For Dog's Sake! An Update!

For Dog’s Sake! Can you believe I have posted anything in almost two months? It’s not for lack of activity and excitement around here!

As a matter of fact, we could have had our own reality TV show lately with all the drama:

There's the romance of Rock of Love as Dog is tempted by yet another blond, (actually, even better, a pair of blonds—a mother and daughter who were so desperate for Dog’s attention that they drove over to our house to pick him up for a date! Dog has no money, band or limo—he is loved for his white, fluffy personality alone. Bret Michaels, eat your heart out!)


Watch out, Cameron!

We could have used a little help from The Dog Whisperer when Dog chewed off the arm of one of my son, Carson’s beloved stuffed animals. As I tried to console Carson, promising to sew the appendage back on, “good as new,” he cried and repeated, “Not the Same, Not the Same.”

Of course, he was right. The Purple Penguin would never be the same again. Touched by tragedy, like the Velveteen Rabbit or Edward Tulane, he would be forever transformed—more real, wise and grateful, as we all are when whatever doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. All was forgiven and Carson named the penguin, “Survivor.”


We could have used a little help from Extreme Home Makeover when, in anticipation of my mother-in-law’s visit to celebrate her 75th birthday, I decided to re-carpet our entire upstairs!

We worked furiously one weekend, moving everything that was not nailed down from upstairs to downstairs, creating a chaos in the living/dining room and hallway that was meant to be a gigantic, one-day mess. On Monday, the carpet company messed up the delivery day, tried to recover by delivering the wrong carpet.

I cancelled the order, prayed they would refund my payment (they did) and lived with the chaos for two weeks while we waited for carpet from another company to be installed. Luckily, my mother-in-law has a sense of humor and didn't mind celebrating her birthday amidst cardboard boxes filled with toys and underwear and socks.

Then, maybe not a reality show, but a little ER drama when Dog got a bad boo-boo on his leg and when I took him to the vet they discovered an ear infection! So Dog was on two different kinds of antibiotics for two weeks. I had to hide the pill antibiotic in a cube of cheese and feed him additional cheese to persuade him to allow me to squirt the antibiotics into his ear, so he has gained a bit of weight...

The good news is that I took him to the vet yesterday and he is all-clear and healthy, so we've cut down on the cheese and we're upping the walks. Dog and I need to start a regular Work Out, to get into shape for summer!

Stay posted: There will surely be more real-life drama to follow. And I promise to quit watching so much TV and be more diligent about writing all about it.

The Girls of Sunny

We’ve all heard of the Girls of Summer, but do you know about the Girls of Sunny?

From the Aerosmith song (slightly adapted):

When winter hearts turn summer pink
In half the time it takes to blink
But it all depends on what'you think
About the girls of Sunny

When all you think of all day long
Is a pretty face inside a song
With a thought like that you can't go wrong
About the girls of Sunny

They get'you climbin' the walls
They get'you caught in their spell
They get'you speakin' in tongues
Could this be Heaven or Hell
To fall in love twice a day
Is such a sweet price to pay

Sunny fell in love all over again THREE times today, working his magnetic magic! (We really must get him a spot in the next “The Secret” movie.)

Cameron was feeling blue, so we made a date to meet for coffee. I thought I would surprise her with a little Fluffy White Dog therapy.




If I could only bottle Dog Therapy, I could put Prozac out of business overnight.


But first, I had to stop in at the bookstore and pick up a book. And who pulled into the parking lot at the exact same moment as us?


Dog shamelessly accosting Ann in the parking lot.

Dog’s other Big Love, Auntie Ann, who took care of and loved Dog when we went away on our very first vacation without him. Much crying ensued.

And, if that weren’t enough excitement for one day, I had forgotten to give Cameron a book I promised to let her borrow over coffee, so after picking up the kids from school, we headed off the Cameron’s house, where Sunny was greeted with hugs and kisses by the ultimate dream team of male dogs everywhere—twin blonds!


Cam and her wonderful blond twins.

It doesn’t get any better than this. Here’s to the Girls of Sunny!

