She was the dog my mother picked out. The dog my mother named “Princess.”
My tom-boy self was not impressed with a bow-wearing painted toenail creature.
Perhaps my tom-boy self is the reason my mother wanted a dog that would accept painted toenails and being prettied-up with bows.
To be fair the dog didn’t get a choice. And she was a dog so we got along anyway.
And when she was the topic of my first published work, I guess we bonded.
The annual school newsletter published work from each of the eight grades in our school. Not everyone’s work was accepted. My competitive little fourth-grade self was intrigued. If there was one thing I could do, it was tell a story. Sometimes even true ones.
Imagine my delight when my masterpiece - a work of poetry - was accepted for publication.
My author career was off and running!
By Sue Ebbs
I have a French
who likes egg noodles.
She isn’t your average dog.
She sleeps all day like a log.
Like any creator with a successful first offering, I tried to replicate my success. With a sequel.
Like most sequels, mine fell short of expectations. It netted me a passing grade: one of those at-least-she-completed-the-assignment checkmarks. But even I knew it was short of my previous work. I am certain of this because I can recite the first one quite easily despite the intervening years. But the sequel. Not so much. Not a single line. Not one poetic phrase. I have entirely repressed the memory of that piece of creative work. (Don’t knock it – repression can be a beautiful thing.)
The dog’s fall from stardom began to wear on her too and she let her appearance go. She took to drink. Okay perhaps she was always a mooch. But I’m the one telling this story.
Do not judge people from their outward appearance. Yeah, yeah the adults in my life probably mentioned that a few hundred times, but it meant more coming from a dog. Princess was pretty and I didn’t hate her for it.
Just because you didn’t choose a situation is no excuse for not seizing the opportunities that situation presents. After all, where would my writing career be if it hadn’t been given such an auspicious start?
You don’t have to choose something (or someone) to love it (or them.)
© Copyright Suzanne Grosser