I didn’t know there was a Dog Library near me. I read about it on the Dogs Only website. It said the library had books just for dogs, all written by dogs. So I took a trip over there to see what it was like.
I found some of my own stories inside the library. Dogs must like them because the pages were chewed up.
That gave me an idea. We could share library books that are good enough to chew. And we could also whine about books that are too boring. I can’t think of any right now.
I couldn’t write any stories for months. Here’s what happened, and I’m not kidding.
A ghost was hiding in my keyboard, so I couldn’t write.
The first thing that happened was when I typed an A. It came out as an L. Nothing too unusual, I miss keys all the time. Except these keys aren’t even close on my keyboard.
Then I typed a C. It was upside down, sort of like a frown. I knew my mother wouldn’t play that kind of trick on me. It had to be a ghost in my keyboard.
My stories aren’t really finished after I write them. They sound okay to me, but my mother likes to read them first. She says sometimes I use the wrong words. But I don’t feel bad about it. She knows my first language is Dog.
Here’s one thing I got wrong. I wrote ‘digging up my words’. My mother said I meant ‘digging up my bones’. A simple mistake. I guess if you dig up words, sentences will have holes in them.
Another time I wrote ‘bury my ears’. Now that’s a funny picture. My mother changed it to ‘clean my ears’. Not a funny picture.
Fleas are like bad germs. You never know where they come from, and it takes them forever to leave – not on their own, anyway.
Once I tried to get rid of my fleas by rolling in the mud. That didn’t make my mother happy, and it didn’t work anyway. The fleas kept doing their thing and I kept scratching.
This story was shared by another canine, Hector Dos (the second Hector). Here’s what he said.
“I’d like to thank the Crafty Canine for letting me tell my story. It’s about a topic that’s always been dear to me. Food.
I’m a ten-year-old English black lab. I live with my sister, who’s also a lab but she’s only six. I keep telling her how I used to get three meals a day instead of just two, like we get now. She doesn’t believe me, but it’s true.
When I was just a few weeks old, I started getting real dog food. At nine weeks, I found my forever home and they not only gave me breakfast and dinner, but lunch too!
I heard someone say “I hate dogs” in a movie I saw the other day.
It shocked me. I hid under the bed.
Who doesn’t love dogs? Are cats better? They’re strange creatures. And I think people who like cats are strange too.
But I’ll say this for cats. They started the Crafty Canine Story Group. They like to read my stories out loud in their squeaky little cat voices.
There are five kinds of toys in my toy basket. At least there were the last time I counted. It’s hard to keep track. They jump in and out when I’m not looking. But here’s what’s usually in the basket.
Bones. I like the oldest ones best, the ones with the most teeth marks. When they get too small, my mother tries to throw them out. Sometimes I find them in the garbage and drop them in the basket again.
Tennis balls. New ones are the best. They’re fuzzier. They also bounce better. Maybe that’s why my mother’s tennis friends let me have them. They say the balls only bounce well for one game. It works for me.
My keyboard is a good writing partner. We talk about stories as I type them. Usually we get along fine.
But sometimes I can’t think of any stories to write. Or I get stuck trying to finish one. My mother calls this Writer’s Block.
Luckily, my keyboard has a Story Button. It gives me story ideas when I press it. But it doesn’t always get them right.
“Write about your toy basket and how the toys get along.”
My first home wasn’t a very nice one. The people didn’t like me. They didn’t pet me or talk to me. Sometimes they forgot to feed me or let me in the house, even when I cried. But I didn’t know life could be any different.
And then it was.
My mother found me on Craigslist. The ad said, “Dog needs home,” and then a phone number. That was it.
My mother gave me a different kind of keyboard the other day. She said it was a Magic Keyboard. It wasn’t for writing stories. I told her it looked like a toy.
But she said it was a special kind of toy. It had magic keys. I could use it whenever she wasn’t home. She promised I wouldn’t feel so scared or lonely, no matter how long she was away.
I learned how to use the Magic Keyboard pretty quickly. It has only four keys. Each key does something different. And each key is magic.