b"If My DogWere A Writer byRonaHe'd be all enthusiasm, no talent or bylines. MaynardBut there's something I can learn from hisliterary pratfalls.My Casey, who fancies himself a rodent slayer, isnot what you could call a dog of letters. I cancount all the words he understands without usingall my fingers. If he could tell a story, it would beabout smells, from the pee pentimento on a treetrunk to the rank allure of a squashed pigeon, notto mention the galaxy of scents beyond my paltryhuman receptors.But imagining is what writers do, and as onewho loves her dog, I like to picture the writer hedbe. All enthusiasm, no talent. Been chasing bylinessince he was a pup (fitfully, mind you: a fellow hasto sleep and he shines at that). Equates volumewith voice. You should hear him howl but wheresthe nuance? The editor who gets him doesnt exist,and hes not getting any younger. Hed have betterluck with a geezers pursuit. Shuffleboard, maybe.Building model trains in the basement. His nameis Casey Jones. How perfect is that for a basementengineer?The community paper declined his pitch fora yard sale report (no pay but think of the expo-sure). Still, his pals dont have the heart to tell himthe truth. Youre a fun guy, Casey. We love you,honest, we do. But if this writer thing was meantto be, dont you think it would have happened bynow?ThecanineCasey,araffishbeaglemix,isalmost 10, well into the senior zone. Still leaps atsquirrels, oblivious to the leash. We shouldnt lethim jump, says our vet. Bad for his arthritis. Youknow what they say about old dogs and tricks.Casey has one trick, catching a banana chunk inmid-air.Ifthishunterthingwasmeanttobe,The authors dog, Casey Jones. youd think it would have happened by now.Heshadhisshareofchances,afterall.Sowhat if home is an eighth-floor condo in the heartof downtown Toronto? When we cant take himwith us on our travels, we send him to his favoriteplace on earth, a farm where he runs free, chasingcritters. Visit after visit passed without a kill.30 THE NEW BARKER www.TheNewBarker.com"