I was on an early morning walk through the neighborhood, Cooper as always pulling at his leash, sniffing at every signpost, looking out for every one of his girlfriends. We came to an intersection and Coop gave a tug, drawing me across the street to a corner lot where a new pup was romping with a woman whom I had never met before.

We crossed the street and in the neighborhood tradition the Pup-Mom and I exchanged the essential facts about our dogs–where we got them, their lineage, their age, and then admired the coats on each other’s furry friend.

While the dogs were playing together and just before Cooper got muddy pawprints all over the new human neighbor I remembered my social graces and introduced myself. “Oh,” she said. “I recognize the name. Aren’t you the writer?”

Wow! Yes, my family and a lot of friends, colleagues, and social media contacts know I write a blog. They will sometimes bring up a particular post, mention they found it informative, or well-written, or fun. Or they will complain that my inclusion of a particular song has planted a weeks-long earworm in their brain. Those interactions are always with the clear understanding that my relationship with them is primarily that of a relative, co-worker, or friend who sometimes spits out 500 electronic words.

But this was different. I have never before been recognized as someone who tries to tell stories as part of my identity. It was thrilling.

Though I didn’t ask, I assume the neighbor (whose name in my true absent-minded fashion I have already forgotten) had read one of the blogs I had posted on the neighborhood FaceBook page–maybe my silhouette dog vs. geese story. But whichever blog it was, something I had written had stuck in her mind for at least a few weeks. I felt like the garage band who had heard their song on the radio for the first time.

So when my inevitable retirement as a full-time pathologist comes around, maybe I will give this writing thing a serious look. Take one of those online masterclasses (learn how to write short stories from Joyce Carol Oates or creative writing from Margaret Atwood) and eventually learn to write dialogue. I will finally produce that medical thriller Barb is always telling me I have inside my head.

Cooper, you have done me a favor with your insistence on meeting every dog in the neighborhood. Maybe I will just write a novel about you!

Like what you read here? Add your name to our subscription list below. No spam, I promise!
___

———————————–