Writers with animals are never short of subject matter, but on the flip side, they are sometimes short of time.
Together, our dogs have earned us thousands of dollars in royalties, not because they write themselves, but because they inspire characters and plots, and even concepts.
Yesterday, they helped us out in the back yard, playing soccer with a large ball and digging in the newly exposed earth. Today, Trump needed a bath because she's shedding hair. She intimated that she was being tortured, and couldn't even fancy a liver treat guilt offering. That is, until Preacher came into the bathroom. Then Jeanie shot in, all muddy paws and flying tail and ears, and needed a bath as well. Tess, meanwhile, is out on the front lawn, revelling in her status of Senior Dog, and the only one Trusted in the front yard unattended.
In the midst of it all, I had to feed Jake, our daughter's lorikeet. He bit me.
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