A Dog Who Knew

My little pal, Nemo, was with me for fifteen years, my constant shadow, and a presence at the computer each time I sat down to write. I remain quite sure that he knew a lot of things I didn’t know, and that he tried to get me to understand

It was very hard to write with someone staring at me. Where was the mystery-loving dog who was supposed to be a warm companion as I spun spooky tales of terror? But, no. He stared. Nemo did not like the computer.

Was Nemo a victim of  Logizomechanophobia, computer phobia, or was he trying to tell me something? Maybe I was the one who should have been afraid. Deep within the internal workings of the amazing device, did there lurk a troll or a mad, invisible mystery muncher who oozed invisibly through the computer’s keyboard, stealing plot ideas and replacing them with the dreaded writer’s block? Maybe Nemo was trying to warn me.

I got up to pour another cup of coffee and he was over-joyed, trotting ahead of me with an encouraging flick of the tail. As I returned to my previous perch before the computer’s screen, he put his nose to the floor, scenting invisible footprints maybe.  At last, he became dejected at my inability to understand and flopped down on the carpet, his back turned to the computer.

I sipped my coffee and typed, wondering what Nemo knew and wishing I knew too.