If you subscribed to my first newsletter, this will look familiar. In it, I talked a bit about perspective.
My book changes perspective back-and-forth between Danielle and her husband, Mark.
In talking about this, I wrote a short piece from the perspective of one of my dogs, Freya.
I want to share it here for you now.
My name is Freya, and I just had my birthday. I’m one year old and adorable. My hobbies include long naps on the couch, laying directly on top of Krysta, chewing my toys, and driving my sister, Jez, insane.
I should probably explain that I am a dog.
The first time I saw Mom, she came to get me from a farm. I don’t remember much from that time. There was my dog mom and a faint remembrance of flat land and other warm, wiggly bodies vying for attention. One by one those other bodies were taken away, until there was just me. Then there was a long car ride, and something the voices around me called the “farm”. I didn’t like the car ride – it made my tummy upset – but I loved the farm. I could run around and chase birds and roll in the dirt. Then one day I heard a car pull up, and there were two new humans. They gave the lady at the farm some pieces of small paper. You shouldn’t eat paper, I found out later. Mom always has papers everywhere now.
Then there was another car ride.
I got to sit on the man’s lap. I think that is the very best place to sit, even now, even though their laps have gotten a lot smaller since then. They tell me I’m bigger, but I don’t know. I don’t feel bigger. I guess I can’t fit under the deck anymore. Maybe the deck shrunk?
I didn’t like the car ride, but the man held me, even when I tried to go climb over to the lady, and that helped a little. Eventually we made it to a new house. I am pretty sure the house has shrunk since then, too. It used to seem really big, and now it doesn’t. For a while, the lady, who became Mom, used to wake up with me two or three times during the night. Then there was a horrible, terrible four-letter word that got said over and over again. Work. God, that is an awful word. I used to get sick all the time when they left to do work. But weekends were good.
And then something glorious happened. Summer. Summer apparently means hot, which I don’t like. But it also means not work for Mom, which is almost the best thing ever.
There are actually three best things in the whole world. One is camping. When we went camping in the summer, I got to sleep in the tent with Mom and Dad and Jez. But then Mom and Dad took down the tent, and when it billowed out, collapsing to the ground, the sadness was just too much. I had to lie down and cry.
Another best thing in the world didn’t happen for a long time after camping. I was pretty happy it wasn’t so hot anymore. Then one day, when I went outside, there was white stuff all around. It was cool under my paws, and tasted like crystals when I ate some. Mom said it was called snow. Later on there was so much snow it even covered me, and I got to tunnel right through it. It wasn’t long before I had to lie down and sleep – that was tiring.
The last best thing ever is actually my most favourite best thing. On the second day in my new home, I met Jez. Jez is my big sister, even though I look down on her now. She sometimes gets sick of me, mostly when I try to play and she says she is tired, or when I want to hug her and end up crushing her. But she is usually patient, and is good at explaining things to me about people. I love her so much. Even more than my toys, and I love them a lot.
Mom says everyone has their own best things ever. I think Dad’s best thing is me and Jez. When he comes home from that awful work thing, he gets down on the floor, and that makes me so happy I have to jump on him. It’s just the only way I can tell him how happy I am to see him. That’s how I know we are his best thing. That, and watching the pictures on the TV when the screen is all white and the little figures on it chase each other from one side to the other. Sometimes he yells then, which used to scare me when it first started, but doesn’t any more. It is funny that one of his best things makes him yell so much. His other best thing is being downstairs at his desk. He says he is playing then, but I don’t see any toys or anything, so I don’t see how that is playing, but maybe people play differently than dogs. When he does that I get to lie by his feet on the carpet, or follow the kitties around, so I like that best thing of his, too.
Mom’s best thing is being on the couch, watching movies with Dad and me and Jez. Come to think of it, that is a pretty good best thing. Or maybe walks in the woods. That is a pretty good best thing too. Ooh, or maybe her best thing is those days when she reads all day, or sits at that black thing and makes clicky sounds and sometimes gets up and paces and drinks that thing called tea. Mom got mad at me once when I tried to sit on that black thing that makes clicky sounds. Sometimes she smiles when she is making those clicky sounds. Sometimes she doesn’t.
Sometimes she doesn’t have tea but drinks out of a taller glass that she tells me I have to be careful around. It smells funny and isn’t like a regular glass at all, because it has something called a stem on it.
I thought stems were only on flowers and outside stuff, but I guess not.
Mom sometimes comes home late from work. I hate work, and I hate that she stays away for a long time because of it, but Dad assures me that she will always come home, and you know what? I think he’s right. When she comes home, sometimes she is tired, so I always make her feel better by pressing as close to her as possible. Maybe if I squish my own happiness into her, she will be happy, too.
My heart hurts when Mom’s sad, but my heart is happy when Mom smiles. Sometimes she does both, at the same time or one right after the other, and I really don’t get why or how someone can do that. Maybe it’s a human thing. Jez says there are lots of things in the world, and that I won’t ever get to know or understand them all, but that is okay. She’s pretty smart, so I guess she must be right.
Mom says that when people – and dogs – find their best things, then the other, non-best things, are not as bad. Maybe that’s why work, though it is still the worst thing, doesn’t make me so sick anymore.
I am a whole year old now. I have learned a lot about home, and family, and people, and best things. I have learned snow is awesome and camping is happy and toys are good, and Jez is the
best. And even though work is the worst thing, at least I am still with Jez, and my people do come back eventually, and maybe that is the best thing of all.