Thinkingdog Publishing

  🫐 Blueberry’s Listicle of the Week Opinions from a Magical Papillon Who Has Seen Things  Mommy has been muttering about “writer’s block” again. As if the words are hiding from her. Please. They’re simply waiting for better company. Blueberry’s Official Ranking of Places to Nap in a House Full of Ghosts  1. The exact center of Mommy’s manuscript pages. Warm from the printer, faintly scented with ink and desperation. Prime real estate.  2. The sunbeam that crosses the kitchen table between 2:15 and 2:47 p.m. One must time it precisely. Ghosts respect punctuality.  3. Around the old grandfather clock. The ticking lulls lesser beings; I find it rhythmic. Also, excellent vantage point for judging everyone below.  4. The windowsill overlooking the garden. One can monitor squirrels, passing spirits, and Mommy’s questionable fashion choices with equal efficiency.  5. Buddy’s bed, but only when he’s not in it. (He claims this is theft. I call it quality c...

So, here’s the thing—I know we have coyotes in our area. It’s not exactly a secret. They’re basically our unofficial neighbors at this point. Lately, they’ve been as regular as the subway—every ten minutes, one trots by our window like it’s the 7:30 express to Downtown Trouble. Now, I’m a vigilant dog mom. I’ve got fences, gates, lights, and the kind of situational awareness usually reserved for Secret Service agents. My little Papillon, Blueberry, never sets a paw outside without me. We go as a team, like a very small and furry version of the Secret Service detail I mentioned—minus the suits, though Blueberry would totally rock a tiny one. But a few days ago, we were walking our old boy, Kobe—fifteen years old, gentle as a cloud, moving at a dignified senior pace. He stopped to sniff a bush. Harmless, right? A completely innocent dog moment. Except—apparently—not. Because that harmless bush… growled. Before I could even process what was happening, a coyote shot out of it like it ...