Why do dogs
never make it into the acknowledgements of books? Everybody thanks their
agents, their editors, their readers, but I can't recall a Bonzo or a Fido ever
getting so much as a mention. It's time to right this terrible doggy wrong.
I couldn't write
my novels without Mavis and Zelda. True they have poor tea-making skills, and
they've yet to give me one decent idea about characterisation or plot, but
their never-ending devotion surely counts for something in a world where a writer
spends eight months working on a book only for it to end up selling on-line for
less than the price of a Kit-Kat.
Two spaniels,
Mavis and Zelda share a dog bed in my study, two feet away from my desk.
They're not temperamentally suited - Mavis is an introvert, whereas Zelda makes
Katie Price look cripplingly reserved - but they snuggle into one another, like
furry jigsaw pieces, snoozing twenty three hours out of every twenty four. Even
in their sleep, however, they're tuned into me.
If I lean back in
my chair and sigh with frustration about chapter twenty's refusal to come out
right, they both sit up, ready for anything, ears pricked. When I swear because
instead of moving a chunk of prose I've managed to delete it, they nose about
my ankles. When I growl to myself about the fact that I can't quite grasp the
perfect way to express a character's feelings, they pace the room, alarmed on
my behalf. They're supportive in a way my husband would be if he had the time.
True, it can be
spooky to look up and see two pairs of eyes trained on you, with the sort of
focus usually associated with serial killers. There's such a thing as too much
devotion. And when five pm comes around their body clocks set off an alarm and
they pester me for their dinner.
The sudden
barking when the doorbell goes can give the lady novelist, deeply engrossed in
her work in process, a mild heart attack. And of course they do have the
occasional scrap, which means one of them has to be put outside. I could live
without the harrowing whining if I accidentally lock them out of my study; it's
as pitiful as the death of a Dicken's heroine and not the ideal backdrop for
conjuring up frothy romantic comedies.
Hmm. All in all,
I think I'll leave them out of the acknowledgements. They'll never know; they
can't read.
Thank you to the publishers, Pan, and to the author, Claire Sandy, for inviting me to be part of the blog tour for this fantastic book.
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