Perfect Peace

After spending a long, exhausting morning defending me from the very nice, young, sweet, not-threatening-at-all plumber who came to fix the leak in our bathtub today, Dog can finally rest. (As I have mentioned before, Dog loves most everybody, except for UPS delivery people and repairmen.)

He was so dog-tired that he didn’t even notice when I ripped open the plastic on a brand new bag of cheese and micro-waved myself a chicken quesadilla for lunch. The sounds and smells of his favorite foods could not disturb his slumber.

Expending all your energy, doing work that you feel has meaning and purpose in the service of love…and then relaxing, content with what you have accomplished—that is the essence of Perfect Peace.

And The Oscar Goes To...

Dog, for the best performance of a canine creature who has some kind of weird psychic ability to manipulate time and space and circumstance, and then, be so incredibly charming and down-to-earth likable that you just have to give him the award!

(Now that I think about it, Dog reminds me A LOT of George Clooney,



although Oscar night worked out better for Dog than for Clooney this year.)

(And, although I liked George MUCH, MUCH better in the Ocean movies and ER than in Michael Clayton, I must admit that George looked totally HOT at the Academy Awards, and my guess is that if Cameron would have been the sole judge, he would have won, but we all know what a pushover Cameron is for a great smile and a little animal magnetism.)

But, as usual, I digress. The real point here is…There Are No Coincidences.

Dog continues to amaze and freak me out just a little bit with his New-Agey, “The Secret”-type powers.

Some people who read this are going to think that I am totally over the deep-end. Some will get it. And, like a memoir of addiction or other specific, unique experience that you can only understand if you have “been there,” others that will read this and think, “Thank God, I am not the only one.”

My version of the first step of the traditional 12-step program is “I admit that I am powerless when it comes to Dog. My life has become unmanageable.”

A little background of the past week or so….I’ve been feeling guilty. I’ve been sick with a lingering cold. It’s been raining like crazy. Dog has been getting, maybe one teeny walk a day, which is quite obviously not enough for a rambunctious dog like himself.

And when Dog drags me along on those teeny walks to Cody’s house, begging for a playdate, I selfishly resist because of the residue of muddy paw-prints in the living room from their last rainy-day playdate.

Although I had been fighting a cold and it was drizzling heavily on Sunday morning, I walked Dog, trying to urge him under the umbrella and out of the mud.

I knew the walk was important because we were committed to going to an Oscar party at my very fabulous friend’s house and Dog would be left alone later. My friend has a little, white, fluffy dog who we all love and normally we take Dog along when we go there for dinner, but, for this gathering there would be too many people, and I know that Dog can be the teensiest bit of trouble, especially where Cheese appetizers and People and Fluffy Female Dogs are involved, so the plan was to I leave Dog home alone.

So, Dog, who had not had that much exercise/attention over the last few days, would be forced to spend probably five hours alone in the dark (ok, I leave a light on for him), empty house. I know this is the fate of many dogs, and many dogs may rejoice that they are alone in the house and can sleep on the good couch with nobody around to shoo them off, but Dog is not used to this and I always think of of all the Havanese Websites that I found after we got Dog, all saying something along the same lines of:

This is a sturdy active breed that loves its family. They do not do well left alone and thrive when they are the center of your universe.

So, it's not just me! Just as I’m feeling guilty about leaving Dog alone for so long, Dog or the Universe or our collective subconscious creates magic…

One hour before we had to leave for our party, who do you think called me on her cell-phone? Who, other than a life-size chicken treat, would Dog most like to see materialize as a result of his magnetic thoughts? Cameron, of course!

We had ordered a ridiculous number of Girl Scout cookies and Cameron’s twins wanted to see Sunny when they delivered them, so they were on their way over to our house.

When they brought the cookies, as Dog jumped and cried and licked Cameron and her daughters with glee, I whispered that we would have to leave Dog alone for a few hours that evening and if they wanted a “playdate” that would be ok with us. Cameron and gang were thrilled with the coincidence.

