I.L. Williams's Blog

So now you know the story and how to follow along if you want to see a bit more. And rumor has it that there might even be a book (written by the owner) about these two in the works… ;)

*A gentle note
If this story (or any of the ones here) ever brightens your day and you’d like to help buy Mocca a new chew toy once in a while, a paid subscription means more than you know. It’s the price of one coffee a month, but the daily doggy joy is priceless! ;)
→ thegoodestplace.substack.com/subscribe

Love from the Far North,
Me & Mocca 🐾

P.S. I agree with you guys, Prinnie and John just may well be the cutest and most wholesome thing I have seen all year!

Like • 0 comments • flag

Published on November 29, 2025 09:33

November 24, 2025

Thanksgiving, Dogs, and the Three Things That Matter

I read somewhere once that to be happy, you need three things: someone to love, something worth doing, and something to hope for.

This Thanksgiving, I’m again grateful to have all three —and richly so.

Photo by Megan Watson on Unsplash

The trees have gone bare now, their branches sketching dark lines against pale November skies. Morning walks crunch underfoot, frost turning the grass silver until the sun burns it away. There’s woodsmoke in the air from someone’s fireplace, that smell that makes you pull your coat a little tighter and feel grateful for warmth, for home, for the season turning exactly as it should.

My dog doesn’t notice the cold the way I do. She’s too busy investigating the changes autumn has brought: new scents where the leaves have fallen, different paths where the frost has hardened the ground. She moves through November with the same enthusiasm she brought to June, reminding me that every season has its gifts if you know how to look for them.

This year has been one of unexpected abundance. I started a Substack from scratch that’s grown to nearly 3,000 subscribers! I published two short story collections and I’m deep into a third. And I’m preparing to launch something new for active writers: a Substack dedicated to emotional, immersive storytelling, inspired by the feedback so many of you have generously shared about my Goodest Boy stories: Heart of the Story.

Someone to love. Something worth doing. Something to hope for.

But here’s what I’ve learned from all of you this year: I’m not alone in finding these three things through dogs and writing. Your messages tell me stories, stories about the rescue who finally learned to trust, about the senior dog who’s teaching you what patience and grace looks like, about the puppy who’s chaos incarnate but somehow exactly what you needed. You write to me about the stories that made you cry at your desk, that you read out loud to your dogs (who may or may not have been listening), that helped you through a hard day or a harder year.

You’ve found someone to love in the dog curled at your feet right now. You’ve found something worth doing in showing up for them every single day. The walks, the vet visits, the patience it takes to teach them or simply to let them be. And you’ve found something to hope for in the promise of more time, more adventures, more of those perfect moments when it’s just you and them and the world feels exactly right.

Thanksgiving is a holiday for family, and I can’t help but think about what our four-legged family members have taught us. Dogs give us so much: their unwavering presence when we feel alone, their joy in the smallest things when we’ve forgotten how, their ability to pull us back into the moment when our minds wander into worry or regret. They remind us that loyalty isn’t complicated, that forgiveness is instant, and that a walk on a cold morning —with breath misting in the air, their tail wagging at nothing and everything, is exactly as profound as it feels.

Maybe your dog is young and wild, still learning that the world won’t hurt them, still teaching you patience you didn’t know you had. Maybe they’re old now, moving slower, and every day with them feels both precious and fragile. Maybe they’re the one who saved you, though the rescue papers say you saved them. Maybe they’re just… yours. Your companion, your shadow, your reason to come home.

Photo by Luísa Schetinger on Unsplash

They are someone to love. They make our work—whatever that work is—worth doing. And they give us endless reasons to hope: for more mornings, more adventures, more time. Always, we hope for more time.

So here’s to all the doggie families out there, to everyone who understands that “family” also has four legs and fur and a heartbeat that matches yours when you need it most. May your Thanksgiving be filled with wagging tails, warm hearts, and maybe a few under-the-table treats when no one’s looking.

May there be frost on the morning grass and your dog’s breath misting beside yours. May there be woodsmoke and warm kitchens and that particular comfort of having them near. May you have someone to love, something worth doing, and something to hope for.

And may you have many, many more Thanksgivings together.

Happy Thanksgiving. 🦃🐾

***CHRISTMAS is just on the doorstep!
Here are a few perfect book gifts for dog lovers:
The Goodest Boy and Chronicles of the Good Vet

***And for those of you who enjoy my Substack Notes that feature dogs using buttons to talk, the full range of Fluent Pet buttons is on discount now! My affiliate link is here: https://amzn.to/48vaKjk

Like • 0 comments • flag

Published on November 24, 2025 11:08

October 17, 2025

A Dog’s Guide to Autumn

The trees are letting go now. Gold and rust against blue sky, the landscape putting on its last show before the stark quiet sets in.

