Creative Writing Exercises: Write About Your Most-Loved Pet

    Would you like to write about your most-love pet?

    Is there a story you remember about him or her?

    Here is a pet story I came across recently:

    When Moe, the dog died, three-year-old Luke Westbrook pined for his four-legged friend.

    In the end, Luke’s mother came up with the idea to write a weekly letter to Moe together with Luke. She addressed it to:

    Moe Westbrook,
    Doggie Heaven
    Cloud 1

    Every week she secretly took the letter she had written out of the mail box, but one day she forgot and the mailman collected her letter.

    To her amazement, she got an answer the very next day. Here is what it said:




    You can imagine how much this meant to little Luke…!

    Did you like this pet story? I thought it was charming.

    Now it’s up to you. Here is a little challenge for you. 🙂

    Creative writing exercises: What is YOUR pet story?

    Whether your story is about a tiny pet…


    creating writing exercise


    Or about a huge pet…

    creative writing exercise


    … write a story about your favorite animal companion.

    Write a story of not more than 300 words and paste it into the comment section.  We might even be able to add an image to your comment if we can.

    Send us a  picture of your favorite pet  to writetodone[at]gmail[dot]com. We’ll do our best to insert it into your comment.

    About the author:
    Mary Jaksch is Editor-in-Chief at Write to Done. Grab her FREE report How to Write Like an A-List Blogger. Mary has helped thousands of students successfully create outstanding and profitable blogs at  A-List Blogging and is the blogger behind Goodlife ZEN.

    About the author

      Mary Jaksch

      Mary Jaksch is best known for her exceptional training for writers at and for her cutting-edge book, Youthful Aging Secrets. In her “spare” time, Mary is also the brains behind, a Zen Master, a mother, and a 5th Degree Black Belt.

    • Ohita Afeisume says:

      I’ve never owned a pet. once I sat at table with three friends and listened to them talk ‘dogese’. That day , I wondered, “Is it really so exciting?'”

    • david says:

      loved my cat named snowy

    • david says:

      I had a black cat named snowy, loved me and I really miss her ,she is in
      heaven with my parents.

    • Pam says:

      “Anyone interested in a little kitten?” she said.
      Those six words slowly echoed in my head initiating a battle between emotion and logic. The first arrows from the left – the expense, the homeland collateral damage, the years of responsibility. The next arrows from the right – rescue the homeless, he’s so precious, so much love to give.
      Who won? The kitten, of course. That would be Taz, short for Tasmanian Devil, like in the comics. Although not short-tempered or impatient; definitely had a ravenous appetite. Since my boys were still living at home; they knew bottles of kitten milk would be in the fridge and they were eager volunteers to feed him 24/7. Kittens are so cute with their unsteady walk, sleeping a lot and playing with anything that moves.
      Taz’s defining moment occurred one summer evening; I pulled into the garage and immediately noticed the door into the house was open.
      “Jace, pay attention! How long has this door been open? We don’t need to air-condition the garage!”
      “It wasn’t me, mom.”
      “Well, no one else is here!”
      “It wasn’t me!” Agitated, we both stormed off.
      One night, enjoying some television time, I hear the chime of the garage door opening. Momentarily, Taz strolls by. Strange, I thought.
      It took a few more weeks to confirm – Taz opens doors! Aided by our lever style door knobs; he jumps up, pulls the handle, kicks the door trim with his back feet and he is in! Thanks, Taz, how about shutting the door behind you!
      Well, Taz is fifteen now. He has an unsteady walk, sleeps a lot, and occasionally plays with his shadow. Soon he will have fulfilled the emotions of the right and lived out the logic of the left. But that’s okay. Thanks, Taz!

    • Phoebe says:

      I loved reading over the pet stories in the comments!
      My dog, Molly, is smart and headstrong. She always comes up with new ways of getting what she wants. If she wants to play (which is 24/7) and bringing you a toy isn’t enough, she’ll go to the door as if she has to pee, and grab her toy as soon as you’re standing. If that doesn’t work, she’ll bark until you yell at her and play a bit just to shut her up. Lately we haven’t fallen for that trick so easily, especially when we’ve tired ourselves out from playing already. One night she came over, whimpering, pawing at me to get my attention, so I got up to follow her – this was new, and we thought something was terribly wrong. She led us to the toy box.
      On another note, she’s gotten over-excited a couple of times and run far ahead when we had her off-leash in the park, and when she met a road, she looked both ways first! At least we taught her something, albeit not what we planned!

