Thinkingdog Publishing

Five Fantastic Reasons Why Only Papillon Dogs Should Solve Mysteries (You're Welcome) Greetings, readers - Pixie here. I have recently been informed that humans still allow other humans to solve mysteries. Adorable! After careful consideration, extensive research, and at least three naps, I have compiled the definitive list of reasons why papillon dogs are clearly the superior detectives. Reason Number One: We already know everyone's business. Humans think they're being subtle. They're not. We know who sneaks midnight snacks, who claims they don't want a dog but secretly carries treats in their pockets, and who was definitely in the kitchen five minutes before the cookie disappeared. You call it investigation. We call it Tuesday. Reason Number Two: We hear everything. The suspicious whisper behind the garden gate. The creak on the staircase. The mysterious rustle in the bushes. The opening of a cheese wrapper from three counties away. N...

I Finally Said No – And Lived to Tell the Tale Let me tell you something miraculous, something that deserves fireworks, cake, and a commemorative plaque in bronze. I said no . Yes, you read that right. I, a lifelong serial people-pleaser, a polite Canadian who’s been conditioned since birth to apologize when someone else bumps into me , finally looked someone in the eye, took a deep breath, and said the sacred, elusive words: “I'm afraid I don’t have the time for that right now.” And then I didn’t burst into flames. I didn’t faint, cry, or spontaneously combust from the sheer force of uncomfortable self-respect. In fact, I survived. I thrived. I made tea and went on with my day, though I did momentarily feel like I’d just told someone I eat puppies for breakfast. Let me back up a little. For years—decades really—I’ve been the go-to gal for favors, errands, quick edits, last-minute "can-you-just-do-this-little-thing-for-me"s. People would ask, and my mouth, entire...

The ATM Ate My Morning (And Other Tales from the 5:30 Club) So, let’s talk about my mornings. I know I get up way too early. Like, the birds are still stretching kind of early. Honestly, if you're imagining some serene, yoga-mat-and-matcha situation, please erase that. This isn’t enlightenment, my friend—it’s insomnia. Unfiltered, unmedicated, and definitely uncaffeinated. But hey, there’s a silver lining to staring at the ceiling at 4:55 AM: by 5:30, I'm up, dressed (questionably), and getting stuff done like I’m starring in an infomercial titled "Organize Your Life Before the Sun Rises!" I’ve alphabetized tea, refolded laundry that was already folded, and—most importantly—gone for early walks with my faithful assistant, Blueberry the Papillon. She’s the real CEO around here. I just carry the leash. So this morning, full of smug efficiency, I decided to combine my morning walk with a quick bank run. Two birds, one stone. (Or in Blueberry's case, one squirr...

Ah, the Canada day - Fourth of July weekend. Fireworks! Freedom! A glorious expanse of uninterrupted time stretching out like a freshly opened notebook, just begging to be filled with literary brilliance. This, dear reader, is what I tell myself every single year. "This is it!" I proclaim. "The long weekend where I finally finish that chapter, outline the next book, update my website, reorganize my plotting board, and maybe— maybe —even alphabetize my coffee and chocolate drawer. (Creative minds thrive on chocolate, okay?)" I even tell my friends. With utter conviction. "Oh, I'm writing all weekend. No distractions. Just me, my laptop, and the sweet click-clack of productivity." But then… Well, then real life crashes the party with potato salad and a sun hat. Let me set the scene. It's the first truly beautiful weekend we've had in forever . After an apocalyptic winter that left me questioning if I should start writing Narnia fanfic and...