WordPlay

My glamorous life.

I am author, web master, Backlist eBooks partner, and…the Mighty Poo Wrangler.

(Don’t you wish you were me?)

At times, this is more obvious than others.  Like when the north slope in front of the barn is frozen for ever and ever in the wake of substantial snow, creating a weird glacier with artfully incorporated horse poo.  It was 4F last night–not unusual for deep winter–and it doesn’t get warm enough, long enough, to melt any of it.  That means…yes.  It goes through subtle warming-freezing cycles that compact and entrench it.

The snow is now slick ice; the poo will be there for archeologists to find centuries from now.  “We must surmise that the occupant of this home worshiped Poo, to have preserved it so well.”

In the meantime, daily feeding excursions to the barn are a bit challenging.  Time to get crampons.

The other time Poo Wrangling duties inch into that “Really?  HOW much clean-up and laundry?” zone is when the dogs pass a bug around between them.  Like this past week and a half.  In this case a weird little bug, with atypical incubation, atypical presentation, atypical course of illness. Mainly I spent the time going, “What?  AGAIN?  And you, too?  NOW?  Really?”

Now that I have the whole picture and have been able to pick the brains of some doggy experts (Brain Wrangling, a whole different skill), it’s obvious I was outwitted from the start.  Virus Win, Durgin Stress Shed, and cleaning product manufacturers rejoice.

It’s at times like this I think, “How many dogs do I have?  Why is that again?”

But of course, they’re quick to remind me.  They wait until I’m off guard and then they arrange to blindside me with adorableness, thusly:

Dart & Connery Ball of Cuteness

Dart & Connery Ball of Even Cuter

If you’ve got critters, I bet you know just what I mean!

By the way, there’s free fun for the next week, more or less--the short story A BITCH IN TIME is a freebie at Nook, Sony, and iTunes, but only until the stores pick up the directive to stick it back to 99c.  That should happen fairly soon–I think!–so grab it while you can!  If you have THE HEART OF DOG, you already have this story.  If not…have fun!

Dart & Connery Ball of Even Cuter

DART BEAGLE!

It’s happened AGAIN.

That would be the way my work with critters habitually turns into metaphor for my writing.

While I could be talking about the incredible icy poo-fest that is the barn frontage this particular winter (in fact, given the state of the industry, I probably should be talking about the incredible icy poo-fest that is the barn frontage this particular winter), I’m somehow not.

It’s about tracking, really.  And how being on the end of the tracking line is a whole lot like wrangling the muse.

Every dog has a different style when tracking, but staying on the track is the only way to get the job done.  Enticing crosstracks won’t do it.  Following that just-flushed jackrabbit won’t do it, either.  Following blown scent instead of the actual track isn’t going to get you there, or getting stuck in scent pools won’t get you anywhere at all.

It’s up to the handler to question the dog, create a thoughtful process, and not follow blindly where the dog leads.  After all, if you step out confidently when the dog is merely pondering a crosstrack, then the dog may well rightfully think, “Ah HA!  She wants me to go this way!”

And yes, a writer needs to stay on track.  Both with editorial expectations (some publishers more than others) and with storytelling needs.  As in, there are certain necessary elements for a good story, no matter how many individual ways there are to approach those elements.

At the same time, the handler has to trust the dog.  No human can detect the scent the dog follows; only the dog can say where the track goes.  And while the handler employs an understanding of scent behavior and dog body language to know when to follow freely and when to wait and watch and stay out of the way and when to say, “Are you sure?”, at some point you simply have to trust.  And if you don’t–if you start questioning and hesitating in that moment you should be trusting…then the dog loses confidence.  Shuts down.  Quits.

It’s just the same with writers, right?  A writer needs to follow her muse.  Restrain the muse, and she shuts down.  Tell her no too many times and she flips you a rude gesture.  Ignore her insight, and go down a duller, well-trodden path instead of managing a bright new track through unexplored territory.

Add it all up and it becomes a dance.  Knowing enough about the territory and conditions and expectations–not to mention the muse or the dog–to provide the necessary guidance.  And then, knowing when to just plain trust, even if the track goes in an unexpected direction.

See?  Is that totally a tracking as writing metaphor, or what?

It’s 10am Christmas morning, which is a whole lot later than this day started.  Not because I have eager kids in the house, but because today was my chance to run a certification track with Dart Beagle.

