Skip to main content

Buddy the “Muggle” Papillon, Blueberry the Legend, and the Art of Making Room

 A lot of people have asked me lately, usually right after “What are you working on next?” and right before “Can Blueberry please narrate my life?” — how is Buddy doing? Is he settling in? Is he adjusting? Is he surviving life with a self-proclaimed magical Papillon?

If you missed it last year, yes — I adopted another Papillon. His name is Buddy, he is eleven years old, and he arrived with big eyes, a hopeful heart, and absolutely no idea what he was walking into.

Blueberry, of course, had opinions.

She would like it officially noted that she is the magical Papillon. Capital M. Capital P. She insists Buddy is a “muggle Papillon,” which feels both unfair and suspiciously on brand. Still, despite her protests (and her dramatic sighing), I have a strong feeling he’s growing on her.

Not that she’d ever admit it.

In the beginning, she made sure to establish the rules. She demonstrated her agility skills with the enthusiasm of an Olympic athlete auditioning for applause. She attempted to steal his food — unsuccessfully — because Buddy, sweet soul that he is, has a quiet confidence that says, I belong here. And honestly? He does.

Slowly, subtly, in ways only animals (and maybe writers) truly understand, something shifted. The house stretched. Our routines softened. Our hearts adjusted their furniture and made space.

Because that’s what this is all about, isn’t it?

Sharing. Caring. Learning how to exist together without losing who you are. Being there when somebody needs you, even when it wasn’t part of the original plan. Especially when it wasn’t part of the plan.

If this all sounds strangely familiar — if you’re thinking, Wait… haven’t I read this somewhere before? — yes. Probably in one of my books. Funny how that happens.

Life has a habit of sneaking into my stories. Or maybe my stories are just paying close attention to life.

As a cozy mystery author, I write about found family, second chances, small towns, and the quiet magic tucked into ordinary days. I write about pets who understand more than they should, homes that expand to fit new souls, and hearts that figure things out as they go along.

Buddy didn’t replace anything. He added to it. Just like new characters do. Just like unexpected chapters do. Just like the moments that don’t announce themselves as important until much later.

Blueberry still rolls her eyes (internally, I assume). She still insists on being the most impressive creature in the room. But she’s made room — in the house and in her heart — and honestly, that might be the most magical thing of all.

And if that theme sounds familiar, well… life is the best co-author I’ve ever had.


 
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Absolute Madness of Naming Characters

  Let’s talk about one of the most ridiculous struggles of writing a book. No, I’m not talking about the part where you stare at the blinking cursor like it personally insulted your ancestors. I’m talking about naming characters. It should be easy, right? Just slap a name on them and move on? Oh, my sweet summer child. If only. See, naming a character is like naming your kid—except worse, because nobody is going to complain if your kid and their cousin both end up being named Liam. But if your main villain is named Liam and you accidentally give the quirky coffee shop owner in book three the same name? Cue the existential crisis. Let’s walk through the madness. The Overthinking Spiral of Doom You start writing, and there’s that moment: your brand-new character walks onto the page, full of potential. All they need is a name. A simple name. Something strong, something fitting, something— Oh no. Nothing sounds right. This one is too complicated. That one is too simple. ...
Post a Comment
Read more

A Labour-Free Labour Day? Yes, Please!

Hello and Happy Labour Day to all my lovely North American readers! Now, isn’t it just a little bit ironic that a holiday with the word labour baked right into the name is universally observed by doing absolutely none of it? Zero. Zilch. Unless, of course, you count the rigorous work of flipping burgers, casting fishing lines, and chasing wasps away from the potato salad. Then yes—we are a nation of highly skilled, recreational labourers. Olympic-level loungers, really. This year, I’m wholeheartedly leaning into the contradiction. After an exceptionally busy summer filled with writing deadlines, creative misadventures, and one unfortunate incident involving a Papillon, a pie, and a squirrel (don’t ask—Pixie is still refusing to discuss it), I’m embracing the art of not doing much at all. My Labour Day weekend plans include: Reclining in my favourite chair like a dramatic Victorian heroine recovering from a fainting spell. Watching the endless activity in the harbour just outs...
Post a Comment
Read more

Am I Perfect? Are You Kidding Me?!

Well, folks, let’s talk about something we all love to pretend we’re not – imperfection .  If there’s one thing I’ve learned on this wild ride of being an author, it’s that I am definitely not perfect . And you know what? That’s perfectly fine! (And if anyone tells you they’re perfect, just remind them that we’re all human—unless they’re a robot, in which case, we need to talk about your AI skills.) You see, every time I look back at my earlier works, I cringe just a little. Okay, maybe a lot . Plotholes that I patched over with the kind of flimsy excuses I’d never accept from my kids on homework. There are commas that should be in the witness protection program, hiding far away from the sentence they’re supposed to be part of. And some of the phrases? Oh boy. If I could go back in time, I’d sit myself down and say, “Honey, that line? It’s not even funny, it’s just… confusing.” But here’s the thing – I wrote this . It’s my work, my journey, my creation. And that’s something t...
Post a Comment
Read more