Numbers and Dogs.

Living with Bennie

Living . . .

We are 28 days into ‘living with Bennie’. That’s 28 days of learning to be responsible for a 7-month-old, adorable, carpet-eating puppy. Said puppy likes to bounce on my bed at 6.15 am and, tail wagging, tongue licking, says, “It’s time to go outside” in puppy talk. So, rain (and we’ve had lots of that this summer) or lovely dawn, we plod around the yard until his duties are done. I then crawl back into bed. Bennie goes back to sleep, and I lie awake!

I’m also 31 days without my husband. Grief is, to say the least, an interesting journey. When Jim was ill, I said to him, I’m crying for me as well as you. I was scared of a future without him. Now I am in that future, and it’s not so scary after all because I have received so much support from my family and friends, which has been truly heartwarming. And, of course, I have Bennie. Bennie fills my days. In between, I allow my tears to come. I admit, I am a noisy griever. Bennie’s floppy ears come to attention when I get going.

Dogs

Before we moved into town almost two years ago, we lived on an acreage with no neighbours and no fences. We had Labs: big boys who ran free. They knew no leashes.

Ben and Sam were our first two. They came with us from Ontario to B.C.

Meet their look-a-likes. I used to run with them, two eighty-pound Labs. If they saw a squirrel across the road, that’s where we went!

Photo by Michael G on Unsplash

Our last Lab. Charlie ran with my husband. He considered himself a fully paid-up member of our running group.

Photo by Jen Vazquez on Unsplash

So, Bennie is a much smaller version of a doggie. What I’ve discovered after moving into town and owning a puppy on a leash is that there is a whole other strata, previously invisible to me; the strata of Dog Owners.

We meet at the park, in the street, and sometimes in homes. The owners are full of information, such as who is the best groomer and the best trainer? A good friend of mine found me a pet sitter for my Saturday market. She loves dogs and is not allowed to have pets where she lives (Shame on the landlord).

The most interesting question I have been asked is “Who is Bennie’s mother?”I can now answer that question. See what I mean about a different world.

Writing

I also have my writing routine, and, luckily, Bennie likes my office too. He happily chews on a chew stick or sleeps as I peck away.

I am 20,000 words into my novella, having almost finished the first draft. Mistress Meg is still trapped in Windsor Castle. Is she any closer to solving the mystery of:

a) Why did a body fall from the sky?

b) Who has the most magical power?

c) What/Who caused the midwife’s delay?

Windsor Castle, U.K.

Beta Readers Wanted

I want ten readers to read and comment on my next draft. Are there any volunteers out there? Please, do let me know if you are interested. It’s not a novel, only a novella, so less reading.

Market

I love my Saturday Market. I love the buzz as I drive to my vendor space - #44. Everyone around me is busy setting up their ‘shop’ for the morning in what is normally a parking lot. People are so creative in how they arrange their space. I have a stunning jewellery stall behind me. Meika traps dried flowers between glass to make earrings and pendants. I so want a pair.

Across from me is Clare. She and her husband have a honey farm up the valley. Clare arrives at her bare space and, in, I swear, five minutes, she has set up an amazing display of bee-made products.

Next to Clare is a pottery stall. I am a pottery addict. I have to stare at the yummy jugs and bowls all morning. Imagine my horror when another pottery stall materialised behind me. I am now the filling between two highly tempting, yet not needed, displays of mugs, bowls and pitchers. (My cupboards are full of previous pottery buys.)

On my left is a young and vibrant woman originally from London, UK. She has a slight Australian accent. When I first met her, I thought she was an Aussie. “No”, she laughed, “my flatmates are Australian. I must have picked up the accent.” She always arrives late. (After 9 am) sets up a table, a cloth and two panniers of freshly made bread. By 10.30, she has sold out and has to sit and read or try on earrings until 1 pm.

Sean lives a few stalls down from me. He creates coffee and pepper grinders, amongst other beautiful wood pieces. He also helps me set up and take down my stall.

Tony, a fellow writer, has his stall kitty-corner to me. I always keep an eye on him to see if he is selling more books than me. (Just kidding, Tony).

The man in charge of all of these creative beings is Marius. He’s ex-army, so he knows how to keep us all under control.

A year or so ago, my husband said, “You should write a story about the market; there are so many characters there,” So I did. Marius designed the cover. That’s our market.

That’s all for now. Thank you again for your comments. Touch the heart if you enjoyed my ramblings. That way, I know you are out there!