In order to enter the TD (tracking) test, a dog must prove he’s ready.  That means passing on an informal TD track.  Ours was scheduled for Friday the 23rd–but we spent Friday snowbound, digging out from under the third storm in two weeks.

insert random beauty

Sunrise, right before the start of the storm...

Thirty-six hours later, as the sun is about to set...clearing skies with lenticular clouds sitting on the Sandia Mountains

So we rescheduled for Monday.  But then the certifying judge had to reschedule something of her own due to that same weather, and suddenly here we are on Christmas morning, squeezing in the track together.

It was 15F when we left the house; marginally warmer when I ran Dart’s little starter track (a wee morale builder).  Eventually the sun came up and that helped a bit–when we ran the certifying track a little after nine, it was all blue sky, bright sun, and eager Beagle.

And for Christmas this year, the eager Beagle ran a picture-perfect track and found the glove. 

Now I am off to celebrate!

insert random holiday cheer

My view from the office at Horse Feeding Time

Duncan feeling a bit jaunty in his power red blankie

The dogs say "Happy Holidays!"

It’s cold out.

It’s been cold out and it looks like it’s going to stay that way, with nightly single digits and persistent snow.

We’ve stocked up on wood pellets–a ton of them!

We’ve pulled out all the extra blankets and layers.

We have eggnog.

Also, we have Beagles.  Never is it more evident that the Beagle–as opposed to the Cardigan Welsh Corgi–is a pack dog.  This is when the boys out-snuggle, out-cozy, and out-cute the rest of the world.

Awww!

Awww, yawning!

AWWWW!!!

Like the rest of us have any chance at all.

PS Bonus smile: Here’s ConneryBeagle just learning how to walk on a treadmill for his stifle rehab.

Dart Beagle has a problem.

He’s brilliant.

Dart Beagle has another problem.

He’s impulsively evil.

For Dart Beagle, it’s a constant battle, especially when it comes to the agility field. Brilliance vs impulse? Oh, choices, choices…

The problem for me is, the impulsive behavior is instantly, profoundly self-rewarding. WHEEEEEE! The correct behavior on the agility field–where cookies and toys aren’t allowed–is more of a long-term reward. First, lots of partying at the end of the run.

(Well. If he makes it to the end of the run.)

Second, the gradual realization that the partnership itself is the rewarding thing.

Belle Corgi has always known that final lesson. For her, it was always about what we did together.

Connery loves the partnership–he’s happiest when he feels we’re running the courses together, which means I run alongside him rather than taking an easier handling path. And he is totally about the party–the celebration of self before he runs:

Me: Are you ready?

Connery: YES I AM BAWHHHH!

Not to mention the celebration of BAWHSOMENESS after he’s run. Oh, cookies! Oh Go-Dog sports drink! Oh race-to-the-crate! Oh BAWH!

Neither of them are impulsive dogs.

D’Artagnan Beagle = Prince of Impulse.

His training isn’t the problem. His understanding of the task at hand isn’t the problem. The problem occurs in that one stride when he hits full speed and his brain says, “WHOO HOO LET’S–”

…take all these jumps in an order of my choosing!

…fly out of the ring at top speed to visit that totally strange dog who wants nothing to do with me!

…visit that nice pole setter!

My challenge is ongoing, and the process is very much one step ahead, ten steps behind.  Although I couldn’t ask for a better first four obstacles here…  Those weaves–!  Yeah!

So never mind the trial prep training. Never mind the entry fees. Never mind getting to the trial site, the hotel cost, walking and memorizing the course, or the moments of pre-course doggy psychology. The consequences of “WHOO HOO LET’S–!” turns out to be the end of the fun. No more WHOO, no more HOO. Just, “Oh, dear, I guess you made a bad choice there,” and a boring free heel out of the ring.

Only time will tell if the Impulsive Evil will succumb to consequences, and the Brilliance will out. Until then…it’s all about the willpower. Because looking down into that dismayed little face to say, “Oh, dear, I guess you made a bad choice there” while the rest of the course still stretches out before you…

Oh, I feel the lure of that Impulsive Evil myself!

Cryptic Impulsive Evil

This weekend, the Beagles went flying.

Not exactly in the way I had planned, though.  More like in a Keystone Cops way.

This past weekend we went to an agility trial.  Also, we had Weather, to the tune of slashing ran, gale force winds, and brrrrcold.  And we started out with ground frosty and frozen over recent irrigation.

So on Friday, ConneryBeagle went flying…right through the double jump.

On Saturday, Dart Beagle went flying…blown right off the dogwalk.

