Neil Gaiman’s dog has died. I would have treated this as private, had he not blogged about it so beautifully, thereby making it public. But it makes sense. If you talk about your beloved dog when it’s fine, you need to warn us when things are no longer so fine, or we will put our foot in it.
One thing I often use to illustrate the beauty of blogging, is getting to know the dogs of so many authors. Not necessarily in person, although that has happened a lot more than I had bargained for when I set out six years ago.
But even the dogs I’ve never met, I somehow feel I know well. I’m not an animal person, but if I were I’d be a dog person. I suppose it goes with being a writer, that you can express things well, and that goes for making your dog come alive in other people’s minds.
Except, there comes the day when the dog isn’t there anymore. I have made more than one author cry when asking about their dead dog, and I never meant to! Neil Gaiman won’t be avoiding all such questions, but he will miss many of them now. Even I, who is not a regular reader of his journal, feel I’ve heard a lot about his ‘white wolf.’
Some put their dogs in their books, like Poppy the pirate dog, who Liz Kessler belongs to.
How can we not love them?