    • This is a very awesome and fun idea,
      My favourite pet is Cat and i love it because of how neat it usually is. I remembered some years ago when my Cat entered into my neighbours bedroom and climbed on top of her bed meanwhile, the lady was taking her bath.

      Now, when she came out and saw the Cat relaxing on top of her bed, she started shouting JESUS! JESUS! and ran out of the room.

      When everyone gathered to know what’s happening to her, we saw that its because of my Cat and we all started laughing at her.

    • Jolene says:

      I grew up with cats and dogs as my siblings. From those that shared my life at four – Pippy, Boots and Satchamo to those that share my life now at 64 – Spook, Callie, Sam, Sugar, Bella and Walter; and all those who are no longer with me – each and every one was special, showing me love that no human ever could.

    • Toby the Wonder Dog

      When I was growing up there was a television show called “Lassie.” Lassie was a collie with a heart as big and open as a Montana sky, wits that would give MacGyver a run for his TV money and a level of compassion that would make Mother Teresa feel good about herself.
      For 17 years Lassie displayed a mixture of devotion, valor and faithfulness as she accompanied her boy-master, Timmy, in episodes in which she’d rescue him from cliffs, sit on duck eggs as a surrogate mother (even though the role was played by a male) and drive away dangers that she often recognized before her intelligent-being costars, the Martin family.
      I always wanted my own Lassie. What boy wouldn’t? But since my older brother had pulled off the Lenny-esque (from “Of Mice and Men”) stunt of literally loving a puppy to death by insisting on petting it long enough to set the Guinness Book record for showing love can be cruel, my parents were loathe to try again.
      I tried empathizing with other TV beings, but a “Full-time Norton” did not have the same allure as a “Full-time Lassie.” I did get a mouse I named Palladin. But he never helped me capture any sheep rustlers, save me from a spill into the rapids or vanquish any bullies, and so he did not quite fulfill my need for companionship.
      I tried with a turtle that got away before I could give him a name, and unable to extricate himself from trouble the way Lassie could, he crawled behind the couch where he up and died, and then dried out.
      I finally got my own Lassie in 1990 when I picked up a six month-old puppy from the pound already equipped with the name, Toby. Having never had a dog, my training regimen was not based on eliciting the traditional call and response pattern designed to get Toby to roll over or beg. I wanted a dog with gumption, verve and an independent spirit, a peaceful warrior. I wanted him to be free to be himself, free to want to be my best friend, not obey a series of pointless orders.
      I honked my Hohner harmonica at him to get him to howl and moan the blues, which he subsequently did like a wolf who knows the worldly pain that arises from never having enough – just like a real blues traveler. Of course, all he wanted was to chase squirrels and cats. But he never had enough of that and so he called upon that urge to belt out the blues. I never heard Bob Dylan on the stereo without Toby joining in during the harmonica breaks again.
      Toby followed me everywhere, running when I ran, lying on the couch when I lay on the couch and accompanying me to work. He went fishing with me on the beach, watching me cast a piece of wood at a pod of feeding Bluefish, and barking at them as I brought them in to shore. I had found my Lassie.
      Maybe I had experienced other moments of non-verbal communication in which emotions are transmitted by a shared look passing back and forth between two sets of eyes. But one sunshine splashed morning early in our time together, Toby and I shared such a moment as we ran side by side on the hard sand of the barrier beach between Quonochontaug and the Charlestown Breach-way.
      Gentle surf washed just up to our footfalls as we ran. The sun glinted off small, odd-shaped mirrors of pooled water that disappeared quickly into the sand as the lapping surf receded back into the sea. I looked over at Toby at the exact same moment he looked over at me. I saw joy, exhilaration and pure delight in the moment. I looked away and he did the same. I tried it again. Our heads turned toward each other in synchronous communion. Again, I looked over and he looked back at the exact moment. On the fifth time, he looked over at the same time, but his look this time was “Hey, let’s stop analyzing this and just run and together as kindred spirits.”
      One of the first Lassie-esque adventures we shared occurred when fishing. This time, we weren’t just fishing; we were catching. I had moved up the beach, following a school of fish and had tossed one I caught up above the high tide mark to pick up on my way back. Toby, meanwhile, was hovering near my brother, who being paralyzed on his left side, was judged by Toby to be more in need of a guardian dog while hauling 15-pound fish with teeth like knives than was I.
      As the feeding Bluefish moved off-shore I made my way back down the beach to claim my fish and rejoin my brother, his wife and Toby about three-quarters of a mile down the beach. However, I reached the fish at the same time as a very aggressive Jack Russell Terrier. The dog was hovering over my fish, barking and showing its teeth in a menacing growl.
      Having fortuitously found the fish flopped on the beach, he had made the fish his own. Maybe he had a nice white wine and a couple of lemons ready to go along with MY fish back at the dog house. He also had the teeth and jaws to eat the fish as it now lay, stiffened in death.
      I didn’t care; I have more than a little terrier blood running through my veins and I wasn’t going to give up and walk away with my vestigial tail between my legs. We had reached that most primitive state between two species, a standoff that could only end with the spilling of blood.
      Suddenly, a black blur came flying into our narrow little world of concentrated menace: Toby, the Wonder Dog had come to save the day. He slammed into the side of that terrier like a steroidal lion hitting a baby Thompson gazelle. In a furious flash of growling and grappling, Toby flipped the terrier onto its back with his jaws clamped around its throat in a death-grip.
      With Toby holding the terrier still and steady, I went over, assessed the situation and said, “You can let him up now, Tobe. I think he’s ready to change his name from Jack Russell to Jacqueline Rose.” He let go and the terrier took off. Toby and I walked away; he loping along next to me as I swung our hard-won dinner by the tail over my shoulder, just like Timmy and Lassie would have done it.
      In one episode of “Lassie,” Timmy has fallen into a well and only Lassie has seen where his young master now lies dazed and bleeding in the bottom of a very deep and wet hole. Lassie manages to find his way back home to Timmy’s foster parents and with a series of barks whines and exaggerated doggie body language informs them where Timmy is, what has happened to him and what they need to do to fix the situation.
      In 1994 I fell in a well. It was a well of my own choosing, true, as I had chosen to take the drugs that led to my slide deeper and deeper into drug addiction. But it was, nonetheless, a well.
      One night, after experimenting with a drug with which I had no experience, heroin, I fell unconscious in the thin, ghostly hour of 3 a.m. My heart stopped and so did everything else, although I have no memory of this. My housemates told me later what happened.
      Alarmed at my inability to move, much less get up, they say Toby barked outside their door, scratching at it with a frenzy born of terror, the terror of losing someone he loved. “Timmy fell in the well!”
      An ambulance came, and Toby followed me outside as they carried me away. I woke up on a hospital gurney, thanks to a shot of adrenaline administered through my sternum straight into my heart. Clinically dead for maybe five minutes, my body had cooled to 89 degrees, which gave me a whole new viewpoint on feeling cold. Not right away, but soon thereafter, I went to a rehab clinic and emerged ready to try living life on life’s terms without drugs, which I have done now for more than 11 years. With Toby the Wonder Dog by my side.
      Toby had saved my life, just like Lassie had saved Timmy’s for 17 years. Two weeks ago, we discovered he has cancer of the liver and he does not have long to live down in the well in which he now lies in his time of dying.
      Love is simple; love is very complicated. Life is good; life is not very fair.
      When we open ourselves up to the heart-swelling rapture of loving another being, we take the reins for a ride that can be joyful; but since we are all made of flesh, man and animal alike, the pain of loss awaits at the end of that road.
      We have to let Toby go. But I have never let go of anything I loved as much as I love him without leaving a long streak of fingernail marks. However, the best way to honor a really remarkable being such as Toby, the Wonder Dog is not by leaving fingernail marks, but by putting the fingernails to a better use at the keyboard and telling of his remarkable feats of the heart.

