Wolfie and Milton
If anybody ever asks me again if I’ve ever based characters on real people, I can say, “Yes, Wolfie and Milton in Dogs and Goddesses.”
Wolfie’s been part of my life for a long time now, over eight years. He was an inbred puppy mill dachshund who’d had three owners in his first year, so when I got him, he was a nervous wreck. Now he’s calm but neurotic, a sort of stretched out Woody Allen, secure in his own rightness but anxious about everybody else. Wolfie was also the inspiration for Steve in Faking It, but he was younger and tenser then. The Dogs and Goddesses Wolfie represents the real Wolfie in the twenty-first century. He’s the alpha dog but he’s not going to be a jerk about it, a little nervous but not insane any more, and patient in the face of a new arrival to the pack.
That would be Milton. Milton was another Dachshund Rescue dog, a little brown tween dachshund (between a mini and a regular) whose owners hadn’t had time to care for him and gave him up to the rescue service. Kathleen at Dachshund Rescue rehabilitated him, so when I got him he was confident and outgoing again, although still a little worried about how stable his situation was. That’s Milton in Dogs and Goddesses. He’s new and he’s trying to get the hang of things, but mostly he stays close to Wolfie and Shar and Sam, his pack. I adopted Milton in the middle of writing D&G and he just walked right into the book, so the Milton you see on the page is the real deal. Now, a year later, he’s settled in, calm and confident as long as he’s with his pack (which includes Veronica, as yet to make an appearance in any work of fiction) and the dog biscuits come at regular intervals. So if you were worried about Milton in the book, don’t be. He’s doing just fine.
And so is Veronica, although she’d appreciate it if Milton would stop hogging the camera.
(Sorry about the picture quality. This is what happens when you wait to take the pictures until right before you post.)
I’ve always thought that the way characters interacted with their animals showed a lot about them, but having the dogs talk really shifted that into high gear. Milton is a baby, so he’s still pretty much at the nap/eat/run/chew/nap again stage in this book, but Wolfie is an Old Soul, and while he’s not articulate–he’s a dog–he gets his point across. And he’s always right. Dogs are like that. If I wrote him now, he’d be exactly the same. Milton would be a teenager now, pushing his limits–Wolfie has to take him down a peg at least one a day in real life, and if he doesn’t do it, Veronica does–but the same sweetness would be there, along with the same lust for life and dog biscuits. In real life, we don’t talk that much, but if we did, the conversations we had would be just like those in the book.
You know, in spite of our “The dogs talk” mantra as a way of giving ourselves permission to do anything, I always thought the dogs talking was the most realistic part of the book. I mean, really, would you be that surprised if your dog talked to you?
(I love all the stories you’re telling about your dogs. Makes me feel good all over.)
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I had a dog who talked. Really. I was in the back yard and from behind me someone said “Helloooo.” My heart stopped, and I spun around, thinking “WTF?!? I’m alone out here!” Well, except for my 1/2 Afghan, 1/2 German Shepherd, Bandit, who was sitting, and apparently greeting me, although it could have been a yawn, but it sounded like “Hellooo.”
We also had a Kuvasok named Tasha who, in a room full of people, responded to the question “Do you want to go out?” by nodding. Seriously. The previously noisy living room was dead silent, and after she nodded (and we’re talking a very precise nod here) my husband said “Uh, okay, I’d let her out, if I was you.”
Creepy.
So the concept of a talking dog is not a big stretch for me.
Fun post, thanks.
Since I have whole conversations with my cat, a talking dog or two or four isn’t that much of a stretch. She calls out from the open basement door to let me know that she is finished and would I please go clean out her box? She doesn’t stop hollering until you acknowledge her. Then she lets us know that she is going upstairs to take a nap on the bed. I know this is what she is saying because when I reply “thanks for letting me know, have a nice nap” she disappears upstairs for a few hours.
Animals can talk. It’s the humans who can’t understand.
Nik is an Akita and they don’t bark very much but they have all kinds of sounds. Not as many as some Malamutes I’ve known but enough to communicate their needs. She has a special sound for when she wants to go outside. She has another for when I’m watching a movie and she wants to go to bed. She won’t leave until I give permission and say goodnight.
When she needs me, like a neighbors annoying cat is in the yard, or a bunny is feeding in the garden, she has a way of nudging my thigh (I’m usually at the computer) and jerking her head as if she’s pointing to the sliding doors. I always know something needs to be looked at. Like when my neighbors little fat Corgi got out of his yard and took a stroll down the middle of the street. Or when my neighbor’s old blind dog (when I lived in my prior house)fell into their pool and couldn’t get out. Nik came to get me and tell me. She’s so intelligent, such a fabulous dog, like a real Lassie.
My black-and-white “baby” cat started talking after the oldest Alpha kitty died. He sounds just like he is talking, coming in and telling me about his adventures in the yard, directing me to his favorite spot for a cuddle. One day he was saying something cranky to a trespassing cat and I could hear the neighbor lady telling her husband that there was a child in my backyard crying. It is eerie.
Jenny, when we were in Venice (Italy) there were lots of dogs walking around everywhere, but especially lots of dachsunds — and one long hair Veronica look alike. I thought of you!
Animals can talk. It’s the humans who can’t understand
I’ll second that.
