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Every morning when I start to write, Callum curls up at my feet – actually cuddling with them.

When he did this the first time, I was actually terrified. (A bit of back story: Callum is a 50kg Rottweiler. And until recently he had a bad temper and a bad attitude. Of course, I loved and hugged that little prince like there’s no tomorrow and now he is as even-tempered and loving as my other two Rottweiler boys.)

Callum as a puppy - only 20kgs!

– At a third of the size he is now, Callum always likes to pose for photos. Antonio believes the camera will suck out his soul. Emmett only takes pictures with Mommy – and always manages to get a lick in.

He sleeps there under the table for at least four hours. Then he wakes up and demands attention. A good thing, really. This forces me to start moving again and to look away from the screen before my eyes get so bad that I won’t be able to see what my neighbours are doing on the opposite hill. (Yes, I’m nosy but I don’t look over the walls – the neighbours opposite just happen to have this gorgeous tree that makes snow-white blossoms this time of year and I like to look at them.)

Around this time, Antonio (Callum’s twin brother – they will be turning two in November) will come in from outside and engage me in a wrestling match. (And I still believe that writing and yoga are to blame for my aching body…) And then Emmett, who’s turning six in March, will strut into the house and everyone will suddenly behave themselves. He may be of a smaller breed of Rottweiler, but he’s still the Alpha. Which stunned the vet the other day. He couldn’t believe that Emmett who weighs about 10kgs lighter than the other two can still rule the pack. I believe it’s because Emmett raised the two monsters.

They’ll leave again to do whatever it is little boys do in the garden all day – like digging holes everywhere or hunting rats, pigeons and everything else that moves – and I’ll continue writing. At least I know the chickens are safe – they have their own encampment with high wire fence and everything.

When lunchtime (for me) arrives, they’ll rush into the house just to make sure that if I don’t eat everything they can still get a bite. Of course, looking at me with those big eyes I can’t say no. Part of my lunch becomes theirs. Then they’ll either take a nap or continue to raid the garden.

If I don’t keep the blinds closed, I’ll watch them all day instead of writing.

Right now they are barking at a horse they can see above the wall… Perhaps I should go and take a look too… No, no. I’m supposed to be writing!

kermit typing

How about you: what does your average writing day look like?

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