    • Judy says:

      Holly J McGuire Personal Pooch; what a handle!

      Holly J arrived on a sweltering February afternoon with seven other puppies.

      Her mother, housed in a rotting, falling down lean-to gave birth to eight pups. We visited with a view to voicing our desire to take the smallest pup. I couldn’t wait for the puppies to be six weeks old. I wanted her out of that environment. The smell of that tiny yard was enough to take away your breath.

      I made it home very late one wet and miserable March evening before a summer storm rolled in. Under the pergola was a tea chest with a sheep skin rug poking out of it. I hunkered down and inside was a tiny black and tan ball of puppy. She was five weeks old and very tiny.

      I was touched at how he had made a bed for her, but how, I asked, can we allow her to fend for herself in this storm. She’ll be frightened stiff. And so we argued. She’d be frightened in any case if she’d been left in the yard with her brothers and sisters! My partner did not agree to dogs inside.

      Despondent and aching for the little pup, I showered and went to bed. While I slept a tiny body was gently placed beside me under the covers.

      Holly J remained beside me for the next 18 years. She remains the love of my life and not a day goes by that I don’t miss her.

      Just before she crossed the Rainbow Bridge, she looked up at me and in her liquid brown eyes, I saw devotion. I think I heard her say, ‘I love you Mum. I’ll wait for you.’ And then her eyes closed and she was gone.

