I was walking my dog tonight - one of those incredible early summer evenings when nature conspires towards perfection. The lowering sun dappled his coat, a slight breeze cooled us, and the wide expanse of summer stretched ahead.
As we were walking, I was noticing the specific things - the simple things - that make him happy. We're in the city and our walk took us up a concrete school block without much nature. But, with school out, weeds had taken up residence between the cracks in the concrete and were growing rather wildly in some spaces. My puppy found those weeds enchanting. He buried his head in the greenness with contagious joy. I found myself smiling to watch him take pleasure in something so simple. Twenty minutes later on another block, he all but buried himself in someone's hedges - all to be one with the green. He's like that in the park as well; he'll sniff the clover and then roll deliriously - almost like he's doing a backstroke through the field.
Of course writing is never far from my thoughts when we're out walking, so I wondered - wouldn't that be a great question to ask the protagonists in a story? What makes you happy? I immediately asked that of my heroine and her answer not only surprised me, it took the book off in a whole new direction. Hmmmm, maybe the puppy needs to go in the dedication page.
