Mum and the vet made me wear this
The Ultimate Collar of Shame
And all because I took my bandage off. It’s a dog’s life!
And then it got worse
My Terrible Week
This has been the worst week of my life, ever.
I had a bad claw. You know that one that sticks out halfway up your leg if you are a dog. It’s totally useless and I haven’t even got one on my other back leg because evolution took care of it. But the one that evolution had forgotten has been causing me problems.
It kept on growing and growing and then it stuck out at a funny angle and then I got it caught on brambles and then it started bleeding and then Mum told me off for licking it and then it broke off and then the bit that was left puffed up and hurt me. So Mum took me somewhere to make it better.
Mum called it The Vets. Have you ever heard of it? It’s a weird place because the people are really, really nice but what they do to you is really, really horrid.
For a start I was not allowed to eat anything all day. No food for a dog is absolute torture. Then they did a few other things to me that I don’t want to mention. They were so bad that I lost consciousness and when I woke up I felt terrible. I had a sore throat and my bad claw had turned into a bad paw. I felt so dizzy I could hardly stand and I had to walk on three legs because my bad paw was extremely BAD.
Mum came to get me. I managed to jump into the car but I couldn’t jump out. I had to be carried. I lay on the sofa and wanted to die. I could only eat my tea lying down because my legs were so wobbly and then my bad foot started swelling up.
Mum gave me something called Arnica, but the pill was so tiny it wasn’t really worth it. Then she made me sit with my bad paw on an ice pack. I didn’t like it but I felt so ill I didn’t argue.
That all happened on Monday. On Tuesday I didn’t feel so dizzy. Today is Wednesday and I feel fine except for this :
If Mum thinks I am going out looking like this, she is mistaken.
First Draft – Finito
On 29th March, I announced on Facebook that I was about to crack open a new notebook and start writing the first draft of a new book.
Before I started
I’d spent ages on the outline and agreed it with my agent. In fact I sent her a seven page synopsis! Any authors out there know that seven pages is a complete no-no when submitting work to agents, but luckily my agent is prepared to put up with my idiosyncrasies. If I give her the usual one pager she sends me loads of queries. The answers are all in my head but they didn’t fit onto one page, so she gets the full monty whether she likes it or not!
I’m afraid I neglected my parental duties, I didn’t do any admin, I didn’t write blog posts or do any chores. In fact I didn’t do anything for anyone else during that time. It’s very hard to be super-productive as a writer as well as doing other stuff.
But today, twenty four days later, I finished the first draft.
My notebook now looks like this :
The End
I wrote all the way to the end and then turned the book upside down and wrote on the reverse of the pages. There were 160 pages at the beginning. There are 18 half used pages left. The rest have gone to recycling and I have a hundred page typed up document which I am very proud of.
I think it is important to edit off a hard copy, so I sent a pdf to be printed to spare my ailing printer and depleting toner cartridges. It’ll come back with it’s own snazzy spiral binding.
Next week I will start the second draft and I rashly told my agent I would send it to her before half term. Yikes! That’s four weeks away and in my blog post here, I said the second draft took me months rather than weeks.
Guess I am going to have to neglect my family and friends all over again. I hope they forgive me.
A Very Ancient Library
I haven’t been to the library for ages. That doesn’t mean I’m not writing. I am and it’s going very well, thanks for asking, despite having two children home for the Easter holiday.
Don’t bother asking how the parenting is going. I find it impossible to be a focused, prolific writer and a good parent at exactly the same time. Some would say I’m never a good parent (my daughter for example) but the word ‘good’ is subjective , don’t you think?
Anyway – the library. I miss it. But the library won’t give my dog a library card so I’ve been writing at home. The great news is I’ve finally got over my ‘I can’t write at home when there are people around’ hang up and am well over 10,000 words in 10 days so I’m obviously doing something right.
Today I wandered into the Bishopsgate Library for twenty minutes because I was early for my regular appointment. It’s usually pretty quiet.
