My family and I had a lot going on from November through January, with numerous holidays and birthdays to celebrate. I imagined myself sitting at my desk, listening to holiday music, and enjoying the sound of my kids playing in the background while I worked on writing my book. I began drafting my book, tentatively titled “Rain,” in July 2022, and I set a goal to complete my second draft by the end of December.
A few days after my birthday, my wife greeted me with freshly made chocolate fudge at the door. Even though it was the holiday season, something felt off. She sat me down and asked if I enjoyed the rich chocolate taste. I told her it was delicious. Then she began to share with me the many wonderful things about Corgis – how they make great family pets, love the outdoors, and are so very friendly.
She showed me a photo of a 12-week-old puppy that a breeder in San Francisco had available. My kids stood behind her with their hands tightly clasped together, pleading for a Corgi. I prepared my rebuttal, confident that logic was on my side. I rattled off a list of additional costs, cleaning, and training that come with a new puppy. I reminded everyone of the work involved with keeping a puppy and how this would make it difficult for me to finish my book.
We brought our new Pembroke Welsh Corgi home a few days later. The little tan and white puppy sat quietly on my daughter’s lap throughout the hourlong drive home. Not a single bark or whine. We had already agreed on the perfect name for our soft and round new family member – Mochi.
Everyone loved playing with a tiny Christmas puppy. Tammy and I kept busy cleaning up after him and shopping for an endless supply of new puppy cleaning supplies and toys. We bought games to stimulate his little puppy brain. He was clearly very talented, carefully ensuring every poop landed on the carpet and never on the hardwood floor. Not even one…darn…time.
Then, my wife caught the flu and spent much time in the bedroom. After a few days, she tested positive for COVID-19. It was a miracle that I had been sleeping next to her every night and hadn’t caught it.
It now fell on me to wake up at 5 a.m. every morning. Although we live in California, this time of year was exceptionally dark and cold—not just cold, but windy and rainy as well. I kept a down parka and leash near the bed for my frequent trips outside. Unfortunately, I had to hide my warm sheepskin slippers because Mochi found them so tasty.
For several nights in a row, my wife woke and feverishly told me that getting the puppy was a mistake. I secretly agreed with her, but I assured her everything would be okay. My throat became sore on Christmas Eve, and I slept all through Christmas Day. The kids were stuck indoors but entertained by playing with the puppy and eating sweets. They screeched with delight and called me whenever the puppy peed or pooped in the house. I was sick but not as ill as my wife.
With each new accident, I began to accept that it would be easier to replace the furniture the puppy had chewed on rather than protect it. We slowly recovered. Each day, we cleaned and moved furniture around. I stacked the plants on boxes to prevent him from chewing on the leaves.
New Year’s Eve was quiet. After two weeks, I had not written a single word. I had failed to meet my goal of finishing the second draft. I hadn’t even polished a single paragraph. Despite my regrets, returning to work was a welcome relief. The kids were back in school, and I was wearing clothes again. I caught up with my work and found long periods after work and on weekends to work on my book.
On February 1st, I completed my second draft and sent a copy to my friend Ed, my wife, and a few friends who I wanted to read it. It was a month later than planned, but that was okay. Mochi had started his training and was sleeping in later, and he often went to the bathroom in the right place. My writing, family, and dog are going differently than my plan. But that’s ok. That’s where great stories come from.