      I love you Holly. We’ll meet again, of that I am very certain.

    • Netty says:

      Bella’s story

      April 23, 2013 our world turned right side up again and the smiles came back to our faces.

      In order to explain this transition I will need to back up a few months and set the stage.

      Below is our precious Luca:(sorry pictures didn’t post – go to my blog to see her)

      On February 4, 2013 Sam and I said goodbye to our best friend.

      Our beautiful 12 and 1/2 year old Golden Retriever, Luca had just taken her last car ride. It was one of the worst days of our lives – tears had yet to subside for any length of time and just coming home and opening the door brought out a new set, knowing she was not there and not going to bark, wiggle her bum and dance about happy to see us. We ached with the tears shed and my whole body was in turmoil. I knew that day was going to be the worst day and I was allowing myself to feel, and miss, knowing tomorrow would be better, work would resume and I wouldn’t get this time again. We needed to feel, we didn’t want to numb it out, we wanted to savior the emotion she has brought out in us, celebrate her life to always remember her, and the joy she has brought into our lives.

      A few months went by and I knew I wasn’t get any better about the loss feeling inside, I was only getting better at hiding my emotions. It took me weeks to take a walk on the trail that she and I had journeyed hundreds of times. As much as we missed her when it came to Sam and I talking about getting another dog we always poo-poo’d it (no pun intended). We were still hurting and in some ways we also felt like it would be a betrayal to Luca. How could any other dog ever fill those big shoes…..and then it happened.

      Bella’s Story

      April 23, 2013 was a typical day. The sun was shining brightly in beautiful South Carolina and I was working from home that day. Mid afternoon, I decided to take a break and go on Facebook, something I rarely did. And there it was, the Pet’s Inc post right on top the my news feed. Pet’s Inc is a ‘no kill’ rescue organization and truthfully I had never really paid close attention to it, I don’t believe I had even ever read the ‘adoptees’ but today I did and the words ’6 month Golden Retriever just brought in’ caught my attention and I was drawn to hear more about this Golden like a moth to a flame. I couldn’t help myself and yet my emotions were telling me to be careful and smarten up, don’t you remember how hurt and sad you have been, get a grip because this is crazy thinking, etc.

      Shortly thereafter Sam arrived home from work and I told him about the ‘Golden’ at the rescue and how did he feel about going to look at her. He agreed we should take a drive to the rescue center and see her and both of us agreed that we were NOT going to adopt her. Seriously??!! Who did we think we were kidding…*LOL*. At that point we likely could have sold each other the Brooklyn Bridge because we were in such denial.

      We had to wait about 10 minutes for them to bring us the Golden and while waiting they kept stressing to us that this dog needed to go to a ‘special home’, she needed ‘special care’ and the people had to be ‘special’. Say what? I was beginning to think that this dog had special needs…..and then Sam and I saw our her…and we were in love.

      Bella, as we now call her, was gorgeous and there was a definite connection immediately. She knew it and we knew it! She had been rescued by someone who had watched her previous owners mistreat her as a small puppy and when the rescue center first got her and you approached her all she would do is cower into a corner and pee. They socialized with her and after about 10 days she was adopted out to a woman who drove 2 hours to get her. The irony of this is that the rescue center didn’t feel ‘good’ about this adoption, they couldn’t pin point it, it just didn’t seem like the right fit. Three days later the lady brought Bella back to the rescue center claiming a family emergency and she didn’t have time for a new dog. That was the day they advertised her again and we won the lottery!!!!!

      Bella is truly a special girl. She has the best personality and brings kindness and love out in everyone who meets her. She is constantly smiling. The rescue center wanted her adopted to her ‘forever home’ and that is why they stressed how ‘special’ she was – they didn’t want her to suffer being rejected again. She has made our world complete and put a skip back into our step. She is now a happy, crazy, normal pup whom we adore and we know Luca would approve. We truly believe that God brought us together. We needed her and she needed us and I ask myself everyday “who rescued who!”

      This is her 🙂 and this is Bella’s story:

      (sorry pictures didn’t post – go to my blog to see her)

      When I think about how we ended up with Bella I think of the lesson it taught us and how similar this story is to our daily lives. We should never be afraid to take a chance!! Go for it!! We reached out to Bella and took a chance and now we are all happy! If you have a goal and you don’t go after it, you will always wonder ‘what if’. Don’t do that to yourself.

