I’ve always been a dog person. Cats are nice, but I once wrote a chapter in a book that included cats eating the corpse of their former master, which I am completely convinced they would do. Probably while the corpse was still warm.
Dogs, I doubt they could figure out which end to start with, so they’d probably never get around to it.
And on that note, I thought I’d share some good dog related news. Due to a series of coincidences and good old fashioned luck, my lovely girlfriend and I have come to rescue an absolutely delightful not-so-old Old English Sheepdog.
Yes, that’s really her name, and it fits her personality perfectly. She’s a feisty warrior princess, two years old with a heart set to reclaim that special place on the couch where she can await Season Three and Book Six. Being a new dog owner (but not new to dogs), she is also a major distraction, but a lovable one at that, so you can blame her and the massive amount of walks we go on for setting my daily word count back by a bit.
But that’s a price I’m happy to pay.
Because, unlike cats, she won’t eat my corpse.