There's a version of my life where I sit down at my desk each morning, coffee brewed and steaming, fingers poised over the keyboard, and write 2,000 words in peaceful, uninterrupted flow.

My cockapoo, Ziggy, has never once allowed that version to exist.

For those who don't know, Ziggy is my fur-baby. She's spoilt rotten and sweet as can be. But she also operates with the singular conviction that any moment I spend not looking at her is a personal insult. She manages to totally dismantle my writing in every way you can imagine. 

Here, for your reading pleasure, is an incomplete list of things she has ruined.

My concentration

This is the obvious one. I'll be mid-scene, my hero going in for the kiss, my heroine's heart pounding... and Ziggy will appear at my feet with a raggedy toy she's had for three years and has never once cared about until this exact moment. She'll nudge the toy towards me with her nose. I'll ignore her. She'll give me "the eyes" and will continue with the nudging and "the eyes" until I am literally on the floor throwing a slightly soggy, beheaded squirrel across the living room instead of writing the emotionally devastating chapter I intended to write.

An entire plot outline

It was in a notebook I'd bought at an airport. She thought it was a snack. It was not a snack. It had the entire third act on it.

To be fair, the book got better after that because I started again and added new stuff. Thanks Ziggy.

My professional image on video calls

"Oh, is that your dog?" Yes. Yes it is. That is my dog with her paws up on the table by on my keyboard, broadcasting herself to everyone on the call like a co-author who has not been formally introduced but clearly feels she deserves credit.

A very important exchange

I had the dialogue perfect in my head. Moody, atmospheric, slightly dangerous-sounding... exactly right for a chapter involving a certain alpha wolf in a certain Amsterdam alley. I knew exactly what my hero was going to say next. And then Ziggy skidded into my chair after a walk, bounced at me, demanded her dinner, and promptly made me forget what the hell my characters were about to say. 

My sleep, and therefore my prose

At 3am, Ziggy sometimes decides she needs to reposition herself. This involves standing up, turning in a full circle, stepping directly onto my kidneys, and lying back down approximately two centimetres from where she started. I then lie awake for forty minutes and spend the next writing session producing absolute garbage. Might as well go out for another dog walk, then, right?

Here's the thing though. When I finally close the laptop for the day, when the words are done and the wolves are back in their fictional canal houses, she's sitting there waiting, just blissed out on the fact that I exist. Completely unbothered by deadlines or word counts or whether chapter seven holds together emotionally. 

That's my girl!

Ziggy is, in the most inconvenient possible way, the best writing companion I've ever had.

Even if I now do less writing.

Does your pet have strong opinions about your creative process? Tell me about it — misery loves company.