      You may not have Bella’s story but here’s to YOUR story,

      Netty and Sam

    • Yesterday morning, one day before my birthday, a tragically short five years and six months after Magic entered into my life, transformed it, brought wonder into it, brought unending happiness, brought his massive yet gentle strength into my life, brought his antics, his sense of wonder, his joy, his vitality, his total awareness of everything around him –one day before my birthday, my solace and strength in my isolation, my companion, the evanescent life of German Shepherd dog Magic ended. An as yet unknown person had carelessly or wantonly strewn rodent poison where Magic couldn’t help but find it.

      Last night I knew that if I walked into the bedroom I would feel Magic happily trotting after me, eager to take his place on his blanket beside my bed. I did not want to wake up this morning and not feel his probing nose, Magic’s way of saying

      -come on alpha – new day nothing but delicious food and chew toys and tennis balls and rabbits and seedpods and butterflies and birds up in the sky to chase – sunshine and fun out there-

      I sat on the couch in a semi-darkened room all night. I hoped to meditate, but how foolish, how could my mind not replay the years of Magic? Magic was his name because the word described his soul better than any other word could possibly describe it.

      Magic is not a name you can just hand to a vital living creature. The first moment they look into your eyes, they announce in a matter of fact yet certain way, a way you will never doubt, that your life needs magic and they are that magic.

      -that’s me call for magic – i’ll come running-

      Those eyes talk because a magical creature needs no words, dismisses them, cares not a bit about words.

      -that’s us together we’re magic we become one-

      Two large dark eyes look deeply into your eyes, their warm innocent bearer yips and licks and wiggles

      -we found a home a mission a promise of unending happiness we found you-

      They say

      -just give us a tennis ball that squeaks or a piece of fresh chicken and we’re good to go never to leave your side – there is no otherness all that we see hear and smell is one all of us are one endless web of unbroken vibrating energy eternally now without a past of sorrows – don’t question it because we don’t question it as it embraces us all it is us it is a promise it is connection it is good-

      Magic continues

      -we’ll always remind you of something it is more important than anything in the universe even more than squeaky tennis balls and fresh chicken-

      To take you for a walk? Rub your belly? Stroke your head? Toss you a ball?

      -foolish alpha without as much sense and knowing as we have – know there is magic beyond everything we all see or don’t see – an unknowable essence of creation that makes all things has made all things from the beginning without a beginning an end that never ends – our love proves it – all connectedness demonstrates and glorifies it – try not to forget the connection is forever – call it magic-

      I brought home a warm puppy who matured into a prince of his species, like a mythical magnificent Pegasus, who embodied all of its charisma, and its legends.

      That’s all I can say right now.

    • Suzan says:

      From the moment I saw him, I fell in love. He was given to me by a good friend. He was an all black, very fluffy German Shepherd. He too loved me and was always around me when I was home. When he barked, everyone in the neighborhood got scared.
      Pumba and I were together for about 8 months. On the night before his death, I had bought him and Timon bones. He used to eat in a very greedy way I must say. Even when he had more than enough on his plate, he wanted everything to himself. Little did I know that this behavior would lead to his death.
      The next morning as I was putting him and Timon into their kennel, I noticed he was not his usual active self. I thought he might have a tummy upset and told someone to monitor him. I had to leave for work but I called the Vet and informed him. He also advised that we monitor. About an hour after I had arrived at work, I received a call from home to tell me Pumba had passed away.
      I cried, I cried so much. When my colleagues got to know I was crying over my pet, they were both in shock and awe. In Africa, not so many people love animals the way it is in developed countries. I had to run back home to be with him for the last time. I have never gotten over his death. The beauty of it is that he left me with puppies who really looked like him.

    • He followed my husband home one day, when Mark was trying to get to the gym. Zac—can’t remember why we named him that—was a scrap of a little puppy, an Aussie Terrier, starving and weary. Once the two children saw him, his white coat shot over by a splattering of deep grey and a dash of beige round the eyes and ears, they fell in love. Fast. He was the gentlest little creature, who put on weight quickly so that we didn’t have to carry him on long walks anymore. He loved chasing the ball that my husband threw almost to the moon; his other love was swimming in the ocean pools near home.

      In the evenings, he would jump up and sit on my knees while I was watching television. Mark was a big favourite, as if Zac knew that it was he who had found him wandering the streets and took him in. It seemed that it was meant to be.

      Fast forward fifteen years. Zaccy was no longer the active ball of zest he’d once been; he was partly blind, deaf and incontinent. When we made the decision that he was no longer enjoying life, I took him along to the vet one evening. I knew my husband would not be good at coping with this. I refused requests from friends to come along as well. Afterwards, I cried all the way to my Soul Group meeting.