So, I enjoyed the party, not thinking of Dog at all, knowing that he was having the time of his life. We picked him up after the party and we were all happy—Dog for all the attention, me for knowing he was loved and well-cared for while we were gone, the Sullivans for having a spontaneous playdate, and our party hosts, for not having a crazy Dog running around stealing goat cheese off of their coffee table and ruining their party.

My question for Dog is “How do you do it?”

And, p.s., George, if you are interested, Dog and I can give you a really good deal on some consulting about this "The Secret" thing in time for next year's Oscars.

Don't Get a Dog!

Today I was walking Dog in the park and we came across a mom with three little kids. Dog, being the social, party animal that he is, immediately assailed the kids.

“Hey! Sniff, sniff! You smell like you’ve spilled some food on yourselves! Cool!” I imagined him thinking as he proceeded to lick the remnants of lunch from their clothes and hands and mouths.

Then they played that familiar game of “I want you, No I don’t,” as a toddler reached out his hand like he was going to give Dog a big, happy pet on the head, and then, at the last second he pulled away, running and giggling. Dog loved it! Playing hard-to-get works! The little boy teased, then ran fast away and Dog chased him like a rabbit.

The weary mom, with eyes that conveyed a glimmer of hope of deliverance in a furry package, turned to me and said, “That’s what I need! A dog like this that will tire the kids out!”

Uh, oh…

And then she proceeded to talk to me about dogs, and the idea of getting a dog, and questions, questions, questions…

Which brings me to my point. If anyone asks me if they should get a dog, I always same the same thing. Don’t do it!

Whenever the subject of puppies wags its fluffy tail, you always hear the same old admonitions--they pee on your carpet and chew up your favorite slippers and cry all night when you try to make them sleep in a crate. But those are merely minor inconveniences.

The real reason you should never, ever get a dog is that life as you know it will completely change. You will worry and obsess and feel guilty when you have to leave the house. You will have outrageous bills for crazy things that you can’t now imagine like LL Bean goose-down doggie beds and stomach-pumping vet bills when your dog devours a whole Chocolate Easter bunny left carelessly within jumping range.

Your freedom will be a thing of the past. You won’t be able to jet off to Tahiti on a whim or have sex on the kitchen floor. (But, of course, as Meg Ryan says in When Harry Met Sally, “We never really did that anyway.”)

Oh, all the clichés are true, of course. And people love to compare puppies and babies. Like children, dogs bring joy and playfulness and laughter to our sometimes too-serious grown-up lives. And, along with all the trouble, the the love can be overwhelming and astonishing and totally worth it—if you are ready for that kind of surprise and sacrifice.

And, although, with children, it mostly turns out ok, even if (like me) you have absolutely no clue what it really means to be completely responsible for another living being that depends on you for everything. With kids, once you plunge ahead, there is no easy way out. After six months, you can’t just dump your offspring in a shelter because the baby is way more work than you ever imagined. You pretty much have to go ahead and finish the job of parenting, or go to jail or hire a really good nanny or do a half-assed job of it and have to deal with the guilt and sorrow of having your kids turn out bad or maybe even writing a terrible memoir about their childhood.

So, it mostly turns out ok with kids, because we are forced into finishing what we start, and also because we human beings are at least a teeny bit narcissistic. We see our kids, a little bit of our own DNA with our nose or the frown of our brow or even our own muley personality and we love them because we desperately want to love ourselves but we don’t know how, or it feels a little too embarassing. Having a child, somewhat in our own image, gives us the chance to heal, to love the parts of ourselves that we resist. To see the spark of the light and brilliance and possibility in our flaws (or in spite of our flaws) that we are normally too harsh and self-loathing and critical to imagine.

So, even though you have absolutely no idea what is in store for you when you venture into parenthood, you will most likely do ok.

With Doggie Parenthood, not so much.

Because, as much as we love our dogs and identify with them and believe that they are our children, they are not. And, it’s much easier to get away with being selfish with a dog than with a child. Dogs can look at you with those big, brown, liquid, longing eyes, but they can’t verbalize, “Mom, how come you work so much? I could use a little more quality time, here.”

