I’m sitting at my desk, staring at a blank page and pulling at my hair. Fleegle sides up next to me from under my desk and says, “Are you trying again to write?”
“No luck, huh?”
I shake my head.
“Maybe you should take a break, and not just five minutes to refill your coffee, but an extended break and let your head fill up with ideas again.”
“Eventually, even I run out of ink if don’t take time off to drink from my water bowl.” He nose bumps my hand. “Give me your pen.”
He takes it gently from my hand and heads toward the open patio door.
“Where are you taking it?” I ask.
“Don’t worry,” he says over his shoulder. “I’ll hide it good. I’ll bury it nice and deep where you’ll never find it so you can have a nice long break. And then when you’re head is full and I think you’re ready to start writing again, I’ll sniff it out, dig it up and bring it back to you. For now, though, you go enjoy doing something other than writing.” He wags his tail. “By the way, there are seven balls under the bed I can’t reach.”