Mocca launched herself into the fjord yesterday, still enjoying her favorite activity despite the change in temperature.

But swimming season is almost over. Soon the fjord (and the frozen air on a wet dog’s skin) will be too cold even for her, and she’ll have to settle for splashing through puddles on our morning walks instead. But she doesn’t seem troubled by this.

That’s the thing about dogs and seasons, they don’t cling to what’s passing. Mocca loves summer best, yes. Swimming is her great passion, the thing she’d do from dawn to dark if allowed. But when the water gets too cold and the dock stairs get pulled in for winter, she’ll pivot without complaint. Puddles become fascinating. Frost becomes worth investigating. And when the snow finally arrives, she’ll fling herself into powdery drifts with the same wild joy she gives to the fjord.

Dogs don’t mourn the end of their favorite season. They just notice what’s good about the next one.

Fall here isn’t an ending. It’s a shift.

The warmth leaves, yes. The vibrant green fades to brown and gold and bare branches. But something else begins. Darker mornings where the fireplace pushes back the chill. Seasonal foods like fårikål, a traditional lamb and cabbage dish stewed slowly, reappear. The kind of meal that makes a house smell like home. Mocca stationing herself at the kitchen edge, eyes hopeful, knowing scraps are coming.

She’s already anticipating winter’s pleasures. The sheepskin chair by the fire that becomes her throne. The longer naps while I write and the coffee steams. The snow that will eventually transform the landscape into her personal playground. Providing something to roll in, tunnel through, eat by the mouthful just because.

Every season brings its gifts if you’re paying attention, and dogs are always paying attention.

The walks will continue. Darker, colder, eventually through snow. But they continue. Mocca will bound into October rain with the same enthusiasm she bounds into June sunshine. She’ll track the first snowfall with her nose, delighted by this new thing that is also an old thing returning.

This is her guide to autumn: embrace what comes as much as what was. Summer held swimming, so summer was perfect. Fall holds different joys, so fall is perfect too. Winter will bring snow, and winter will be perfect in its turn.

No resistance. No wishing for what’s gone. Just presence in what is, and eagerness for what’s next.

Maybe we’re the ones who need the guide. Mocca’s already figured it out.

So here’s to fall. To the last swims and the first fires. To trees that know when to let go and dogs who know every season is exactly right. :)

***If you’re looking for a cozy read as you retreat into your own cozy home this autumn, you might try this one:

#affiliate link
https://amzn.to/4onFWGl

*One thing that stays constant through every season is the daily walk. And with it comes a small choice we make each time we pick up after our dogs. Choose compostable and you reduce your plastic footprint. If you are already using compostable bags, great to hear! If not, feel free to try these —strong and no plastic:

#affiliate link
https://amzn.to/47e0uKu

Whether you choose this brand or not, please make the change from plastic to sustainable. :)

Like • 0 comments • flag

Published on October 17, 2025 06:14

October 4, 2025

What Dogs Steal

Let me just confess this upfront: My dog steals food from children.

Not violently or in a frightening way. She just understands something fundamental about small humans: they get distracted by all her intentional displays of cuteness, their grip loosens, and their sandwiches are at perfect snout height. With a wagging tail and a friendly manner, she sidles up to her targets, moving with Border Collie calculation and Waterdog determination. Having taken the food, she lacks even the decency to run away in shame. On the contrary—she maneuvers to eye the child’s other hand to be absolutely sure she has secured all available edibles.

Dogs are unrepentant thieves.

But they do not restrict their thieving activities to food…

Pierre was my grandmother’s poodle. He lived in the house where I was born before I did, back when my expectant parents moved in with my grandmother and great-grandmother. I don’t remember him so well, but I know him anyway, in the way you know the foundation stories of your family. Small, dignified, certain of his place.

Then Mopsy, the Puli, all fierce fluff and quiet devotion. She’d position herself between my father and us kids whenever he raised his voice to scold us. Not aggressive. Just there. A soft growl. A line drawn.

Julie, the Australian shepherd, treated our property line like sacred territory. Watching her patrol was like watching a dragon guard treasure—fierce, tireless, utterly committed.

Toshi the German Shepherd walked me to the corner store when I was small. She understood her job with perfect clarity: accompany the small human there and warn off or demolish any perceived threat, wait outside, accompany the small human home. She never wandered. Never left her post. Just knew what needed doing.

I write fiction about dogs because I’m trying to capture the particular way they steal from us (he food and socks are just an amusing diversion for them).

They LIVE to steal far more important things:

The loneliness that creeps in.

The stillness that turns into anxiety or rigid stagnation.

The worry we carry without knowing it.

