The Visit

"Barney" she announced. Is that a treat? I wonder. I start to salavate and the uncontrollable tail wagging begins. I bound for the kitchen mat and wait in anticipation.

This was definitely my favourite spot in the whole house. On this very mat I could catch mid-air tiny scraps of meat and vegetables which always impressed the owners. And let's not forget the unrelenting praise and ear scratching received at this very spot. Yes, this place was the congregation area for the entire family; here I would find the answer to the daunting declaration that had made my owner so excitable.

Once more I hear the word "Barney." And then she moves quickly for the front door. Again, I leap to the mat in the hallway where I can look out the tiny window at the bottom of the door.

I loved this mat as well. From here I could see the comings and goings of strangers and friends alike. At this spot, I could provide a very important service for my owners: home security and protection. I would not receive a treat here, however, and so I was beginning to doubt my earlier intuition that Barney was a new brand of doggy treat.

I change my position, nose pressed against the glass to see if I could get a better look at what was happening outside. Just beyond the white bars and down the steep stairs I could see a funny-looking, bearded dog. As the grey-haired dog approached the house, I came to the realization that this was a dog to remember; a childhood buddy perhaps, a bretheren and mentor who had come for a visit.

Meat dreams

I'm running. Catching up but just out of reach, I envision my canines sinking into my quarry. I anticipate the warm pulsing taste and crunching sound. If only I could get another few inches, a little faster, a spurt of speed... but it turns right, then darts left. That fluffy tail deceptively hints one way, while my quarry goes the other way. I wish I could run up the trees like he does. What magic does he have? Maybe that tail holds all the magic. If only I had one of those. If only.

Escaping into a tree, my quarry suddenly appears twenty feet behind me. His magic tail turns to wings. But I know it's him.  I'm not so easily fooled. I bolt straight at him like an arrow. I fly, only brief moments does the ground contact my paws. Both front legs in sync, with my back legs following closely behind.  I see my teeth reflected in my quarry's eye. But magic saves him. He disappears behind the cape of wings and is gone.

With watering jaws, I find myself lying on my side in the sun.  I'm at my lookout spot. The portal to the outside is creaking open. The bringer of meat has arrived. The master hunter, who always has fresh quarry. Sometimes after his fill, he shares his plunder. I ask him for meat. He understands my desires and asks me to worship the God of the Hunt, Ball. I retrieve the idol so we can begin the rites.

He takes the idol, gives it life. It flies and bounds. I give chase. It veers and tries to allude me, but I catch it mid leap. I hold it until it dies. Sometimes it feigns death and breaks my vise-like hold and gets free for a short time. Not this time. I bring it back to the master. He once again brings it back to life.

The ceremony goes on endlessly, until it ends. Maybe the master has run out of magic. Maybe he needs meat to make magic. Or maybe the God of the Hunt has been satisfied and delivered us manna, Greenies.   The master goes to the window to watch his quarry.  His paws twitch a lot while he looks out the window.  Maybe his clicking noises bring the quarry to him. I've heard the quarry making noises too. They are not really the same.  His paws continue to click.  Someday I will learn that magic.  My master will stare out his window forever.

I want meat. I better get back to my lookout. Maybe magic will take me outside to the chase and the meat of my quarry.  I rest and await the magic.

The challenge: Rico's day

Arbitrary goals are what will keep things interesting.  What could be better than writing about our well known companion's day: his complex thoughts, his motivations, his varied experiences.  But I don't mean to constrain artistic goals by over-articulating this challenge.  I think the guide line is simply the title.  Do what you must with it.  We will see who gets the Good and who gets the Bad!  The gauntlet is down.  There is spit in your eye.  Your mother has been besmirched.  The public ridicule is upon you.  You have been slighted.  There is only one way to recover you honor.  Write Rico's day.

Welcome to the accusing blank page.

First entry for a daily writer's blog

David Lodge once highlighted the importance of the first paragraph of any piece of short or long fiction (if I remember correctly from The Art of Fiction). Here readers can catch a first glimpse at the writer's craft: his/her choice of genre, character, language, style, etc. The introduction can actually serve as the final puzzle piece for the whole picture (i.e. if you were to read the introduction and the conclusion one right after the other you would see what he was getting at; not that I encourage this sort of thing at the first read).

Anyways, my introduction is meant to explain the purpose of this blog and the best explanation or interpretation that I can think of is a Spanish tertulia (or get-together of close friends/colleagues to discuss literary or political subjects of the day usually in a very cool coffee house such as the Four Cats in Barcelona). We ideally will propose weekly topics for the art of fiction; that is to say, we hope to encourage either inspiration or writer skill/practice....Adelante!!

A kick in the ass

Here's the initial plan: write lots.  There is a expression in sailing, "if you can't tie knots, tie lots". In sailing, it is important to tie things down (anchor lines, sheets, booms, you name it) so that in rocky weather things don't fly around go, hit people in the head, or over board.  The right knot for the right circumstance is best.  But failing knowing how to tie knots, it's better to make sure things don't come loose, so--ties lots.  I hope it applies to writing, since I am a bit lacking with the skills of writing.

The goal is to use this blog as a way to spur on some daily writing adventures. To encourage this writing lots goal, we are employing guilt and competition by having it a joint blog, hence the title: Good Muse Bad Muse.  I'm not sure if it's more a Good News-Bad News kind of thing or a Good Cop-Bad Cop kind of thing.  The bottom line is, I will probably be associated with the Bad.  Only time will tell.

Let the blog begin...