It’s a fusty sort of place. A bit like the bank in Mary Poppins. The books are mostly behind locked glass cupboards and there are no windows, only a gorgeous stained glass dome that casts a yellowy light over the library.
The radiators are in the middle of the room and during the Winter there is a bum scrum for the seat nearest the heat. It might be a little old fashioned, but there is still something comforting about the old books and the weight of learning that could go on there if only you had the key to unlock the cabinets.
But I got a bit of a shock today. The library was busy. Nearly every seat taken by someone with a laptop or a mountain of fat textbooks. The tables were littered with files and notebooks covered in highlighter pen and sticky post it tabs reminding the owner of important information according to a strict colour code.
Writing at home with my dog by my side, I had completely forgotten, it is now revision season. Anyone studying has exams coming up and anyone studying rushes to the library to make it look like they are working hard. The people at Bishopsgate probably were. In Peckham library there is a flood of GCSE students sent home on study leave at this time of year and unfortunately they don’t respect the tradition that libraries are supposed to be quiet.
I manage to find myself a seat among the students at Bishopsgate, although I noticed no one asked the librarian for the key to any of the cupboards so I couldn’t help wondering – did anyone learn anything new today?
Shall I enter Britain’s Got Talent?
I’ve been thinking it might be a good idea to enter Britain’s Got Talent so that I can use the prize money to help out my family and the kind people that helped rescue me – Allsorts Dog Rescue near Brighton and Animal Heaven Animal Rescue in Ireland.
Pudsey won Britain’s Got Talent, but he had his human with him on stage. I was thinking of entering on my own, but I’m not sure which of my many talents I should use on TV.
This week I have been practicing ballet. This is me trying out jete (jumping) using the kitchen counter as a barre.
After all that leaping about, I had to stretch my aching muscles.
Do you think I stand any chance of winning Britains Got Talent with my ballet? Or should I try something else?
I Love Presents Made by Anita Loughrey
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Dear Anita,
Thank you so much for the lovely gloves you knitted Mum for her birthday. They were particularly delicious. Well, one of them was. I didn’t get a chance to eat the other one, because Mum came in and caught me flossing with black wool and told me off. I can’t understand why. What’s the point of a present if you can’t eat it? |
Anita Loughrey and Jo Franklin. Photo by Christina Vinall
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Glove now suitable for a human with a finger growing out of the back of their hand.
Hear? Here!
It’s really weird, most dog owners I meet in the park have a very limited range of vocabulary. They jabber away to their friends about totally unimportant things like the quality of the coffee at the park cafe and what happened to the man at number 63 when he was taken away in the ambulance, but when they come to speak to us dogs they only use the same few words.
A really common one is ‘SIT’. We all know what it means but in case there are a few humans reading this, let me demonstrate :
Bum on floor. Look interested.
The other word that is used in the park a lot is ‘HERE’. The problem is that humans don’t realise that ‘HERE’ is a relative term.
Let me explain.
If I’m in the park and there are no dogs to play with and the squirrels are in hiding and it’s raining and Mum says ‘HERE’ I hear her and head on over for roasted liver treat and an ear fondle and maybe a ball throw. She tells me I am the best dog in the world.
However if :
- I am on the scent of this Class A Amazing Smelly Stuff that the park rangers put down on the football pitches to help the grass grow
- And it’s totally fresh because they only did it this morning.
- And it’s gone into these cute little cracks in the ground that the tractor has made.
- And I can get my nose right in to sniff it but can’t actually get the Amazing Smelly Stuff out.
- And it has been spread over the whole of two football pitches.
- And there are concentrated blobs of Class A Amazing Smelly Stuff heaven at the corners of the football field where the tractor turned round
Then this is what happens :
I don’t hear ‘HERE’. I don’t hear anything. I don’t want a roasted liver treat or an ear fondle or to chase a ball. I want the ClassA Amazing Smelly Stuff. I want it NOW and I want it ALWAYS.
I don’t hear ‘HERE’ because I know Mum doesn’t mean ‘HERE’ she means ‘You are going on the lead and I am taking you home.’ But I only want ClassA Amazing Smelly Stuff so there is no way I am going near her.
