Thea sat staring at the blank computer screen. Write my life story. Not as easy as it sounds. She nervously tapped her fingers on the desk. A week ago, when her writing coach suggested she write a personal memoir she'd envisioned sitting down at her computer, happily typing away. Now as she sat at the computer, fingers poised over the keyboard, her mind drew a complete and utter blank. Who would want to read about my life, anyway? What's so special about me? I'm just a thirty-something woman, more something than thirty, trying to make a living at writing. Nothing extraordinary about that.

In barely checked frustration, she picked up her pen, grabbed her journal, and headed for the door. Sometimes when she encountered the infamous writer's block, she'd grab pen and paper, find her quiet place, and let her mind flow freely. There was something about a gentle breeze, birds chirping in the wind, and the simplicity of pen and paper. Heart to mind, mind to fingers, fingers to pen, pen to paper ... it just seemed to be the natural way of things. When things were in the natural way the words came freely, borne of a source not quite her own. At those times, she overflowed with the music in her soul. Within my soul, there's music. Within my soul, there's song... Sometimes it flowed easy like poetry, at other times softly like a song, and yet other times a story was born. Yeah, it just flowed easy that way, when things were in the natural way.

Thea slipped though the narrow space she'd allowed between the frame and the sliding glass door. Once she passed through, she quickly turned to secure the patio door. "Too late! Too late!" Brutus yapped loudly behind her, from the wrong side of the glass. His black and brown mug, clearly expressed delighted rapture at having foiled her attempt to slip out unnoticed. Annoyed, she pushed the door shut before rounding to scold him. "Too bad! Too bad!" Brutus yapped into the wind as he rushed down the slope, instinctively heading for Thea's favorite spot. She was sure he was laughing. There was no mistaking that carefree bark. There was laughter on the wind…. When he reached the flock of geese floating languidly across the lake, he yapped some more in a cheerful greeting. The geese squawked loudly and scattered, not at all charmed by his attempt to be friendly.

As Thea descended the slope from the patio to the lake, shaking her head in amusement, Brutus turned to look at her. Cocking his head to one side, he raised one ear in a quizzical fashion, as if asking, "What did I do?" Thea chuckled aloud. Brutus responded with a final yapp, and raced off down the bank. She wasn't worried. He would return when he tired. Though a highly-strung thing, Brutus never strayed far. That was the little Australian terrier’s greatest quality, staying power. Thea had always admired that in a person or thing. Thea had staying power too, a little sassy with a tenacity that would never die. In Brutus, she'd found a kindred spirit. Within my soul, there’s music…. As she settled herself on her favorite sitting rock, she thought back to the day she first met the little terrier.

Thea went to get a look at the litter and make first pick soon after the litter was born. When she first saw Brutus, he was a scraggly little thing. Small, weak, and excluded by his brothers and sisters, Brutus was the runt of the litter. Thea approached the pen and he lifted his head toward her, though he didn't seem to have the strength to stand. Their eyes connected and Thea saw fire. It was that staying kind of fire; the kind that burns brightly and never fades. It was that sassy, never say die kind of fire, a fire much like her own.

"I want that one," she said, boldly making her selection known to the breeder.