I am 196 cm tall and weigh around 82 kilograms. Back in high school, my PE teacher called me ‘the perfect football specimen’. But I was a disappointment to him: rather than pounding grass on the school oval, I preferred to hide in the library, or behind computer screens. I don’t mind being active; I love mountain-bike riding and do the occasional gym session. As for football, I watch a game or two at home or go to the local matches with my mates.
I earn my living by writing. I regularly contribute to the lifestyle, leisure and travel pull-out in the Saturday paper. I’ve got a few other gigs on the side, and I’m working on my second novel. The income isn’t great but it’s enough.
My article was due in two days, and I still had no idea what to write about. I stared at the laptop screen willing it to miraculously fill with words. My mind was as blank as the screen in front of me.
In the evening, my girlfriend, Laura, snuggled up to me on the sofa, buried her face in my beard and whispered teasingly, ‘It’s nice to be with you, my shaggy Sasquatch.’ It had been her latest, and most accurate, nickname for me. A while ago, I had lost a bet to a mate. My footy game scoring predictions suck. Luckily, no money was involved. The bet? I had to grow a beard and keep it for six months. I wasn’t fond of my hairy appendage; I couldn’t wait to take the scissors to it. Having inherited a predisposition to abundant body hair was bad enough.
Laura works in a pet store. She’s also a dog trainer. When I confessed to having problems with a topic for my next article, she said, ‘Why don’t you write something about dogs? They can be quite hilarious, you know. Almost everyone owns a dog these days.’ Laura’s face lit up as she recounted stories from her training classes. A Jack Russel Terrier standing up to a bully Pitbull. A Great Dane that would cower and skitter away from anyone who had come too close to her. A flock of ducks landing on the training field, propelling half of the dogs to run away from it, the other half towards it.
A bolt of lightning struck. I kissed Laura on the forehead. She hugged me even tighter.
I spent the next day in the office, eyes glued to the screen, fingers to the keyboard. Aiming to provide accurate and reliable data, I consulted a number of verified sources. I learned that “fight or flight in dogs is an automatic, adrenaline-driven stress response to fear or perceived threats, often manifesting as hiding, shaking or running away (flight) or reacting aggressively such as barking, lunging or biting (fight). Common triggers include loud noises, unfamiliar people or dogs, or being cornered.”
The words flowed easily. I interspersed the dryness of the factual information with Laura’s colourful dog training experiences. I was hoping my readers would appreciate a little insight into their pet’s mind, and at the same time enjoy the funny side of dog ownership.
Laura rang my mobile later in the afternoon. ‘I’ve got a huge surprise for you at home. You’re going to be thrilled!’
I finished the article and sent it off to my editor.
On the way home, I speculated about the surprise that was about to be unleashed on me. A candle-light dinner? A new seat for my bike? A weekend away? An interest-free loan from Laura’s parents so that we could finally afford to buy a modest house? My whole being pulsated with excitement.
‘In the living room!’ Laura called when she heard the jingle of the keys in the front door. I followed her voice.
I saw Laura first. She grinned and pointed to her feet. ‘Meet our new housemate, Mishka.’ My eyes took a dive. The creature on the floor was the size of a cat, had black beads for eyes, pointy ears and a glossy long coat.
I crossed the threshold. My hairy presence filled the room. The chihuahua lunged forward, bit me on the ankle, then bolted and hid behind Laura’s legs where it stood, shaking, with its tail between its legs, hackles up, teeth baring. A low growl vibrated in its throat.
Startled, I took a step back. My foot caught on the edge on the rug. I lost balance and crashed into the side table upending a pot plant which landed on the floor with a thud. The chihuahua erupted into a vicious bark. Laura burst into laughter.
As for my readers, the article was a hit.
© Tropical Writers Inc 2026