We're a bit housebound until he gets his vaccinations. I have a truncated day which is bracketed by school drop offs and pick ups. He sleeps a lot. Perfect, you would think, for the dedicated writer to y'know, actually write.
But when he's asleep, I'm lost in a reverie. Finding puppy classes, researching diets, watching dog training videos made by scary-smiley women with dog-whispering magic I can't fathom. I'm dodging emails and deadlines to curl up with him, or think about him, or read about him. It's worse than being in love. My fragile work-ethic is bleeding on the floor while I read "Your Perfect Puppy in ten Steps that Look Easy Until You Try them with an Actual Real-Life Dog".
One saving grace is that anyone who says having a puppy is like having a baby has clearly never had a baby. If I'm going out, I pop Faolan in his beloved crate with a biscuit. That didn't work so much with the babies. Besides, I've had him a week and managed to shower, eat, sleep and avoid weeping; so again, not so much like coming home with a newborn.
But the work thing is a problem. I need to get a grip.
One upside, workwise, is that lolling about indolently with a puppy has given me a lot of time to think about the Work in Progress. Unfortunately, those thoughts have led to the conclusion that I have veered away from a much better story. To get to the new story, the better one, I need to go back, rip up a fair chunk of 30,000 words. Add loads more characters. Rewrite one of them. I need to rethink the main theme. Up my research in a whole new area, one which on its own could keep a PhD student happy for a year.
It's a whole avalanche of new work I've made for myself, with all this annoying "thinking". Time to push on. I just want to watch one little You Tube vid. "Walking on the Lead! The No-Pull way for Numpties!" Just one. Then I'll get started.