Photo by Tony Began

Today’s guest post is by author Jacqueline Sheehan.

Just as a dog’s presence changes the atmosphere of a home, its inclusion in a novel changes the trajectory of the story.

Dogs made their way into all but one of my seven novels; some were pivotal characters as in Lost & Found, and some flew under the radar as in my newest novel, The Camp Muralist. They have included heroic black labs, affectionate golden retrievers, Irish wolfhounds, and rescue dogs of multiple heritages. All of them were organic to the plot and served a particular function for the main characters.

Dogs are an interesting narrative tool not just because they’re beloved, but because they see the world and express their feelings differently from humans. Whereas we primarily experience the world through sight and sound, dogs experience it through scent. In addition, they have a superior ability to detect chemical changes in the body, making them particularly sensitive to humans who are agitated or angry, even if they try to cover their emotions.

In most instances, my canine characters were able to display emotions that their human counterparts either tried to conceal or were unaware of. For instance, in The Camp Muralist, when Lily discovers she was adopted and confronts her mother, Luna wedges herself under a coffee table, equal distance between her two beloved humans. She is alert, her ears are up, and her eyes continually glance right to left, as though she is a mediator in a divorce session. Do either of the human characters notice her behavior? Absolutely not. But the reader does, and Luna’s hypervigilance registers the emotional temperature rise.

That is to say, if you are willing to think carefully about their narrative role, dogs can add complex layers to your fiction—and if you fail to address their role as you would any other character in the story, you risk them simply taking up space. Here are a few considerations.

A dog in fiction, just as in real life, is a commitment.

Once a dog is in your story, you will need to take care of the dog as if he is a toddler. Would you leave a toddler home alone while you jump on a plane bound for China? I hope not. If a dog is present in your story, the reader will want to know what’s happening with them. I teach writing, and new writers often leave their fictional dog out of the loop, forgetting them in cars, stores, or hiking trails while the writer presses on with other characters. In writing sessions, the question often arises, “Wait, where is the dog? Is he gone? We haven’t heard from him in thirty pages. Has he run away? Is he with a dog sitter?” You don’t need to include the dog in every scene, but we need a plausible explanation for his absence. Then the reader can rest easy.

If you’re going to use a dog as a storytelling device, you have to first understand its language.

Aside from their superior sense of smell, dogs also have a complex body language, one that has been studied at length by animal behaviorists. Just as the body language of human characters can broadcast their emotions and intentions, the same is true for dogs. But we should be clear that we understand this language. For example, relatively slight movements of their ears can translate as alert attention (ears erect or slightly forward), submissiveness (ears flattened back with closed jaw), or even fear or aggression (ears pulled back with teeth exposed). Add in the stance of the torso or the direction of the tail, and a complex communication system is revealed.

Just as each of our human characters should have a unique voice, so should our canine characters.

Canine characters can be strong plot catalysts … if you allow them to be.

Each canine character has their own personality and relationship with the human characters, and each story makes different demands. In The Camp Muralist, for example, Luna is understated and generally noticed only for her affection and vitality. And so people unacquainted with dogs, who perhaps aren’t paying her much attention in the story, probably won’t notice that Luna has a catalytic role at the most critical turning points for Lily. But who shows up when Lily is morose, postrehab, and postdivorce after her restaurant goes under? And who stages a hunger strike when she’s away? And who charges off in a blizzard to find the answer to a mystery?

Each of these instances serve as plot catalysts, but none would have been possible had I not taken the time to get to know my canine character as well as my human characters. Luna could have served as mere background, but instead she became an active player in the plot, a change agent.

When I wrote my second novel, Lost & Found, I didn’t intend to include a dog at all. All I can say is that a barrel-chested black lab showed up by his own volition and was discovered by Rocky, the main character and novice animal control officer. He was found wounded with an arrow in his shoulder. But why was he on his own? How had he been wounded? From that moment on, the dog became essential to the plot and inseparable from Rocky. Both characters were grieving the death of a loved one, each one thinking they were healing the other—and in this mutual endeavor, the dog’s life became necessarily entwined with the main character.

And so a well-developed dog can become an active force in a story, not by forcing the dog into the plot, but by understanding the dog as a character with its own personality and relationship to the protagonist.

A last word of caution

Let’s end on a practical tip: If the dog dies in your story, be prepared to be tarred and feathered by your readers. I once met a man at a bookstore reading who was considering one of my books. There was a dog on the cover, and he said, “Tell me right now if this dog dies, because if the answer is yes, I’m not buying the book.” He could not have been more clear. If the dog’s demise is essential to your plot, be prepared for outrage.

Seventy million households in America count at least one dog as part of their family. They are an integral part of our emotional and physical lives—so don’t just treat your canine characters like furniture. Their full personalities and language can add a richness to the story that highlights loyalty, heroism, humor, and emotional nuance. And when you commit to getting to know these full personalities, you begin to find opportunities for your canine characters to advance the story, rather than simply occupying it.