      ‘What’s wrong?’ some group members asked, worry flooding their faces like the tears streaming down mine.

      ‘I’ve just said goodbye to the best little mate I’ve ever had,’ I spluttered.

      Afterwards, one of the members of the group came up and whispered in my ear:

      ‘When you came in, and sat down, your little dog jumped up into your lap and sat their, looking as if he belonged.

    • Make sure you email us a pic of your beloved pet to writetodone[at]gmail[dot]com 🙂

    • pauline says:

      nullA decade ago when our son and daughter were pre-teens they decided it was time for a puppy. Soon we were scouring the small ads in the papers. Facebook and Twitter had not yet arrived.
      Having found an ad offering a Cavalier King Charles puppy just 12 weeks old , we set off to County Meath just north of Dublin to meet our new canine.
      We were so excited. My husband Peter stayed home to prepare a fitting doggie welcome.
      We drove deep into the countryside on a beautiful May evening and soon we arrived at the farm gate . Three or four cavaliers greeted us.
      The children revelled at the sight of the beautiful puppies a Ruby, a Blenheim, a Tricolor and a Black and Tan.
      As I chatted to the breeder, Lilia, a lady who loved Cavaliers and whose kennels were overflowing with Rosettes and Cups, I sat down on the chair beside the door. The Blenheim soon jumped up and made himself at home on my lap. My daughter was ecstatic and had no doubt as to which puppy we should have.
      We named him Dobby. The era of Harry Potter tales was in full swing.
      Dobby, is truly an aristocratic. He waits to have his food served properly in his bowl, no overeating. He revels at the sight of family members and visitors.
      But he feels our sadness too. Dobby was overcome with sadness when my beloved husband , Peter, passed away following a long illness. He moped and lost interest in the world just like we did.
      But with time and patience he got his old bounce back and jumps up on our lap, just like he did that first day, when he thinks we need cheering up.
      Dobby is our darling.

    • Lopamudra Sinha says:

      I had a pet cat, whom I named Kittu. He was initially just a stray kitten, roaming around the lane with his mother. I always keep aside some of the foods I eat in lunch and dinner so that I can give those foods to the stray cats and dogs. That is how I got to know this cute white kitten, with black ears. Soon I found that this specific kitten is too much fond of me and chose to stay with me most of the time. I named him Kittu, after the nickname of a favorite school friend of mine. Gradually, he grew as close to me, as a loving brother! He never bothered me for anything at all. Though I never actually trained him, he was well-mannered enough, not to create any mess in the house with his excretory waste. All my friends praised my sweet Kittu, who grew up to be a strong and healthy cat. One day, he noticed that some large-sized rats were causing havoc in the kitchen when we were not at home. He probably tried to prevent them, when any of them bit below his ear and made a hole there! Due to this serious wound, Kittu grew weaker and finally, one day he left us forever. Till today, I have never forgotten my sweet kitten brother and will always remember him, who gave up his life for protecting our belongings, just like a true brother would have done.

    • kate says:

      My cat sleeps on couches, on the floor, on ledges and bookshelves, on desks and kitchen tables, near the radiator, on the radiator. In some impossible way he rolls his body into a perfect circle. Even the tail is part of this warm coil of white fur and pink skin. No human yoga master could do any better. Today, he is sleeping on his back on my rocking chair. His head is leaning over the chair seat. He is completely oblivious to the fact that he is slowly, with each breath, slipping off the chair. Inhale, slip, exhale, slip. It is like watching milk spilling off the edge of a table, the long drip just inching towards the floor. A few more breaths and he will awaken. But since he is a cat he will land on his two pink feet, yawn and stroll to the kitchen to see if I have left him any food to nibble on.

    • S.Krishnamoorthi says:

      My story for the creative writing exerciseI am happy to tell about our two dogs Omame and Tengo 11/2 years old sister and brother. Actually I am 72 years old and I have never liked any pet let alone puppies.Their arrival to our house is a story itself. When my granddaughter and her friend visited a dog shelter,they saw these two puppies which were may be 1 week old and adopted them. As they could not keep them in their hostel, my granddaughter brought them to our house and my grandson was carrying them in a basket trying ti hide from me thinking that I may not like them. Since we are in I floor they were kept in my daughter’s bed room and They looked very cute making childish noise.I saw them growing and I slowly started to like them. I started to read internet about the dogs.I started telling my friends and relatives about their intelligence.I talk to them daily and give lecture to them regarding how they should behave and they will listen intently.

