This might
sound strange, given the subject of this blog, but I am not an animal lover.
Before you start to dislike me, or at least view me with the kind of
uncomprehending huh that most people
feel when someone makes the confession I just did, please hear me out.
Animals make
me sick. Physically sick, that is. And I don’t just mean a few sneezes,
take-a-Claritin kind of sick, I mean laid out for days. I remember going on a
romantic getaway with my then-fiancé and deciding to try horseback riding.
Sometime in the middle of our ride, I became so weak that I nearly fell off my
horse. I had to be taken back to the inn, and I didn’t get out of bed until it
was time to go back home. Goodbye, getaway.
When I was
very young we had two cats and although I was frail and sickly, I didn’t have
the typical allergic symptoms and my parents didn’t realize what was causing
the problem. One day I crawled underneath my crib and collapsed. Our apartment
had to be vacated for days, and my beloved Andrew, who used to let me tow him
around in a sled, got adopted by a kindly neighbor who probably didn’t harass
him nearly as much as I did.
So, you see,
once upon a time, I was an animal lover. In the years that followed, I became a
writer, and animals found their way into my books in ways I couldn’t predict. I
think it was my attempt at sublimating all those years and pets I had to go
without. In my debut novel, Cover of Snow,
there’s a black Lab named Weekend. I get a lot of questions about Weekend’s
name, and this is the story I tell of how it came about.
I was on a
beach with my husband, my brother, and some friends. We were all in our
twenties, doing the kinds of things you do at night on a beach when you’re that
age. Bonfire hissing, drinks being poured. And re-poured. Suddenly this guy and
his dog come along, and I hear the guy call, “Weekend! Here, boy,” or words to
that effect, as he clapped his hands.
In that
expansive way assorted libations can instill, I stumbled through the sand to
admire this dog—from a sneeze-free distance.
“Great name,”
I told his owner.
The guy
looked blankly at me.
“Your dog,” I
explained. “I love his name.”
“Oh,” the guy
said. “Really?” And then he added, “Fido?” Or Rover, or something so unoriginal
that probably few people—tipsy or not—had ever gone out of their way to admire
it.
But that was
okay. I had my name—and a new character for my book.
There’s a dog
in the novel I’ll publish next year, and he plays an even more pivotal role than
Weekend does in my first novel. This dog was inspired by an animal I met on
book tour in 2013. She belongs to a bookseller at McLean & Eakin in
Michigan, and she is a rescue dog. Loveable and affable and sweet. But she has
a past that nobody—animal lover or not—could bear to think about, and to this
day, the dog has trouble being without the beloved folks who rescued her. She
follows them all around the bookstore. When I heard this, while patting and
complimenting the sweet animal, I immediately thought, What a perfect situation
that would create in a book. A dog who can’t be left alone.
Wait a
minute, you’re probably saying right now. Did you say you patted this dog? What
about your allergies?
It’s a funny
thing, but they seem to have gone away. I can be around dogs now, cats too
occasionally, although I haven’t dared try horses yet. The heroine of my first
novel is allergic to dogs at the beginning, and by the end she becomes
Weekend’s caretaker and human.
They say life
imitates art. Maybe one day I’ll have a black Lab—or a rescue dog—of my own.
Till then, I’ll keep putting them in my books.
Jenny
Milchman’s debut novel, Cover of Snow,
was chosen as an IndieNext and Target Pick, won the Mary Higgins Clark award, and
is nominated for a Barry. Jenny’s second novel, Ruin Falls, just came out and she and her family have hit the road
on a 4 month/20,000 mile book tour.
Sheila, thanks so much for having me to Writers & Other Animals!
ReplyDeleteJenny, you're always welcome!
ReplyDelete