Dog poo: the secret to literary success.

So, here's the thing. I've always wanted to be a writer, right? So what would I write about? Well, Plan A was that I would write a marvellous novel, full of drama, intrigue, unrequited love, suspense and what have you. Since that sounded like a lot of hard work, I came up with Plan B, which was writing about my dog, Winfrey. Well, I figured, if John Grogan can do it, so can I.

 A number of practical difficulties present themselves to me as I mull over this idea, such as-what has Winfrey done in his miserable, crummy little life so far that I can write about? I decide to make a quick checklist of Winfrey's and Marley's traits/behaviour, to assess whether Winfrey has it in him to be a star in the league of Marley.

 Marley

• A cute, huggable Labrador
• Chewed, broke and totally destroyed things
• Had ADHD-like symptoms
• Was unhinged to a spectacular degree
• Had a blink-and-you'll-miss-it starring part in a Hollywood production
• Despite the fact that he behaved like he was demonically possessed, his owners adored him till his dying day.

 Winfrey

• A furball of undetermined lineage.
• Lies around all day, barks a couple of times, and then crashes out because of all the effort that it involves.
• Has no apparent disorder except a maniacal need to bark at car tyres.
• Is a totally crazy little turd of a dog who can produce the smelliest farts ever. I mean, ever!
• Doesn't even look good in pictures. As evidence, I present to you Exhibit A (and don't be fooled by his blond glowiness. Photoshop can make anyone look half-decent, even Donatella Versace. Well, okay, almost anyone.)
• Occasionally tries to suckle puppies, not ever realising that he doesn't have the necessary equipment, i.e., dog-boobies.
• Was once caught trying to make out with a stuffed rabbit (we left them alone, to spare him the shame of having us witness him being rejected by a stuffed toy, for Chrissake!)
• Makes us want to slap him silly just because he's there-some people just make you want to do that, you know, like Vince Vaughn?

So having weighed the pros and cons of having to follow Winfrey everywhere he goes in a bid to collect material for my book, filming him while he walks around emptying his bowels, eating poisonous leaves, and spewing gross, green upchuck, and the absolute horror of being assaulted by his silent, lethal farts, I think I'll pass on this one. Sigh! Back to Plan A.