my office isn’t harsh or too bright. I often burn a candle with a vanilla scent. I like to think it’s a pleasant place for them to be. 

All three dogs are rescues and each one came from an increasingly tragic backstory. Our spaniel mix was a street dog in Tijuana. Our pug was rescued off a meat train in China. Our French Bulldog was found roaming the streets of East L.A. with 80% of his hair missing and eye infections that threatened his sight. All three are happy, lazy and comfortable in their new home.

None of them know, of course, how much I rely on them to aid in my writing. None of them were a model on which to base Chester, the canine character in my Carter McCoy series. That dog has become the character I’ve gotten the most positive response about from readers across all 30+ of my books. He’s number one.

None of them snore too loudly, which is good. Nobody has bad gas. 

They also aren’t trained and can’t really do tricks or anything. But I’ll take a faithful companion who shares their company with me when I need it over a performing sideshow act any day. 

I know they would prefer it if I could reconfigure my desk and chair setup so they could sit on my lap while I type, but that makes my word count hard to hit when I’m reaching over piles of fur to reach the keys.

They’ll have to settle for a bed on the floor, the occasional treat, and my gratitude for their company. I’ll tell myself my work is better for their proximity to it. Even if it isn’t true, I want it to be. And they’re not going anywhere.