And you pretty much don't have to worry about what other people think. There are no mothers from the preschool class judging what a good doggie parent you are--whether you offer snacks with partially hydrogenated oils or let the dog watch too much TV.

No social service agency is going to knock on your door if you leave your dog in a pen for hours on end or never take him for a walk. You can neglect a dog in so many ways without getting arrested or even raising the ire of your friends and neighbors.

And, so much more so than children, dogs are forgiving. (And they don't have opposable thumbs, so you don't have to worry about them penning that nasty memoir on your computer.) You can let them down in so many ways and they will still love you--still come rushing to the door when to greet you as if you are some rock-star combination of The Dog Whisperer and the neighborhood butcher.

Dogs can be an easy path to the most selfish benefits of love, even if you neglect messy parts, like giving of yourself freely and caring more about the other person (or dog) than yourself, that make love the amazing spiritual journey that it is. Unlike parenthood, you don’t become a dog owner by mistake. You must make a conscious decision to sacrifice and learn and grow and love a little bit too much.

And, that’s exactly why you should never convince someone to get a dog. Talk them out of it. Tell them how much trouble a dog is. How much work dogs are and emphasize potty-training. (which, like the idea of changing diapers, tends to spook the timid and the uninitiated.)

So, whatever you do, Don't Get a Dog.

And, if you ignore my advice, you could possibly be in for the most marvelous, expensive, frustrating, troublesome, time-consuming, joyous experience of your life. But, don't say I didn't warn you.

Happy Valentine's Day!

In keeping with the fine tradition of corny Valentine’s Day poems, I humbly offer my Ode to Dog…

Dear God, Universe, Big Labrador in the Sky,
Thanks for sending me what I did not know I needed…

I asked you for a cuddly dog
When my youngest started school.
I wanted a purse puppy
An accessory to be cool.

A dog to give me love
And lick me on the face.
Always glad to see me
Yet give me lots of space.

But when we saw our puppy,
The way he played, what fun!
He made us laugh; he charmed us,
We knew he was the one.

I try to tempt him on my lap
For a peaceful little snooze.
He grabs my slipper, playing keep away.
He’s built more to amuse.

Now when he takes me for a walk
Every day I pray,
Thank God you didn’t listen,
It’s much more fun to play!


Dog and me in a rare moment in which he tolerates my cuddling.

Wishing you all a playful Valentine’s Day!

If You Love Something, Set It Free (unless it’s a puppy!)

“If you love something, set it free. If it comes back to you, it's yours. If it doesn't, it never was.” Anonymous

While I generally agree with the wisdom of this, I think for it to be true, the thing that is being set free must know how to come back and have the maturity to do so—in other words, not necessarily applicable to puppies!

One of my fondest, crazy stories about Dog has to do with this very idea and it occurred when he was just a puppy…

Once Dog had all of his shots I started taking him on his soon-to-become daily walks.

Part of the joy of this routine quickly became the friends (both human and canine) that we began to meet along the way. Dog would approach warily at first, like the awkward guy at the singles bar. He would sniff and circle and then suddenly pounce, wanting to play. (Insert your own joke about singles bars here.)

I would strike up a conversation with the human on the other end of the leash and, like young mothers meeting at the park, we would exchange pleasantries about the weather, potty training and the merits of various experts such as Dr. Brazelton or The Dog Whisperer.

One of our regular canine pals was Joey, a big, handsome, gray, curly-haired dog. Joey was a good 30-40 pounds bigger than Dog, but he (and his owners) had a sweet disposition and we all got to be fast friends.

We would frequently meet on our walks and the dogs would circle and play with each other (and growl a little) as dogs often do when they are on their leash.

In our very well-behaved, very proper neighborhood we often see dogs off their leashes who walk calmly next to their owners as if they were on parade at the Westminster Kennel Show. These Über-dogs respond to a command the first time and were certainly the darlings of their obedience classes. Dog and I (me, mostly) are a teeny bit envious.

