|A good corgi--not Silke|
It seems this invaluable breed of canine tend to be bossy and are prone to nipping. Thanks, kids. I guess that shouldn't surprise anyone who knew what they were bred for--being bossy to a bunch of cows and nipping their hooves. But I had no idea what the kids were getting us into. Corgis are highly resistant to Mind Control. This last is my own admonition as, believe me, I have tried. But Silke remains serenely impervious to all attempts at training or discipline. I gave up years ago--Pavlov did not use Welsh corgis in his famous experiment . This shouldn't have surprised me, really, as my own progeny have also resisted my every effort at mind control. It makes perfect sense that they should somehow, while on a trip to Virginia, manage to find just this dog in a pet store. The shop owners claimed that they had no idea what kind of mutt it was...sure they didn't.
Though resistant to all discipline imposed upon them, corgis happily impose their own special brand of rules on everyone else. For instance, running, and other erratic movements, are greatly discouraged, as are overt signs of physical affection, unless those affectionate overtures are directed at the corgi. Try cuddling up to your loved one and soon the thick, furry body of the Adversary inserts itself betwixt the two of you like a mobile chastity pillow. As for games of chase when the kids were younger...this was strictly forbidden! Silke would fly into action by rapidly circling the offending parties in ever-tightening spirals until all motion was halted. I cannot recall how many times I have tripped over this beastie. I suspect that this latter trait is why corgis are so favored by the Queen of England--the herding instinct insures that all in the royal party will move about in a decorous manner; assume a stately progress. The alternative is to be either tripped or bitten. I have read that many of her guests (and family) despise the little beggars.
Did I mention that Silke hates all other canines? With a passion. She admits of no other dog being an ally or kindred spirit. She recognizes no kinship. I don't know if this applies to her own breed, as they are somewhat rare this side of the pond, but I suspect she would be just as unforgiving with them as any other.
Well, of course, those same children who had to have this creature, grew up and went away to college and thence to their own lives. Silke and me are still here. She thinks Robin, my wife, is just swell, though I am the one left mostly in charge of her...did I say, "in charge"? Well, you get the picture. I do the walks, the feedings, and now, the insulin injections. Mostly, anyway. Yes, she has diabetes and has had for the past four years. The vet gave her a year at most after diagnosing her--if we gave her the insulin. I came from a background that was less than sentimental about pets, being descended from farm folk who routinely slaughtered barnyard animals and hunted game. There were no pets, as such. Yet, Silke has prevailed even against my notoriously budget-minded ways. We buy the hideously expensive insulin. She yet lives.
She has also appeared in a number of my stories. She has played the protagonist, victim, and villain with equal aplomb. I get a kick out of working her into my efforts from time to time. Because the truth be told, her completely uncompromising nature, besides being infuriating, also charms and intrigues me. Animals have always had this effect on me, and probably a third, or better, of everything I've ever written involves animals and nature in various roles both great and small--by my count, fourteen out of thirty stories.
Sometimes they just provide a bit of atmospheric background, such as the clutch of neighborhood turkey vultures in "The Vengeance of Kali". In other stories they provide warnings, or are harbingers of something terrible coming--a small dog (possibly a corgi) in "Spooky"; a lizard in "Tap-Tap", while in some they are the victims, as a cat and corgi each in "The Mole" and "Whistle". But, in the interest of fair-handedness, animals are sometimes the victimizers as well: a cougar and spider in "Natural Causes", a zoo tiger in "Copy Cat", a corgi in "Little Things" and in "The Wisdom Of Serpents"...yep, serpents.
I didn't start out to write about animals so frequently; it just happened. In fact, for the first ten years of my taking up the pen, I was unaware that I was doing so. It was only after I had built up a small body of work that I gradually became cognizant of the recurrent nature of...well, nature, in my stories.
It's not that I write animal stories, as such, it's just that they figure in so often. I'm not alone in this, oh no; in fact, several Big Shot Writers in the mystery and suspense field have gotten there long before me--E.A. Poe and H.H. Munro of past renown, as well as Kristine Kathryn Rusch and Doug Allyn of more recent note. I stumble along in the paths of others. But, I wouldn't be able to exclude wee beasties, and great, even if I wanted to. They are all around us and figure into our lives though we dwell in suburbs or great cities.
Just this morning, I was beckoned by a sparrow to open the door to my garage and free her. This was not an isolated incident. For some time now, whenever the weather is rough with rain or heavy winds, a sparrow hides herself (or himself) I'll never know which, within our attached garage as we pull the car in. Come the morning, she begins to sing...loudly. This is our cue to open the damn garage door and release her from her voluntary confinement. This is accomplished on a regular basis. At first, I thought it was just a case of the sparrow having inadvertently entered the garage and become trapped when we shut the door. But repeated experience has shown me differently. Is it the same bird, each time? I will never be sure, but it is always a sparrow. Additionally, there is no nest in the garage. And it never happens when the weather is nice. Also, she never sings while in the garage until daylight comes and the weather has cleared. Gives the pejorative 'bird-brained' a slightly different slant, doesn't it? But it does make me think, and whenever I do that I start to have ideas that sometime become stories, and when I write stories I become a happier person. So, my little sparrow may not be the bluebird of happiness, and my dog may not be Lassie, but they both do me a world of good.