Even if she tries sending another dog to distract me, I’m not interested. I want that Amazing Smelly Stuff and nothing else. It doesn’t matter how many times she shout’s ‘HERE’ – I’m not here-ing/hearing.
That’s what happened last week and Mum was cross with me.
This week I have been confined to the lead. Mum keeps saying ‘HERE’ to me and giving me a treat.
Of course I can hear her. She’s right next to me at the other end of the lead and the ClassA Amazing Smelly Stuff has gone now. So I gobble up my treats and look cute and hope that she will let me off the lead soon, because I really need to stretch my legs.
I totally do not have worms
Mum tricked me today. She asked me if I wanted a tasty treat. She made me sit nicely then she threw a biscuit and I jumped and caught it.
Big mistake!
It tasted of extra-mature broccoli with a swede and spinach coating. No dog with any taste buds would call that tasty. I spat it out.
‘You’ve got to eat it,’ Mum said. ‘It’s a worming tablet.’
‘I don’t have worms,’ I said.
Mum picked the tablet up and hid it in her hand. She reached out as if she wanted to fondle my ears, as if I was stupid. I ducked my head and darted round the back of the kitchen table.
‘Come on, Mickey, it’s good for you,’ she said as she came round the other side of the table to head me off.
‘I don’t have worms,’ I said.
She grabbed my collar and wrapped her arm around my head, crushing my ears with her arm pit. She prised open my jaws and tried to slip that disgusting thing onto my tongue.
‘I don’t have worms,’ I said as I spat out the tablet again.
‘What’s going on?’ Andrew said as he came into the kitchen.
‘Mickey’s got tape worm. I saw it in his poo this morning,’ Mum said.
I didn’t know what she was talking about.
‘What’s it look like?’ Andrew said.
‘A long thin white line of plastic, covered in dog poo,’ Mum said.
‘I don’t have worms,’ I said, but no one was listening. The humans carried on talking and Mum took a packet of Swedish Meatballs out of the fridge. Now they are tasty, but she spoiled it by shoving the worming tablet inside.
‘Mickey, here!’ Mum said waving the broccoli infested meatball in front of my nose.
I don’t have worms and I don’t like worming tablets but I took that meatball, rolled it around inside my mouth for a moment or two before spitting out the tablet and swallowing the meatball.
’Mickey!’ Mum sounded cross now.
I scooted round the back of the kitchen table to hide. If she could speak dog, she’d know I don’t like taking medicine unnecessarily. So I was just going to have to show her what I was on about.
Mum and Andrew were saying so many unkind things about me they didn’t notice me going over to the sink. I pulled open the cupboard, stuck my snout in the bin and came out with …
Big mistake!
It tasted of extra-mature broccoli with a swede and spinach coating. No dog with any taste buds would call that tasty. I spat it out.
‘You’ve got to eat it,’ Mum said. ‘It’s a worming tablet.’
‘I don’t have worms,’ I said.
Mum picked the tablet up and hid it in her hand. She reached out as if she wanted to fondle my ears, as if I was stupid. I ducked my head and darted round the back of the kitchen table.
‘Come on, Mickey, it’s good for you,’ she said as she came round the other side of the table to head me off.
‘I don’t have worms,’ I said.
She grabbed my collar and wrapped her arm around my head, crushing my ears with her arm pit. She prised open my jaws and tried to slip that disgusting thing onto my tongue.
‘I don’t have worms,’ I said as I spat out the tablet again.
‘What’s going on?’ Andrew said as he came into the kitchen.
‘Mickey’s got tape worm. I saw it in his poo this morning,’ Mum said.
I didn’t know what she was talking about.
‘What’s it look like?’ Andrew said.
‘A long thin white line of plastic, covered in dog poo,’ Mum said.
‘I don’t have worms,’ I said, but no one was listening. The humans carried on talking and Mum took a packet of Swedish Meatballs out of the fridge. Now they are tasty, but she spoiled it by shoving the worming tablet inside.
‘Mickey, here!’ Mum said waving the broccoli infested meatball in front of my nose.