Being the procrastinator that I am, I had not taken Dog to obedience training yet (uh, and still haven’t almost two years later…) and we had never let him off the leash outside of our own backyard. But on one particular morning when the sun was shining brightly and it felt like everything was right with the world and I was feeling wild and optimistic and trusting in the Universe, when Joey’s parents suggested we let them off the leash to play, I was game.

“Will he run across the street?” I asked meekly, a little embarrassed about being overprotective and concerned about peer pressure and bad influences—everything you worry about when first letting someone you love go to be free to make their own decisions after being tightly controlled, under your watchful eye for so long.

“Oh, No! He never goes across the street! He’s very good!” Joey’s parents assured me.

So, feeling happy and optimistic and trusting, I unlatched Dog’s leash so that he and his friend could play freely.

Thrilled, the dogs chased each other around the park, hardly believing their good fortune in relinquishing the leashes. Then, in less than a minute, Joey gave Sunny a look that said, “Let’s ditch these human losers while we have the chance,” and Joey bolted across the main road of our neighborhood, running hard in some random (to me anyway) direction.

And what did Dog do? Did he look over at me to see if it was ok to follow his friend? Did he even consider my feelings? Or the dangers lurking beyond the safety of my loving protection?

Not for a moment! Dog took off like a lightning bolt, chasing his friend across the forbidden road, with nary a glance in my direction. I didn’t pause to see the horrified reactions of Joey’s parents or to make a funny comment about the irony of it all.

I just ran.

I don’t think I ran for long (Thank, Dog!) But I do know that I ran as fast as I could imagine without feeling tired. I entered a new dimension and I think I could have run a marathon without being aware of time or space. And my mind was racing, too. In the few moments from the time I crossed the street from the park, my brain ran through a million terrible thoughts.

What if someone saw Dog on the street and thought he was so cute and dognapped him?! What if one of those big SUVs in our neighborhood ran him over without even seeing him under their huge wheels? What would I tell the kids? “Mommy’s so sorry. She made a Bad Choice and let Dog off the leash and now he is gone forever.”

They would hate me, but maybe there would be a lesson in that, I thought, trying to make myself feel better. As Oprah says, “What is the gift in this experience?” In her essay about her beloved Golden Retriever, Gracie dying, she says "I know for sure that everything in life happens to help us live."

But, I'm not quite there yet.

I was all into fear and projecting into the future, but I made myself get back into the moment and pray, as I ran faster than I can ever remember running, “Oh, God, please let him be ok. Please let him be ok, please let me be ok,” like a mantra and a promise to make better choices in the future.

Then I turned the corner into the court that opens up to the path to our house and I saw Joey running back towards me—with no Dog following with behind him. And then my heart beat faster and the dark recesses of my mind took over and I feared for the worst and I thought about that terrible book I read, the Dogs of Babel...

And because I didn’t know what else to do or where else to go, I ran towards our house, frantically praying all the while.

And when I got there, my heart stopped. Literally stopped for about a half a second.

And I saw Dog sitting on the beat-up old welcome mat on the front porch of our house. Looking at me like he knew he had been a Bad Boy, but he was home now and everything was ok and could we just possibly forget that it all happened?

So, in this case, it worked. Happy Ending. I set something free and it came back. But, in general, I wouldn’t recommend it for puppies.

Women and Dogs Who Love Too Much: Part 2

I actually think I could teach Dog the word “Sunday” and he would get it. But that doesn’t solve my bigger problem. Dog is obsessively in love with me and no one else will do as long as he thinks he can get me. (Yes, I know, except for maybe Cameron.)

The night before Sunday (described in the previous post) when I was out with the kids, my husband, Jeff, tried to lure Dog up on the couch to snuggle and watch a movie. No dice. Jeff even admitted to placing a piece of cheese on the couch, but Dog could not be distracted from his post at the front door window, waiting and hoping, patiently for my return. Let’s make this clear—Dog was refusing CHEESE to instead hungrily pine away for me in his lonely vigil. That’s got to be a dog’s definition of Loving Too Much.

