Elderfox's Blog

Thoughts of an elder writer-in-progress


And it has nothing to do with politcs (promise!)  It’s here because of the humor of my Muse, and, as usual, she resorts to  hyperbole.  So I’m forced to sit and think and I finally think she is being a nag because of late I’ve been caught up in rememberances instead of attending to her constant disciplines re my fiction writing . . . which is why the elephant…HOW?   It equates to having a long memory, right….RRRRRIIIITTTT!  ( The ole gal does have  a sense of humor.)  Anyway, of late (instead of attending to Harrison’s and Cera’s love life) I’ve been problem solving, re How to include my “DOG YEARS ” into my story plotting.  It begin when I was very young (during the first depression—oh sorry, forgot I wasn’t going to mention politics, or suggest my age). . .  anyway, a fox terrier named “SPOT” was my first (and not my last) encounter with that breed.  Spot’s whole mindset was protecting family, especially the “young”.  I remember clearly (I was maybe 5/6) when my mother, bending me over the rim of the bathtub, her hair brush in hand,  ready to whack my behind (which I no-doubt deserved) and hearing a sound behind her, turned to see “ole Spot”crouched in the doorway, back hair all a-bristel…I don’t remember my Mom ever “whacking” me again, at least not in Spot’s presence.   My Grandfather probably initiated the behavior by pretending to spank my young uncle, just to see Spot’s growling, bristeling reaction. 

(A side-note:  In those days Mom, Dad, and sometimes near relatives, had the lawful priviliege of corrective punishment for the bad behavior of their offspring.)

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