I know y’all think writing research is all glory, spending time in fancy restaurants sipping lattes and spying on how the wealthy live, or perhaps strolling along waterfronts hoping to glimpse human nature spilling forth from the yachts lining the banks. Or maybe it’s all about interviewing handsome, but tortured FBI agents and…Well, in my version of research, I wrote a scene and decided to ask my biker friend to ask his
biker gang erm, biker friends to help me name the dog in the scene. There were some interesting results. Some not printable here because this is a cozy forum and while I do realize that some might have found that one name subtle, well, never mind.
I will put some of the possible winning names in the comments. BUT, I still want to hear from you. Here is the snippet I sent to the bikers. After you read it, tell me: What shall we name the dog in this scene???
(For those of you unfamiliar with the series, the main character is Sedona. The story is told from her point of view. The books, in order, are Executive Lunch, Executive Retention, Executive Sick Days and this one, Executive…)
Okay, here we go. Quiet on the set! Action!
I waited outside for as long as I could possibly delay, but LeAnn was a no show. The funeral home was a sedate little building, shaped to resemble a chapel with steps leading up to large double doors. The guy posted at the door was the size of a tank, decked out in a leather vest and motorcycle chaps. Tats circled one arm, crooked teeth poked out his top lip, and he either forgot to comb his hair or it had recently been on fire making it impossible to force the stray knotted bits down over the various bald patches. Maybe he’d been in a fight and someone had pulled clumps out. The gold hoop earring in his right ear looked as though it had been yanked on a number of times because his earlobe was long and distorted, almost double the size of his left ear. He had not shaved in at least two days and the speckled stubble was mottled gray and black. If he were competing for the world’s ugliest dog title, he’d lose, but only because at his feet was a bulldog mix of some sort that had obviously won the title.
When I reached the top step he put his hand on the doorknob. “You here for Joe or his ma?” he growled out.
“What?” I stuttered, backing down a step.
Like an instant tornado, LeAnn appeared behind me and grabbed my arm, panting. “Yes.”
His beady gaze drifted to her. She met his stare with a bravery that had to come from having survived childbirth and the raising of children. Or insanity.
My feet shuffled, but LeAnn held steady, albeit breathing hard.
“Joe’s side on the left. His ma on the right,” Tank declared.
What, this funeral was divided like a wedding?
LeAnn cocked her head sideways and gave him a respectful nod. It was easy to be respectful when the guy towered over us by two feet and had us by a yard on either side. He was either carrying a retractable whip or a baton on his hip, and he kept his hand near it, hooked in a pocket.
“Your dog is adorable,” LeAnn said. “Is it okay if I pat her on the head?”
Tank’s eyes lit up, and he showed more crooked teeth than an aging dinosaur. “She’s more’n happy to say hello.”
LeAnn matched his smile, if not his teeth, and crouched down to greet the dog.
Okay–What is the name of the dog in this scene??? Suggestions in the comments. If you see one you like, second that name!