Skip to main content

Day 2 - Dear Carmel - I remember the dog...


Well here is day 2.  I have been eagerly awaiting to get back to the desk and begin my second writing exercise, or should I say my Memory Journal.  It's true walking the dog in the morning refreshes the creative juices, my mind talks to me a million miles an hour. I wish my brain had a built in Dictaphone, recording all the thoughts, the lines, the words I come up with; the dog must think I mad talking to myself.

Dear Carmel

 I remember the dog, I remember his first day.  There standing with chest pushed out and a look of mischief slightly hidden beneath his apprehension, was a dog who finally had a home.  I don't know how long he'd been lost, a while I reckon by the look of his wiry ginger coat, the thinned-out hair almost completely missing - a lack of nutrition I presume.
  The dog home named him Banjo, it's not a name I would have chosen, but don't get me wrong I like it and think it suits him.  The funny thing is when he first arrived home, he didn't know his name, I tried calling him every dog name I could think of, names I thought someone else would have chosen, like Jack, Scruff, Ginger, Jackson, Joe, but none of them worked, he didn't respond to any of them. 
  Banjo's a jumper, he's a dog springboard, bouncing from a standstill he can make it over any fence.  I have to tie him on a chain, I don't like doing it, but if I don't I risk this stupid mutt getting away, and I couldn't bare the thought of Banjo becoming lost again. 
  I try walking him with a lead, he pulls like a tractor, the strength is phenomenal, wrenching my shoulder socket with every attempt to chase anything that moves.  Actually, he'd be better suited as a sleigh dog the way he digs those hinds in, wrestling with me to pull ahead, to take me on a run I don't think I'd be capable of keeping up with. 
  There's no mistake he's a street dog as he stands in the teaming rain while his dry, warm kennel remains unoccupied. He doesn't like his kennel and it appears from the torn pieces of hessian hanging from the metal frame, that he doesn't like his hammock bed either.  I can't have him go cold, he must miss his creature comforts like a soft padded dog bed.  I buy a padded bed big enough to squeeze into his kennel, encouraging him to keep warm.  The next morning he is sitting in the middle of the yard, he looks pleased with himself, he looks at me as if to say, don't bother I don't want it.  The soft padded bed is now nothing but the remains of shredded foam and stuffing littering his yard, soft white tufts surrounding him like snow.
  I've replaced his lead with a harness, it stops him choking as he pulls me along if nothing else.  He lives in a yard now, fenced just high enough to keep him from bounding over, his attempts to escape when he see's the cat made fruitless.  He knows his name now, 'Banjo,' I call with every annoying bark he lets out when he see's a rogue kangaroo cross the yard, or another dog being walked by their owner out on the street.  I love this dog, I wish he could tell me his story, his street story like street people get to do in 'The Big Issue.'  I want to understand this complicated companion of mine, if only I could speak dog. 

Popular posts from this blog

How to be a book reviewer by Allena Tapia

Hi bloggers, I am currently looking at book reviewing as my most current interest topic of writing, and came across this article by Allena Tapia which I found to give some very sound advice as far as starting out on the book reviewing platform. I wanted to share this as well as keep it close on hand for reference. If this is an area you're also interested in I hope it helps. Reviews can of course be new titles and older, I guess the focus would be on newer titles, but older titles / classics are in my opinion just as good to plug a book that resonates with you and could offer another reader some great reading. Start your platform with Goodreads and build your audience. Hope to hear from you guys on these platforms. Meredith 01 First, Act Like a Book Reviewer: Review Books, A LOT
•••
Being a paid book reviewer likely sounds like a plum job for many writers, who generally love reading as much as writing. Despite this, it's certainly not a pipe dream. Seriously, I'm a real…

Picnic At Hanging Rock

The return of an all time classic, Picnic At Hanging Rock, has now been  re-mastered and made into a mini-series that has everyone talking.
 The story revisits when a private girls boarding school in Victoria in 1900 plans a picnic on St Valentine's Day at Macedon's Hanging Rock.  Following lunch amid the afternoon, four of the girls, Miranda, Edith, Irma and Marion, set off to explore and climb the Hanging Rock with their teacher Ms McCraw. In an unexplained dream-like event, everyone except Edith vanishes 'into the rock'. The biggest mystery is when Edith returns to the group in hysterics and can't detail or explain what happened, sending the surrounding town into mayhem. When the public and police search for the missing girls; Irma is found unconscious but unharmed at the rock. From there the story takes on major twists and plots including students and staff leaving unexpectedly; a schoolgirl committing suicide and the headmistress jumping off Hanging Rock, killing …

Author Interview with Nancy Chadwick for San Francisco Book Review

Interview With Nancy Chadwick, author of Under the Birch Tree by Meredith Grant | Jun 13, 2018 | Author Interviews, Written


I had the pleasure of reading and reviewing Under the Birch Tree for San Francisco Book Review. Below is the written interview with Nancy on her upcoming publication this month, I hope you enjoy Nancy's insights and experiences she shares with us.
What first inspired you to write your story?
There was something about trees. When I was a young girl, maybe eight or ten, I was a walker who enjoyed the outdoors, just roaming around and exploring. I liked to walk around the perimeter of my house, starting and ending at the front where my favorite tree, a birch, grew. I loved that tree, especially because of how it looked with its peeling white bark and wavy slender leaves. It always reminded me of home; they were one and the same. I felt strongly about establishing one’s roots and a sense of belonging and home that my early steps around the foundation of my home be…