My cat Target talks, but she only has a few phrases, including, “I’m only letting you pet me as a favor to you, but it’s very annoying and you keep doing it wrong and why don’t you ever give me more tuna and *nag nag nag*”
Mr. Darcy talks with his eyes and his chin on my leg. Thump. Thump. Let’s go outside NOW. He’s fairly quiet unless he hears threating airplanes or FedEx trucks or possums outside. He just stares at the deer. They get the message. And he gives hugs. I didn’t know dogs could wrap their paws around a person like that.
I have a Mr. Darcy also. He is a gray pieboald tweenie dachshund who is very vocal about things that he does not approve of. My neighbor sold her house and she and her Norfolk terrier moved away 2 years ago. While Mr. Darcy never barked at them or their guests, he now barks ferociously at any movement by the new neighbors. It’s like he is demanding to know what they did with his friend Brambles.
Are you telling me that my dog *doesn’t* really talk to me?
Hmm…
Our MacIntosh, being a border collie, is king of the speaking glance and nuanced expression. He’s very respectful of rules, but not above stealing the occasional stick of butter. You can tell he knows its wrong because he hides the wrapper under the couch cushion.
I got home late last night from a six day trip to California. - My grandma turned 97 and her older sister 99. Big party, but not as big as next year’s will be!
My kids missed me but my dogs were besides themselves. Moose has been trying to get in my lap all morning. Every time I get out of my chair to stretch he stands up and puts his paws on me. It’s like he has to touch me to be sure I’m really here. Oh and realize Moose is not one of those opposite names like Great Danes named Tiny. No, Moose is close to 90 pounds. 90 pounds of dog in your lap can knock over your chair.
The other two are a little quieter with their disapproval. Midnight (black lab cross) has been leaning on me and Zoe keeps sitting right where I want to walk - reproaching me with those dark rimmed beagle/retriever eyes. “I wanted to go to the party,” she says. “But you left me here with that obnoxious yellow elephant who had nothing better to do than slobber all over me. You must not love me.”
I think I need another dog…
Great Stories!!!!!!!!
My dog, Snicker, who will be celebrating his sixth BD this month, is a 9 pound Chihuahua…not an ounce of fat but sleek and muscular, talks to me when I say the sound ngah (the ng sound of song), wowowoh and lick my lips with a smacking sound. I first trained him to respond with a “lay your head back and howl for all you’re worth” enthusiasm, but now trained him to “holler quietly”. He’s so funny. Sometimes he does a low, gargling sound. He is my first and only dog. I got him when I was 57 because at that time I was using a medical scooter which had this enticing basket in front. I wanted to take my cat along with me but realized that wasn’t gonna happen, so I got Snicker and quickly learned that although cats are a breed unto themselves, dogdom was pretty nifty and fulfilling.
Love,
Gayle
My dog doesn’t talk, she yells. Like a delinquent teenager. The cats talk, though, in whole conversations. They return greetings, thank you for your interest in their health, graciously accept your courteous compliments, and politely request food.
I talk to them all the time. I figure I only need to worry when they start talking back: in English.
I loved all the dogs (OK, except Mort) and most of the goddesses! Wonderful fun.
OK, so I was asking one of my aunts if she wanted a copy of the book (since I’m going to DAYTON!), and she wondered if this would be good for her book club. Any thoughts? I know book clubs usually do tear-jerking books full of angst and distress (can you tell I’m not in one?), but is there a reason this wouldn’t be a fun change of pace?
Any ideas for discussion topics - beyond fun dog stories? I figure it’s about women and power and self-sabotage and mothers, and what’s a deal-breaker in a relationship with a guy - are those suitable things in discussion groups?
My dogs don’t talk but they sure communicate. Nat has the whole, soulful-eyed, “I’m strong, but sensitive, Mommy” thing going on — when he isn’t busy growling, “Don’t even think of coming closer. This stuffed squirrel is M-I-N-E!” at his sister. Pyxi jumps on my lap with complete, free, abandon, tilts her head back and beams at me. Her shining eyes say, “I’m so glad that you’re home. Yes, rub my belly more, a little to the right. Aren’t I the cutest?”
when i started Dogs and Goddesses, we had just rescued a pup the shelter said was chichuauauauauauau mix. we have it narrorwed down to Dachshund head and bod, but legs of a pony. they gave him the call name styx. faun and white in places, they claim 2, he is at the chew eat/chew/play/chew/sleep/chew… and he has gained weight that goodness. he looked like a starved greyhound when we got him, every rib and spine bump and his belly didn’t exist.
he now eats 4 times a day measured amounts,.eats better if i offer spoonsfull to ridgebacn and border terr/mix. pecking order has to exist. oh, and he has to touch me when he is by me, especially when he sleeps. sweetest loving and i know still growing.
and i keep waiting for him to talk to me like the dogs in the book. truly. i have the book on audio too, he likes it. pony is a fan armonty and brutus are ticked off.
Dogs talk. I have two Jack Russells, so I immediately fell in love with Bailey. He can talk in complete sentences, but only wants to get his point across. I loved the scene when Peggy came back. She only got what she deserved. Perhaps she’ll learn.
You know, I wouldn’t hold a lot of hope out that Peg would learn anything. She’s a great character to write, but she’s not terribly deep. That said, I think the sting of Bailey’s rejection might stay with her a bit - I highly doubt she’ll be dumping dogs on Daisy anytime soon.