      In the morning when my son in law starts putting shoe for going to office, they will run to the door to send him off and as soon as he leaves they run to the door in the front balcony to have a view of him before he starts the car. If the door to balcony is locked, they will look at my daughter telling her to open the door.

      When we are getting ready to eat our dinner, both will go to the bed room and wait there without making noise.As soon as they know that we have finished our dinner they will bark reminding us to give their dinner.

      If a dog was your teacher,
      these are some of the lessons you might learn…
       When loved ones come home, always run to greet them
       Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joyride
       Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face,
      to be pure ecstasy

       When it’s in your best interest,
      practice obedience
       Let others know when they’ve invaded your territory
       Take naps and stretch before rising
       Run romp and play daily

       Thrive on attention and let people touch you
       Avoid biting, when a simple growl will do
       On warm days stop to lie on your back on the grass
       On hot days drink lots of water and lay under a shady tree
       When you’re happy dance around and wag your entire body

       No matter how often you’re scolded,
      don’t buy into the guilt thing and pout,
      run right back and make friends

       Delight in the simple joy of a long walk
       Eat with gusto and enthusiasm
       Stop when you have had enough
       Be loyal
       Never pretend to be something you’re not

       If what you want lies buried,
      dig until you find it
       When someone is having a bad day,
      be silent….
      …sit close by
      …and nuzzle them gently.

    • This post reminds me of my beloved partner in crime. I lost my best friend in March of this year and things haven’t been the same. I wrote a post in her memory called Dog of Infinity @

    • I didn’t expect Chelsie to ever capture my heart. In fact, I didn’t think that little Diva in a cat’s body would stay in our house very long.
      When she became swollen with kittens, I had intended to send her to a friend’s farm to live out the rest of her life chasing mice and raising her offspring. But something happened once she birthed her tiny kittens. One of the tiny rodent-like beasts was caught in her birth canal and it became obvious that Chelsie was in distress.
      I had no idea how to birth a kitten. I only knew that animals do it all the time with little to no help from their owners. Chelsie could do it on her own, I reasoned. But then, I began realize the pain showing in her eyes as she pushed. The large head wouldn’t pass through the opening. I sat with her, rubbed her back and pushed on her tummy to help ease the kitten from her. She panted then tried again, her eyes growing glassy with agony. Once the baby arrived, I brought milk to her and gently soothed her as she proudly cleaned and loved her baby.
      In the weeks, months and years following that day, Chelsie began to see me as one of hers, loving me, staying by my side in the day, often hitching a ride atop my shoulders and cuddling in my arms at night. I would often wake to her lips pressed to mine and her paws cradling my cheeks. She never forgot my kindness to her and I will never forget the bond we forged together.

      • Don’t forget to send us a pic of Chelsea! Email it to writetodone[at]gmail[dot]com

    • Barbara says:

      Chippy, our bird/ Our parakeet/ Is chartreuse green/ Not smart, but sweet.
      He says: ‘good morning Chippy’/ And ‘gimme a kiss’/ In a Hungarian accent/ My father’s and his.
      If you open his cage/ He’ll fly to your shoulder/ And nibble your ear/ And nibble your finger.
      He’ll rub his head/ Against your nose/ And on occasion/ He’ll soil your clothes.
      At night we cover/ His cage with a towel/ Or else he won’t sleep,/ He’ll think he’s an owl.

    • Daniel Yagolkowski says:

      When I was recently widowed and lived completely alone, from my marriega remained two street dogs, Chiquie and his daughter, Lily.

      One fateful day I bought breaded fish for dinner. The momento I ate some of it, I felt the typical signs of ppoisoning by fish in bad condition.

      Both dogs started, Chiqui, to run back and forth my apartment barking by the window, claiming for help. The daughter started pushing me with her front paws: that violent rocking made me vomit and gave me strength enough to go out, get a taxi and go to a hospital.

      When I returned (no neighboe even knew I had been two days in hospital, asked why my dogs had been barking so loud late in the night:

      “They were saving my liufe and trying to summon help from fellow humans for me”, was my reply, and went back home with a little gift for each one of them, who had also been patiently waiting for me to come back and feed them

