For any who don’t know, I’m currently in the process of attempting to publish one novel — which I wrote back in ninth grade for my first ever NaNoWriMo — and attempting to write another — which I began for my fourth NaNoWriMo, last month.
Conclusion? I use all my best ideas on NaNoWriMo. (Not sure if that’s a good thing or not.)
But anyway, I’ve been sitting here all day with Willy beside me, making sure that he’s okay, and attempting to work on writing the-novel-in-progress, AKA Dreamcatcher, and failing miserably at it because I basically have as much focus as a chipmunk. Or Doug:
[Copyright Disney Pixar]
And yeah. I figured I’d let y’all know how Willy’s doing, which currently is to be all stretched out beside me sleeping. (Earlier he had his head resting on my writing notebook and it was the cutest thing ever. You know, until I actually needed to use it.) So he’s doing a lot better than before. Actually eating and drinking and walking around again, although he’s still really worn out from the weekend. (But what can you expect? He’s sixteen freakin’ years old!)
Here’s a pic of the William for anyone who doesn’t know him (which includes 99.999999999% of the world since he’s insanely shy around most people):
(Yes, that “I Think You’re Stupid and I’m Going to Take Over the World Someday” face is his most common expression. Why do you ask?)
Oh, and while we’re at it, here’s my equally evil and overly-intelligent puppy schweetykins, Sammy:
(Don’t let that innocent face fool you. She’s completely diabolical.)
This one time, back when she was still just a puppy, we hired an in-home dog trainer to come in and teach her all those basic commands like “sit” and “stay” and “don’t eat the cat” and all that. She was horrible all through training, never doing what she was told unless the trainer was around (and even then, only about half the time). Then, test day came around. Right before her final exam began, the trainer told us it was okay if she didn’t get a hundred percent because dogs rarely do, least of all beagles.
Well, Sammy seemed to take this as a personal slight on her intelligence, and henceforth went out and completed every command perfectly. The dog trainer was flabbergasted as he handed over her diploma.
He then left the house and Sammy has never obeyed a single command since (except for from my dad, because he gives her bread, which is basically the Sammy version of catnip).
Still want further proof of her diabolicalness?
A few months back, Sam injured her paw and began limping everywhere, so Mom went and made an appointment with the vet to see if anything needed serious medical attention or if it would heal on its own. Promptly after the phone call, she stopped limping and acted perfectly fine again. But Madre didn’t want to cancel the appointment, so she took Sammy in anyway, rather embarrassed as the dog continued to walk around just fine all throughout the vet office.
That is, until the vet came in.
And then, just like she was in a cheesy family sitcom, Sammy lifted up her paw and held it out at the vet like, “Oh hello there, dearie! Here is my life threatening injury, you should examine it accordingly.” (That should all be read in an extremely posh and affected accent, by the way.)
In conclusion, my dog is evil. (But also adorable, so I guess that makes up for it, right?)