Which brings us to the philosophical discussion of Love and exactly What Love Is.

People are always talking about how their dogs give them unconditional love. Is that really true? In one sense, Yes, it is.

A dog will love you in spite of (or maybe even because of) all the flaws that would make well-adjusted humans recoil in disgust. Haven’t had a shower in a week? You are even more attractive to Dog! The combo of sweaty armpits and dirty socks is the Chanel Number 5 of a dog’s world. Like to lie around on the couch and eat junk all day? So does Dog! Being fat, lazy, messy—not an issue—maybe even a plus with your dog!

Dog and Me, No Shower, No Makeup, No Problem

But true, unconditional love—not so fast. While Dog genuinely Likes most people and will happily greet them, he reserves his special love for me—the person who feeds, walks, plays and spends time with him.

Who makes a breakfast of microwaved egg yolk and dog food even before she pours her first cup of coffee? Who walks Dog in the rain? Who, if Dog has been left alone for a few hours, walks into the house and throws the squeaky toy even before she takes off her pantyhose?

Me, that’s right. I am the one and only person who puts Dog’s needs above her own pretty much most of the time, which admitting in print, makes me think I am hopelessly weird and unfocused and makes me wonder if I should spend more time jogging or working on my book proposal or organizing my closets.

It’s not an approval or an ego thing. Nobody gives a hoot, or even knows, whether your dog approves of you or not. Instead, it is this undeniable empathy or responsibility or pure goodness or pure guilt or whatever… I believe that the way you treat your dog is a moral compass. Because it’s all about the other being, who can’t complain or gossip about you or withhold sex or money. The dog is just an independent being, a little like Blanche DuBois, dependent on the kindness of strangers.

Back to Obsessive Love--I have the same problem with the rest of my family as I have with Dog. Everybody wants to be with me! If only I could have been so popular in high school! But let’s examine the source of their love…Is it because of my sharp wit and sparkling personality and general fabulosity?

I think not. Most likely, it has more to do with the fact that I Do Absolutely Every Thing For Them from making their sandwiches to calling out words for the Spelling Bee to washing their gym clothes at 9 pm on Sunday night to planning their birthday parties to asking them about their day (and really listening to the answer!)

(And, now that I think of it, if I had been just as self-sacrificing and generous—letting kids copy my homework and engaging more frequently in gratuitous heavy petting, I probably would have been just as popular in high school…)

In essence, I care. I really do. For some weird reason in this very self-obsessed world, in my very own, self-obsessed Universe, I (mostly) care about Dog, my husband, and my kids—more than I care about myself.

Oh, I’ve heard about the oxygen mask analogy and it makes total, rational sense. (Put on your own mask first, then save the others.) But when the plane is going down, it’s going to be your first instinct to put the mask on your kids. You might die in the process, but so be it. The plane is going down—you save your kids first. I would totally do that. It’s not an intellectual decision, but a gut reaction.

Such is the nature of Loving Too Much. Probably not a good thing in general, but it’s what we do and if it’s instinctive and honest and if we go down because of it, so be it. There are worse ways to go.

A Few Words of Wisdom on Love:

"You may only be one person to the world, but you may also be the world to one person (or dog)" - anonymous quote

Women Who Love Too Much (and the Dogs They Love) (and the Dogs Who Love Them)

Remember that book from the 80’s, Women Who Love Too Much? (Subtitled When You Keep Wishing and Hoping He’ll Change.) Back in the day of all those cleverly-titled zillion-copy best-seller, self-help relationship volumes like Smart Women, Foolish Choices and Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus. This particular book was all about “women who believe being in love means being in pain.”

I think I might have made fun of that book at one time. But I’m not laughing now.

“Pain” was heavy on my mind this Sunday morning at 6 am when Dog did his best to wake me up from a dead sleep, jumping up on my side of the bed, clawing and whining for my attention. Even though my husband tried to rescue me by offering to take Dog downstairs and let me sleep in, Dog refused to leave my side. Such is the obsessive loyalty of Too Much Love.