On Sunday, which was calm, cold, and sunny, Dart Beagle headed across the dogwalk and went, “Oh!  Yesterday I went flying off this thing!” and promptly tied his legs in knots and flew off again.

On the other paw…

Connery ran strong this past weekend, and looked as good as he has since we started the merry-go-round of his magical inhaler vs the side effects of same.  It’s three months since he started using it, and it’s obvious that it’s not possible to completely resolve his idiopathic headaches, infections, and inflammation without screwing up the rest of his body.  It’s just a matter of finding a decent balance, and hoping for a shift toward overall improvement over time.

But hey!  He Q’d on all his courses except for the one on which he slipped, and he did it with happy vigor.

His jumping style is awry in this photo, but I love it for his soft, intense little expression

And while Dart was busy flying off the dogwalk on the standard course, over on jumpers he qualified every day–if not, shall we say, without a whole lot of wing & a prayer (just to stick with the flying thing). All the same, he had some lovely moments, and I’m slowly learning the things he needs to stay confident.  I’m changing my criteria for contact zone behaviors and I’m learning that he stresses when I decelerate, so I take that into account when I plan my course for him.  It’s unavoidable, but sometimes it can be minimized.

Normally these three qualifying runs would have earned him a title–and I thought it had.  Then I remembered that it takes three legs under TWO different judges, and at this particular trial there was only one judge.  (It’s quite unusual just for that reason.)  We’re traveling for the next trial, which may or may not explode his brain.  We shall have to see!

Meanwhile, I have to admit…although my license plate says Air Beagle (well, all smashed together in 6 letters), this isn’t exactly the kind of flying I was thinking of.  I hope that for a while, we stick to the flying that’s done ON PURPOSE!

PS BONUS VIDEO!  This is a 360 pan of the sky right before it really opened up.  At the time I was recording, it was raining lightly.  And of course, the wind…  (Note the clever movie file name.  Yeah, yeah.)

So many things!  All happening!

There’s the barking dog thing.  Jury’s still out–after three days of blessed silence last week, Thursday and Friday were nonstop barking.  Non.  Freaking.  Stop.  Barking.

Another neighbor thought she had an opportunity to touch base with Barking Dog Neighbor over the weekend.  I need to catch up with her so I have the scoop before I clip request #2 to the gate.

There’s the paddock footing thing–we have a line on some more shreddings, of much better quality than before.  Delivery imminent, we hope!

There’s the ConneryBeagle thing.  We’re still trying to find a balance of his meds and still trying to find ways to support him through this.  He’s looking a little stronger, if not quite himself.  Still, that’s GOOD–and the only reason I can measure it that closely is because of the agility, and my pretty highly honed awareness of how he runs when he’s feeling strong.  He’s pretty cheerful, and that’s great–and he certainly still thinks his agility and his tracking are great fun.

In fact–moving onto the next thing–he had a chance to do both this weekend.  He and Dart headed to a local UKI trial, our first real experience with this new venue.  The courses were European in style, and lots of fun, and the venue was small and friendly.  We ran our first Speedstakes courses, and our very first snooker.  Whee!

Dart grabbed a couple of Qs–and somehow kept enough brains to mainly stay inside the rings.  ConneryBeagle would have Q’d in all his runs had he not slipped in the thick, long and really wet grass to take down a bar.  So, yeah–fun!

Where, you ask, did the tracking come in?  Out in the trial’s huge off-leash play area, the grass and clover were equally thick and deep, and a friend’s small dog lost a couple of favorite toys in it–toys the combined efforts of the rest of us couldn’t find.  So Connery put on his tracking harness, played a few article indication games with the dog’s remaining toys, and made the conceptual leap to my request to search out additional toys.

Which he found.

SO PROUD!!

Oh, there’s the book thing: as of today, the second draft pass is done for Tiger Bound, the next Nocturne Sentinel.  There are a few more details to polish up, and then off it goes to my editor!

And then, finally, there’s the backlist ebook thing.  I’m having such fun with the covers, I’m still poking away at them in the midst of everything.  So without further ado, here’s Feef’s House!

$.99
First Released: 2003, DAW anthology Space, Inc.
Backlist eBooks Store: All Formats

Feef is a smelly, insecure little creature who calls the Toklaat Space Station home. Shadia is a tough, independent itinerant worker who calls no place home—until the day Feef needs help…and offers her something priceless in return.

