Author of Dog Days, Ericka Waller shares how dogs inspired her novel

21 March 2022

All my happiest childhood memories involve a dog. My aunt’s dog, Sandy, who let me share his basket. My dad’s dog, Jess, who let me hold her hour-old pups. Growing up with two elder brothers who liked to torment me and beat me at everything, dogs were a balm. We understood one another immediately. I made use of my (enviable) opposable thumbs to open packets of biscuits, and in return they followed me around, eating my loneliness. Wagging their tail at my jokes, licking my tears away. When they chased me as I ran through the long grass, stick raised in one hand, I felt like a warrior. Invincible.

Ericka Waller

They have been a constant throughout my life, loving me unconditionally and without reserve. Dogs do not care about acting cool (yes cats, that’s a dig at you). They throw themselves at me with too much enthusiasm and I need that, especially on days when I get it wrong as a mother/wife/writer. When my anxiety plays rock, paper, scissors and wins. When grief floors me, when I can’t seem to get anything right. The sound of the dogs’ collars tinkling, their tails banging on carpets and against fridge doors, is the background music to my life.

I wanted to use dogs in my novel to reflect how human beings are often consumed by things we cannot control or change. Dogs can teach us important lessons about happiness. In a world that can seem full of sadness and fear, dogs are a reminder that life can be beautiful. They don’t sweat the small stuff but take joy in the moment. Dogs live from one falling leaf to the next. Their emotions are simple. Their behaviour is constant, reliable, reassuring. My dog can’t walk past a lamp post without weeing up it. He barks at post boxes. He doesn’t hide his fear or happiness. When he sees the man in the post office, who once gave him half a stale digestive biscuit, his tail wags so much he can’t run straight. He has to throw his head back and bray with joy.

Part of my research for Dog Days involved dog walking, and the people I met while doing it. I’ve held men the size of American fridges as they’ve taken their greyhound for its last ever walk before being put down. I’ve seen a women walk a lead attached to a collar with no dog in it. I’ve made friends, been knocked over, shared poo bags, chased crisp packets. Dog owners could be anyone – a pyscho-killer, a battered wife, an addict, a cheater, a thief – yet we approach them alone on windy beacons because they have a dog. Watching other dog walkers made me want to imagine their stories, what secrets they might have, what lives they might have wanted to live.

Dog Days is a book about making connections, learning to live again after loss and finding happiness where you can. I envy the happiness a stick can bring my Labrador, or the confidence my miniature Dauschund displays when chasing a squirrel up a tree. The braveness of my little Griffon, the size of a shoe, going up to a Great Dane the size of a dining table, wanting to play. They inspire me to write stories that show this.