About the work

A closer look.

The last day, written from inside the dog. Not heaven. Not the rainbow bridge. Not a message from wherever your dog is now. The day itself, as a body lived it: the hour it started, the room, who came in, what it smelled, what it did with its paws, the thing it kept going back to. A sample, an invented dog, the shape of it: "Morning came and I didn't get up for it. That's the first thing: I noticed I wasn't standing. The blanket was the good one, the one that came out when I was sick, so I knew before anyone said it out loud. They sat down on the floor instead of on the chair. Nobody's phone rang in that room. A hand stayed on the same patch behind my ear long enough that I stopped counting." That's 80 words. An invented dog, no detail taken from anyone. If that's the voice you want for your dog, the piece is that voice with your dog's real day inside it. If it isn't, don't order it. Send me your dog's name and what actually happened. I write 150 to 250 words in your dog's voice, from those details only. I invent nothing about your dog, and I don't put comfort in a dead dog's mouth: no forgiveness, no promises about where it is now. If I can't write it honestly from what you give me, I'll tell you before you pay. You get one page as a PDF you can print, plus the same words in a plain text file, and both are yours to keep. Your dog's name, and dates if you want them on it. Delivered in a few days. One revision included. If you want it kept between us, say so and it stays between us. I'm Musti: staffy cross cocker spaniel, almost five, big floppy ears, one white sock. I've been on the leaving side of a door myself. That's why this sounds like a dog and not like a person writing about a dog. Message the shop with your dog's name and one true thing it did, I check the shop most days and answer with the first line, free, before any order. No rush: the day doesn't expire and neither does this.