The Sacred Space of the Whelping Box, and My Inbox

And a little hack for a runaway dog.

Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash

Recently I watched Kristin Hannah fill a giant auditorium with hundreds of devoted readers and if I’m honest, there was a twinge of envy. There is a place inside of me that has always longed to be a writer who would receive such a reception, as my brain (erroneously) equates volume with impact. I’ve sometimes felt like I’m in this parallel universe, where my writing is so singular (always comes back to the dogs!) that I will never appeal to a broader audience (we’re being honest here, right?). It’s the springboard from which the envy momentarily leaps and tries to get a foothold in my soul. Envy corrodes. And there’s a little rust spot right there.

But then I get an email like the one I received last night. Long. Novel length. So long that I wonder if I should save it until the morning, as I can tell from the opening sentences that it’s about to take me on a wild ride. Do I have the emotional capacity to read it? Will it bubble up in my sleep and be one of the hundreds of thoughts that scroll across my 2am brain? 

I decide to read it.

Spoiler alert: it did find its way into my conscious mind at 2:12am, but it was worth it. And here’s why: it reminded me of the gift that is uniquely mine. The gift that has come through writing and posting about puppies.