The One Where I Tell Something Weird About Myself

Think Kit Day 8 prompt:

Share a Creation
What did you make this year? Whether something personal, like a song or some art, or a work project, share your process and the end result of your creation.

Yes, I have a degree in fine arts. No, I do not create art. (I reserve the right to start.) Long ago I stopped designing things for commerce. I do a little sketching now and then. But – and if you've been following my posts, you know what I'm going to say – I'm not going to share those. They're weird. Trust me.

I tried making jewelry some years back. That only lasted about a year.

I cook. But that's kind of boring since most of us do that.

I research, develop strategies and plan for clients. But I can't show their secrets.

I don't write music. I don't spin yarn. I don't handcraft greeting cards. I don't even make my bed.

I do make something. Oh, my. Am I really going to do this? Um, yes.

I make my dog howl.

It's true. Ask my husband and kids. (Yes, I'm sharing just a little personal weirdness. The sketches are far, far weirder.)

A little over a year ago, my family adopted a street dog. He'd been "owned" by a neighbor. Rocky (said dog) has a habit of climbing fences. After some time, our neighbors decided they were done with him. Let him go. Then they moved away, leaving the little turd, er, angel behind. I worked at finding him a permanent home. And I found one. Excited at my success, I was extolling Rocky's virtues to his soon-to-be new person when she said, "well, Nila, I think he already has a home." Sigh. So he stayed, bad habits and all.

Sometime in the first quarter of 2013, I was walking around the house howling (Really, don't ask. It's better for everyone that way.) when Rocky began making an awful sound. (I suspect he thought the same of me.) He was…howling.

I took our little show on the road (meaning the rest of our house), co-howling a few times for show and tell. Then I got worried that I was hurting the poor little guy. I consulted an expert (Google) who assured me that he was okay. In fact, he probably liked the whole thing. I was essentially saying "we're pack" and "I'm your alpha." Okay then.

Shortly after we began our howling, Rocky started leaving small gifts in my bed while I was gone. Socks. Bones. Small stuffed animals. Always lovingly buried in the tangled mess of my unmade bed.

The photo shows Rocky sitting on the dashboard of my parked car howling along with me. That day was Rocky's Reese's cup. Two of his favorite things: howling with Nila and going for a ride in the car.