In fact, while I was researching the company my blog keeps, I noticed
something. Bo's two-timing me by using aliases and playing doggy house with a number of other families. Here's a photo of Bo masquerading as "Clifford" with mama Jen from Jen & The Greyhounds (my favorite hound blog because of Jen's greyhound-art connection).Et tu Bo-Bo?
According to The American Greyhound Track Operators, greyhounds sport** 18 coat colors. Officially, Bo's a red fawn. Though I'd argue that his white belly and the white-cape-like mark on his neck make him a candidate for a new, 19th color. I'll call it "wonderdog."
The point is, not only am I not the first person to discover the joys of adopting a greyhound, Bo isn't the first greyhound to steal the hearts of man. He's not even the first red fawn to do so. And though I'd like to think he might be the first wonderdog with that honor, I'm sure somewhere in this great, wide canine world of ours, there's a Bo-Bo-impostor with a similar cape wiggling his furry butt into the heart of some family who thinks they're the first to feel that way, too.
If it's true "there's nothing new under the sun,"*** why do we bother? Well if you're talking about adopting dogs or getting married or striving toward goals, that's easy: it's new to us.
But when you're talking about art, it's trickier. Why is it that we reach for the same stories again and again? Why is it that people gravitate toward the same ideas? I'm not talking about a network television channel pumping out reality knock-offs to capitalize on an unfortunate trend. I'm talking about watching your ideas start to blossom from other minds.
I have a phobia of repeating myself. I see a program like Eli Stone hit prime time (a show about a lawyer whose inoperable brain aneurysm is turning him into a visionary) and I'm sure everyone's gonna assume I ripped off the idea; one of my characters suffers from musical ear syndrome as a result of—everyone now—a brain aneurysm. Or a writer friend sends me a glowing review of Beautiful Children (a novel about the Vegas underbelly) and I start to wonder if I should rethink the backstory of the kid from Vegas in my novel. My fiancé is kind enough to lovingly point out that such thinking is, in fact, insane. These two details are small potatoes in the grander scheme of my novel. Besides, boiled down, doesn't every story sound like every other story?
I wouldn't give up on Bo just because somewhere someone else is cooing over a Bo-Bo clone, so I'm sure as hell not gonna let a couple of similar details make me give up on my book before it's finished. Loving a down-on-his-luck retired racer is about the richness the rascal helps me reap. Writing is kinda, sorta about the same thing. Because though it may be true there's nothing new under the sun, there's plenty new under my sun. My book and Bo-Bo for starters.
* Bonus points to anyone who noticed that using the verb "nets" here is a humdinger of an unintentional pun. I like unintentional puns. What I hate is when narrators on food network shows precede a pun with a pause and then say the word as though it's in italics and all caps. A good pun should be quiet as a well-behaved greyhound. The enjoyment reserved only for those who notice them. Bo-Bo completely agrees.
** Oh, I'm just full of them today.
*** No pun, here. Just a note to say I think that's from Ecclesiastes.
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