What To Write When the Well Goes Dry!

It was bound to happen sometime. The whole blog thing was just too easy. I’ve been wracking my brain since the vaccine blog was posted, but no new topic has appeared. I’d better find one soon, because without a topic, I can’t write a blog.

I have a whole protocol for writing when inspiration fails. I even posted it on Instagram. (It would be useful to have that list right now, but of course it’s MIA. Will I ever stop losing things?) Here are a few points from the list I can’t find:

When you want to write but nothing comes
1) Just keep pushing. (Something has to give, and it might be the logjam in your head.)

2) Sit in front of the computer until the blog miraculously writes itself. (That’s happened once or twice, but not today.)

3) Raid the fridge. (Because of Covid, I go to the market as infrequently as possible. The fridge is empty, so it must be time for another trip.)

4) Exercise! (I walk every day, but so far no blog bombshells.)

If none of these suggestions work…

5) Forget the damn blog. Write about the dog!

Now that’s something I can do.

Tilly, our Jack Russell Terrorist is getting old. She was a rescue, and we don’t know how old she really is, but our vet thinks at least fifteen. At that age even an ever ready JRT can slow down.

She used to play ball until she wore us out. Now one or two easy lobs sets her up for another nap. My heart hurts to watch her sleep the days away.

She’s mostly blind in one eye, and the gaps in her vision throw her for a loop. If I put my hand out to pat her, she sometimes flinches, not sure if I’m going to hit her or kiss her.

In her younger days she’d have squared up, saying “Just try it! Give it your best shot!” Not any more. She’s way past being tough.

Tilly’s hearing isn’t much better than her vision, so speaking her name before I pat her doesn’t always help. We’re working it out, she and I, but it doesn’t always go as planned.

Her breathing has changed, too. She snores now when she sleeps, and sometimes sounds like something is caught in her throat. The other night she seemed to be coughing in her sleep. All I could do was stroke her until the spasms passed.

She sleeps on our bed, as far away from my husband as possible*. When she was younger, jumping up was a big nothing. Then all of a sudden she couldn’t (or wouldn’t) even try.

I put a footstool next to the bed, and after a few weeks she started using it. Before that, every time she whined, I’d jump up, grab her, and shove her under the quilt so she didn’t wake Ron.

Then, out of the blue, her courage came back. Now she jumps on all the furniture, even places on the No Dogs Allowed list, like my husband’s special chair. (Good luck with that one, Ron.) She gets up several times each night to drink, then comes back to bed.

I know she won’t live forever, but it’s hard to think about life without our dog.

So stop it already! Enough of this lament for bygone days and future sadness. Dogs grow old and die. So do people. Get over it.

Tilly has been ours for nearly fourteen years. She’s happy. She’s as active as she wants to be. She doesn’t seem to hurt anywhere. Lately, she’s taken to cuddling with Ron when we’re watching TV. He strokes her, and she smiles in her sleep.

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*It’s nothing personal. Ron’s a restless sleeper, and she keeps him awake.

I’d love to hear from you. Leave comments in the box below or email me at storiesbyjudith@gmail.com