Normally Dog and I are up before dawn. We like it that way. We get a little time to sneak in a cup of coffee and a chicken treat and a bit of a snuggling/writing session on the couch before the rest of the family gains consciousness and starts making demands for pancakes and signed permission slips and clean underwear.

But on a normal night before a normal morning, I’m normally soundly snoozing by 10 pm. But the night before Sunday was not normal and I was up past midnight taking the kids to see a friend in a regional production of The Wizard of Oz. Not enough sleep! And it was Sunday!

No matter. As smart as Dog is, I can’t seem to get him to understand the concept of the weekly calendar or a teacher’s workday. (And, to be fair to Dog, the random holidays and week-long Winter/Spring breaks and the big Summer vacations must be very confusing to him--I know they are to me!)

Although Dog's breed has been raised to be purely companion dogs, I truly think that Dog has a bit of a work ethic in him (maybe it's nurture vs. nature working here) and he believes that it is his sole responsibility to make sure that everyone is up and out of the house on time. I think it gives him a sense of purpose, which is probably very important to his self-esteem, and is something that I, as a transplanted native Californian, feel obligated to honor.

So, even though I was able to use my Alpha Dog commands and get Dog to leave me alone for awhile, at 6:45 am, he was absolutely frantic about waking me up. As I stumbled into my slippers, he didn’t follow his normal routine of going downstairs with me. He barged immediately into my daughter’s room—intent on waking her up for school, which is his normal task--Monday through Friday.

“Dog, It’s Sunday!” I reprimanded in a whisper so as not to wake my sleeping daughter. Dog rolled over on his back in the "surrender" position.

“Damn Dog,” I muttered to myself as I picked him up and carried him down the steps and walked into the kitchen to put on the coffee. “Sunday, Sunday! Sunday is a very important concept!” Certainly more important than “Sit” and maybe even more important than “Go Pee-Pee” or “Treat”—at least to me.

To be continued….

Ya Gotta Have Friends, Part 2: My Pack

Last night I got together with my pack—a group of extraordinary moms, friends and writers. We began almost six years ago as virtual strangers. We came together in kind of a happenstance karma: a friend of a friend who knew two of us were aspiring writers and scribbled our names and numbers on an envelope; a failed attempt at forming a Writers’ Group; a chance conversation between new neighbors.

Through the magic of time and the unabashed sharing of dreams, disappointments, successes and troubles, we have grown into the kinds of friends that you might read about in a really good Chick Lit book and know that it had to be totally made-up— just too good to be true.

We call ourselves The Literary Lushes, which is surely a bit of an embellishment (we’re writers, after all!) Introducing my pack, in the order in which they appear:

Amy Moellering—the modern incarnation of the 50’s sitcom moms like Leave It to Beaver and Father Knows Best, with a little I Love Lucy on the side. Amy is now busying herself putting the finishing touches on her wonderful, heartfelt YA novel. Amy also writes a weekly column for the local paper about schools, a subject about which she is quite the expert as she tirelessly volunteers and shuttles around her three very talented, super-active kids.

Keely Parrack—an inspiration to us all—a smart, funny Brit with a laser-beam focus, who can’t be tempted away from her writing schedule for silly pursuits like going for coffee, cleaning the toilets or grocery shopping. Keely just landed a Big-Time New York City agent to represent her YA novel, Fragments. Remember this name, and that you heard it here first.

Cameron Sullivan—what else can I say about Cameron, that I haven’t already said, here. Other than being the Other Woman in Dog’s life, she is contagiously fun and enthusiastic and passionate and one of the most prolific writers I personally know. She has written over 100 humor columns for our local paper and so many feature articles that I don’t even think she bothers to clip them any more. Cameron is now furiously working away on her YA novel.

Grace Navalta—award-winning storyteller, and one of the most generous, kind and joyful people I know. And resilient! No matter what life throws at her, Grace comes roaring back—wiser and wilder than ever. Grace is working on a totally amazing multi-generational tale of her family’s life from the Philippines to the United States.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—I love my pack.