“Durgin has a remarkable gift for inventing unusual characters doing incredible things.”
–Kliatt

[included in The Heart of Dog anthology]

Ready for some Wednesday Goodies?

Here’s a goodie to start with…for those of you who read Monday’s Barking Dog Blog (which was written late Sunday)…Monday was the first real test of the Barking Dog Response…that is, would Neighbor listen to the request in the note I wrote?

Monday, I am pleased to say, was quiet.

Tuesday, I am pleased to say, it rained most of the day–so basically, who knows if it would have been quiet or not.  But the rain was a major boon (and it came without the massive hailstorm that ripped apart this area last year at just this time), so either way…definite Goody.

Why, I might even risk riding Duncan on our north flat today!  (But, hmm…I think I’ll have earplugs, just in case.)

Otherwise, on the Goody front?  I got another short story out in the backlist offerings!

$.99
First Published: 2004, DAW: ReVisions
BACKLIST EBOOKS: ALL FORMATS

In Neil’s world, there are miniature seeing-eye horses, service pigs, stock-guarding llamas, and bred-up Siamese guard cats—because in Neil’s world, dogs were never domesticated, and never will be. But it seems no one’s asked the dogs what they think…

Originally published in the DAW anthology, ReVisions—an anthology of alternate history stories that consider what would have happened if scientific and technological breakthroughs–and challenges–occurred long before they did in real history.

[included in THE HEART OF DOG]

Definite GoodieFest day.  Got any to share?

Dear New Neighbor:

I bet when you saw Beagles in my back yard, you thought, “Oh, good!  She’s used to barking dogs and she won’t mind mine.”

Wrong.  And wrong.

Contrary to common belief, a happy and fulfilled Beagle is not a habitual barker.  (However, if you give them something to bark AT, you’re going to hear it very clearly!)

Also, my dogs live behind the house.  There, they don’t come face-to-face with neighbors who are walking, jogging, or having a little peripatetic quality time with their own dogs.  I very deliberately planned that location for their hangout even though the space is long and narrow and funky beside the Arroyo Minor drop-off, because…less stress for them.  Less stress for the neighborhood.

Peace and quiet for all.

And, as it happens, my dogs do not in fact bark as a recreational activity.  Oh, adolescent Dart flirted with that past-time when he first arrived; we managed, prevented, and otherwise stopped it from becoming a habit until he grew through that phase.

So, wrong.

Also wrong?

To move into your home, dump your huge dogs there unsupervised for a week where they’re in a yard that runs directly along our shared dirt road, and leave the neighborhood reeling under thunderous, relentless barking.

Then, when the first person mentions the problem, simply say that the dogs will settle in, especially now that you’re back.  Then leave them out all day while you’re at work.  And then, when the second person expresses distress, again say that the dogs just need time to settle in.

The weeks pass.  The neighbor across from you, a pleasant retired person, must close her windows in spite of the need to regulate her household temperature.  She can no longer putter amongst her flowers or keep up her yard without an unending chorus of barking.

The neighbors south of you deal with the impact on their own dogs, who are riled and easy to upset, and burst into barking much more readily.  Their new rescue dog experiments with barking as habitual entertainment, taking his example from your dogs.

The neighbor southwest of you—that would be me—takes a single ride in her north pasture and comes back inside with ears ringing and eyes crossed and then her horse is trapped in the paddock for the next four weeks, longeing in a small space.  She has to close up her house to get work done.  Outdoor chores are no longer a restful time during which the muse wanders through stories.  Her migraines do not thank you, either.  Young Dart ponders, again, the value of recreational barking.

Attempts to make friends with the dogs are fruitless; the shy one never gets close, and the very nice one takes tidbits with gentle teeth and then barks at everyone anyway.

It isn’t their fault.  They’re over-stimulated, thrust into an unfamiliar environment, unsupervised.  They’re up against the road where the world is in their face instead of restricted to the many acres behind the house.

MANY ACRES.  BEHIND THE HOUSE.

The weeks pass.  And finally, you receive a letter clipped to your gate, from the one neighbor who hasn’t yet spoken to you.  (That would be me.)  It’s as kind as it can be, but it states in no uncertain terms:  Your dogs’ barking, while you are gone, is relentless.  It’s distressing.  It’s affecting the quality of life of the entire rural neighborhood—where everyone loves dogs but everyone also loves their quiet life.  It is time to do something.

NOW.

Dammit.

Some days, the dogs don’t really need words written about them.

Some days, they just have to be themselves.