Dog is My Copilot
By Susanne Shaphren
It is a good day. My fingers fly over the computer keyboard with the
"impossible" hunt and peck typing that used to fascinate coworkers before
I started flying solo.
Almost solo. Female authors, especially women who write mysteries, are usually
photographed with feline companions. A succession of cats owned me when I was
growing up, but somewhere along the way everything changed.
My 24-pound anything-but-cat (thought I must confess he barks at birds) Scotch
terrier is always here to provide companionship, consultation, encouragement to
exercise, and the perfect ergonomically designed warm back support in the big
blue chair parked in front of the computer screen.
When the Arizona sun sizzles in the triple digits, my copilot reluctantly gives
up "his" chair and plants himself squarely in front of the fan that strives
valiantly to assist the air conditioner in making the office bearable.
My copilot is intelligent and more than just a bit stubborn. When we brought
him home seven years ago, "Mangus" didn't respond to the name his breeder gave
him. His ears moved every time we spoke to him, and he barked at any animal or
human who dared to come anywhere near his house, so we were sure he
wasn't deaf. He picked his own name when somebody read aloud from the
newspaper, quoting now-retired Phoenix City Attorney Rod McDougall. The puppy
ran all the way across the room, wagged his tail, and jumped up.
Just a coincidence? We waited until he calmed down and tried again with the
same result. We experimented with all sorts of names, trying without success to
find something else that appealed to the stubborn, furry creature. We finally
gave in when it was clear he'd respond only to McDougall.
Weeks later, we got his official AKC papers. Just imagination, or was that
Rod Serling's ghost standing in the corner humming "The Twilight Zone" theme as
we explored McDougall's lineage and stumbled across his ancestor, Lubbehusen's
Bhrier McDoogle?!
Stupid humans. Not only did we take forever to give in and let him have the
appropriate name, we couldn't even manage to spell it right!
After the last of the cats and long before Barney and Miss Beazley moved into
the White House, there were Scotch terriers in our house. Bonnie Prince Charlie
didn't give a fig what his mistress did for a living. Neither did Duncan or
MacTavish. McDougall is the first who showed any interest in my work.
I should have guessed this special Scottie had an affinity for words when he
named himself and when he demonstrated a remarkably large vocabulary. Even
though he had more toys than most stores, he never failed to bring exactly the
right one. If you told him to bring you his duck, he'd fetch the plush duck.
Ask for the bear and that's exactly what you'd get. After the initial command,
he'd play fetch until he got bored, then bring back a new toy to vary the game.
Like all the dogs we'd had, he was halfway to the door if you made the mistake
of whispering "walk." Unlike any other dog, he caught on to the spelling
of "m...a...i...l." He'd run to the front door to block the path of the
ever-so-clever person who thought it was going to be a solo journey.
McDougall and I start the day with a long session of research. My
copilot/navigator tests the wind with a quick sniff and tugs on the leash as he
sets our course. We walk briskly but slowly enough to carefully observe our
surroundings. He always seems to know exactly where to go to see hot air
balloons, the neighborhood's budding artists' sidewalk "chalk museum," or some
other fascinating attraction.
One morning, we even encountered a coyote casually strolling toward us on the
pavement blocks away from the mountain preserve! The tiny terrier and his
writer walked away without a scratch. Either the coyote wasn't hungry, or we
looked tough and tasteless.
There's always time to talk to people we encounter, always an opportunity to
develop story/article ideas or ponder plot problems that need to be solved.
After our walk, it's time to work.
McDougall cocks his head and listens intently when I read aloud from an
acceptable article or story draft. When he falls asleep or jumps down, it's a
sure sign I need to revise! My copilot makes sure I don't risk carpal tunnel
syndrome by insisting on frequent breaks to go out and take care of more
important business like barking at birds or chasing bunnies.
He proudly walks manuscripts to the mailbox, reluctantly retrieves rejection
slips, and actually seems to walk a bit faster when he senses there's an
acceptance in the tall stack of envelopes. The only writing related task he
hasn't participated in so far is a book signing!
Susanne Shaphren's fiction and articles have appeared in a wide variety of
online and venues including Dana Literary Society Online Journal, Espresso
Fiction, New England Writer's Network, The Springhill Review, and The Writer's
E-zine. Her short story, "Arrangements," is included in the Mystery Writers of
America anthology, Show Business Is Murder. "The Best of Friends" will
appear in the Michael Bracken anthology, Sex, Lies, & Private Eyes.
