Peggy Archer
Children's Author

Writing is a lonely job! Or is it? Maybe. If you have no kids. And no one knows that you write for children.

I started writing (to be published, that is) when my children were little. It's a bit uncanny how you can write surrounded by six small bodies in constant motion. But I did. In between the "I'm hungry" and "I hafta go potty" and "He/She took that away from me!" I'd sit and write (well, sometimes I would do laundry, or other things).

Occassionally I might hear something like this:
What are you doing, Mommy?
I'm writing a story.
Is it about a pig?
No. But it's about a farmer.
Does he have a pig?
! (more…)

Because of her I write poetry. And I’m filled with new ideas and stories to write.

When we got Snickers she weighed 5 pounds. I could hold her in my hand. At the animal shelter they said, “Her mother is a cocker spaniel.” The vet said, “You have a little lab!” Her daddy had the dominant genes.

She was creative. She pulled the tablecloth off the kitchen table to get to the food. She ate a dozen chocolate cupcakes from the back of the stove without leaving a trace. She could get the screen door open, even when it was locked.

She was contradictory. Snickers did not like cats. One day she ate the cat food from the neighbor’s front porch.
She got carsick. The only way to get her back home when she escaped from the yard was to back the car out of the driveway and open the car door. She came running.

She was full of energy. She ate my yellow tulips, and chased lightening bugs. She barked at birds, and once or twice at an airplane. She took her snowman toy with her everywhere. She ‘buried’ rawhide bones in a corner of the living room. She liked pretzels.

One day when she was a puppy, she peed on the kitchen floor while I was mopping it for the third time in a row. I put her outside. That was the last time she peed inside the house. Until recently. She never went past the baby gate when we had it up, even though she could easily push it over or jump over it. Back then. She would race across the back yard, and followed us everywhere...

We’ll miss you, Snickers.

A Dog’s House

copyright PeggyArcher, 1999

Noseprints on the window.
Pawprints on the door.
Bones are in the pantry,
Dishes on the floor.
You left your mark upon this house.
You claimed it from the start.
With noseprints on the window,
And pawprints on the heart.