What’s a writing dog, you ask? A dog that will sit quietly in my office playing with his doggie toy or taking a nap or otherwise occupying himself/herself while I work at the computer. My friend, mystery writer Melodie Johnson Howe, has a dog named Watson and he sits in her office while she works. She says he’s excellent company. I want excellent company too. It gets lonely in here.

I even have my writing dog all picked out. I saw one of these Bichon Frise pups during my walk one afternoon and fell madly in love.

I mean how cute is that?

I came home from my walk and had the following conversation with Michael.

Me: “I’d really like to get a dog – a Bichon Frise, to be exact.”

Michael: “Having a dog is like having a baby. You have to take care of it 24/7, and I’m too old for that.”

Me: “I can train it.”

Michael: “Good luck with that. Besides, I thought you were allergic to dogs.”

Me: “No, cats. Well, and some dogs. This one wouldn’t shed that much or have dander or whatever it is that makes me sneeze.”

Michael: “Don’t you remember when I had Jack? He was always running away and animal control was always slapping me with fines and I couldn’t leave him alone for a second.”

Me: “Jack was a Lab. A crazy Lab. My writing dog wouldn’t be crazy, just lovable.”

Michael: “Tell you what. I’ll buy you a stuffed animal.”

And that was the end of that, because I really had no comeback. I knew he was right. I don’t even have any potted plants in the house. I’m not ready to take on a dog or any other addition to the household, because I have a book deadline and book deadlines are more time consuming than training a dog. I think a stuffed animal is where I’m headed.