    • This is a story about a cat. This cat, whose name was Dittany, had a great deal to contend with. For a start, he had been displaced from his human’s affections by a baby.
      The humans tried hard to make the cat feel part of the tribe. They took time to give Dittany plenty of attention, so that was all right.
      The baby grew up into a tiny toddling girl. She loved Dittany very much indeed. He was the only toy she had which played back. He didn’t like the tail-sucking (neither did the humans,) and tail-biting – well, that merited a claw-swipe.
      As if that was not enough, the humans made a sister for the toddler. Eventually there was no escape. He was becoming old and the two children were sly. It’s impossible to escape through a closed door. The children dressed him up in their old baby-clothes and wheeled him around in a pram. ‘Look at that face! His humans said, laughing. ‘He looks as if he could spit…’
      Time and old age wore him out. The cold ate at his bones, and it hurt to jump off the chairs. One day, he was placed in a box…. Fearing a visit to the V. E. T. he howled in protest, but the box went into a car and the car drove away.
      When the box opened, he was in a new room, one he had not smelt before. It did not smell of home, but….. there was a place, under the window, with a low bench placed beneath. Someone lifted him up on the soft fleece. The wall behind was warm: not hot like a fire, which spat and burnt, but gently warm and strangely comforting. He leant up against the blessed warmth and smiled. Dittany discovered Central Heating……..

    • Wonderful story!

      Let me start out by saying, if you buy this book, it was stolen from me and I won’t receive royalties, but the book is true. There are errors and everything because the man who did it said that he was just editing my books, while he was publishing them and I was naive

      On the other hand, my dog, Meatball (different from the name in the book) saved my life. We went through 4 years of abuse from my ex husband together. He has taken some blows from me, and I have taken some meant for him. I left one time and we were stranded in the car with no gas. I left Florida in the heat, and was now on the side of the road in the middle of the night freezing. My lips and fingers were blue. Meatball crawled on me (he’s a lab, not a lap dog) and laid there, keeping me warm all night. I swear he saved my life that night. Then when a gun was put to my head and I had to make a choice, I left with my life, he was given to someone who mistreated him to spite me. By some miracle, 3 months later after I had gone through hell and back I got up on my own 2 feet and had my own place. He was at least 30 ibs skinnier, and his ribs were sticking out. They had chained him up outside and put his food and water bowl a foot from where his chain was so he cut into his neck trying to eat or drink. I had to cut it out of him when I got him back. I thought his spirit was broken, but when I called his name, his tail (which was never tucked down like that before) and his ears, (which always stood up proud) went up and he ran to me, knocking me over, I knew he’d be okay. He jumped in my car window … not the door, the window before I could even get to my car. He wanted to go home!!!!
      I gathered the nerve to ask and the landlord allowed me to have him. I still have him. He’ll be 7 next June.
      I am remarried and I have 2 small step children who he thinks are his very own babies. Dogs are amazing, and they can save your life, Just as Meatball has saved mine.

    • Rau says:

      My favorite story of my pet is when he was little. He was just a pup and he realized every time he wet the floor I had to get a cloth and clean it. One day after wetting the floor, he, himself got the mop-cloth and placed it on the tiles he had wet!

    • Maureen Plately says:

      my creative writing exercise with my cat, Sootie.When I was 8 years old, my mum took me to the SPCA to choose a cat. There was a cute kitten, called Sootie. She had a black nose and I fell in love with her.

      A year later, she crawled into my bed at night and then 5 kittens popped out. It was a magical moment and I was so touched that she chose to share it with me.

      • null
        The skies exploded overhead as the storm broke outside. Our little blind rescue dog, Cosmo was terrified. His panting and pacing increased in intensity with each thunderclap. His fear of storms was well-known to us. We took turns staying up through long stormy nights to monitor his panic attacks and protect him.

        I was thoroughly exhausted by 2 A.M. when I saw him leap up to a chair. Our Shih Tzu paused briefly before launching himself toward the end table. I couldn’t allow him hit the tall crystal vase. What if it shattered and cut him?

        I twisted abruptly and caught him mid-air before he smashed into it.

        Pain shot up my spine as I collapsed on the floor; still clutching him to my chest. I squirmed in agony as I released my grip on him. I could feel my chest tighten, and the ensuing asthma attack squeeze the air out of my lungs.

        Cosmo hesitated. He moved up to my head and licked my cheek as another lightning bolt illuminated the sky outside. The house shook with the thunder.

        He put his small stubby nose under my chin and tried to lift my head off the floor. I gasped, trying to get sufficient oxygen to yell for my husband. I needed my inhaler desperately.
        The storm was forgotten as he ran back and forth through the house. He made more noise to awaken my husband who slept behind a closed door down the hallway.

        Cosmo raced to the kitchen. I could hear the table and chairs moving. He ran to me and again tried to lift my head; then ran back to the kitchen. He knocked over the trash can as my terror increased.

        He finally made enough noise to awaken my husband. His heroic actions saved my life.

        • What a beautiful story, Peggy! Have you got a picture of your little hero? Email it to us (the email address are in the post above).

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