I don’t have worms and I don’t like worming tablets but I took that meatball, rolled it around inside my mouth for a moment or two before spitting out the tablet and swallowing the meatball.
’Mickey!’ Mum sounded cross now.
I scooted round the back of the kitchen table to hide. If she could speak dog, she’d know I don’t like taking medicine unnecessarily. So I was just going to have to show her what I was on about.
Mum and Andrew were saying so many unkind things about me they didn’t notice me going over to the sink. I pulled open the cupboard, stuck my snout in the bin and came out with …
’What’s he got now?’ Andrew said.
’A pepperami wrapper and a pepperami condom, with long thin white plastic lines on it,’ Mum said with a sigh as she picked up the wrappers.
’I told you I don’t have worms,’ I said.
She must have heard me this time. She threw the worming tablet in the bin.
To reward her for her excellent behaviour, I leapt up and grabbed the spicy sausage flavoured plastic treat out of her other hand and swallowed it whole.
Yum!
’A pepperami wrapper and a pepperami condom, with long thin white plastic lines on it,’ Mum said with a sigh as she picked up the wrappers.
’I told you I don’t have worms,’ I said.
She must have heard me this time. She threw the worming tablet in the bin.
To reward her for her excellent behaviour, I leapt up and grabbed the spicy sausage flavoured plastic treat out of her other hand and swallowed it whole.
Yum!
The truth about me
My name is Mickey and I’m a Border Collie x Pointer or some other mixture. I’m about two years old according to my microchip, but my teeth are very good for my age, according to the vet, so no one knows the truth.
I live in London, but I came from Allsorts Dog Rescue near Brighton and before that I had a life that the humans are a bit vague about. I can’t remember either but it can’t have been too bad because I’m house trained and I don’t bite.
My forever family includes my mum – Jo, the author, my dad – Andrew, the cyclist, my step-sister – Eleanor (although she thinks she is also my mum but doesn’t look after me as well as Jo), and my reluctant step brother – Cedric. I’ve lived with them since June 2014.
Two cats live here too but they don’t like me much so I’ve never bothered being friends with them. I don’t know why they hate me because all I’ve ever done is try and play chase with them. Chase is the best game in the world and I can’t understand why they are so grumpy about it.
I’ve decided to write this blog to put my side of the story. I’m not mad. I’m just misunderstood. Hope you keep dropping by to see what I have to bark about.
My Writing Process – Third Draft
The third draft should be easy. I’ve planned, I’ve edited, I’ve spotted and solved every problem. The comments from my agent tend to be minor and easy to fix. I should be able to do the third draft in a matter of days.
However sometimes my agent spots something more fundamental. If this is the case, I go back to first draft mindset and run through my whole writing process again.
However sometimes my agent spots something more fundamental. If this is the case, I go back to first draft mindset and run through my whole writing process again.
My agent, Anne Clark, was an editor for many years. I respect her views and always try to address the issues she raises. She is the first professional editor to look at the manuscript but she is also my sales executive. She has to have total confidence in me and my work to be able to sell it.
We are a team. We work together to get my manuscript right enough to convince a publisher to publish it.
We are a team. We work together to get my manuscript right enough to convince a publisher to publish it.
But luckily I don’t usually have to make too many changes to the third draft. I might add a line to strengthen a character or crank up the tension another notch.
And then I’m done. I’ve made every change I’m going to make at this stage, my To Do list is empty and I’m dying to work on something else for a change.
It’s time to hand my book over to Anne, who either forwards it to my publisher if the book is already under contract or she starts her process of submitting it to publishers hoping to find someone who loves it as much as we do. I try and forget all about that book and start pinning cards on the board to develop a new story
And then I’m done. I’ve made every change I’m going to make at this stage, my To Do list is empty and I’m dying to work on something else for a change.
It’s time to hand my book over to Anne, who either forwards it to my publisher if the book is already under contract or she starts her process of submitting it to publishers hoping to find someone who loves it as much as we do. I try and forget all about that book and start pinning cards on the board to develop a new story