The distance between people who should be close.

Every dog I’ve known has been a thief of that necessary kind.

Pierre stole the quiet emptiness of that old lady house before I was born. Mopsy stole fear. Julie stole danger. Toshi stole risk. My current dog steals my many excuses for staying inside, for sitting too long.

And in taking these things, they leave something else behind.

Presence. Motion. Safety. Connection. Love. Peace. Joy.

Yes, my dog will steal a sandwich left too near the edge of the counter without remorse. But what she’s really after runs deeper. She wants my afternoons. My attention. My willingness to walk out the door and throw the stick one more time. She wants the family to stay together out walking on the trail.

Dogs are thieves of the highest order. Their greatest theft is taking our hearts without asking, and by the time we notice, it’s far too late to get them back.

Which is exactly how it should be.

If you’ve found yourself nodding along, you might enjoy my fiction. The Goodest Boy, which explores the lives of dogs and the humans who orbit them. Stories about what we thankfully lose when dogs steal what we didn’t know we needed to give up.

And if you read it, I hope it sparks something. A memory, a thought, maybe even a conversation. That’s what these stories are meant to do. Not just entertain, but also connect us to what matters. Here’s one reader’s reflection on what that looked like for her.

For a different perspective on the same bond, this collection of stories follows a veterinarian through forty-three years of witnessing the love between people and their animals —from joyful puppy visits to impossible goodbyes. Sometimes healing has nothing to do with medicine.

Like • 0 comments • flag

Published on October 04, 2025 06:18

September 18, 2025

A Light in the Dark

A four-legged friend may find you when you need them most.

Thanks for reading The Goodest Place: A Dog’s Home in Norway!! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

This story came to me as I thought about sanctuary. Not just physical shelter, but the kind of refuge we create for each other when everything else falls away. What happens when a lonely boy and a small dog discover they’re exactly what the other has been searching for?

In a world that’s gone quiet and dangerous, Rob finds himself unexpectedly inheriting more than just safety. He inherits purpose. And Mac? Well, Mac sees what matters before anyone else does.

To everyone who has already picked up “The Goodest Boy”: Thank you! Your support means everything to a debut author stepping into the world with these stories. Thanks to you, the book has climbed as high up as #13 in its category!

And the reviews have been even more generous!

Again, many thanks! Grateful!

Still hoping to reach the #10 spot in the category, so for anyone else who enjoys reading stories about dogs, here is the link to “The Goodest Boy”. And do share with any other doggy people you know!

Cheers! :)

The Goodest Boy

Thanks for reading The Goodest Place: A Dog’s Home in Norway!! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

The Goodest Boy is on Amazon as a paperback and as an ebook!

1 like · Like • 0 comments • flag

Published on September 18, 2025 14:48

September 15, 2025

The Goodest Dogs!

Friends,

As I type this, my fingers hover over the keys a little longer than usual, and my head also seems far emptier than usual! It’s just that kind of day: A book launch day!☺️

You’ve been here with me through the multiple drafts, the late-night doubts, and the sparks of joy that come from chasing stories about the creatures who love us best, and without question or end. And now, on this ordinary September day that feels anything but, The Goodest Boy is no longer just mine. It’s out there, waiting to find its way into hands like yours.

This collection is my first, a love letter to all the dogs I have ever known and to all those who magically turned up to grace the pages of the book. From a rescue daring to trust a new home will be a better place, to a champion collie who does not forget a dear farmyard friend. And a special nod to Vark, an ancient ancestor of modern dogs, who changed the destiny of an entire tribe.

Hopefully the stories in this collections are small truths wrapped in fur and devotion, and will remind you why mankind has one best friend above all others.

This is the first book of a series where I intend to keep unraveling the magic of these canine souls, with their wild hearts and their gentle lessons. Exploring how they mend us, one joyful leap and wagging tail at a time. And how much better every day is just because they are there with us.

If these stories resonate with you, a few honest words in a review would be sincerely appreciated. Because in a vast sea of stories, your voice could guide another reader to exactly what they are looking for. We all trust reviews more than advertisements, and for good reason.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you—for listening, for lingering, and for celebrating all the wonderfulness of dogs!

***Sincere thanks to all of you who pre-ordered the book in the last few weeks! The Amazon and Goodreads listing is now open for reviews.🙏

I.L. Williams

The Goodest Book

Like • 0 comments • flag

Published on September 15, 2025 07:37

September 6, 2025

A Family's Beautiful Farewell to Charlie

I came across another gem this week! It’s a newspaper obituary for a Golden Retriever named Charlie James Gregory-Hammett, who died peacefully in his mom’s arms.

You’re thinking: A newspaper obituary for a dog? Yes. A loving memorial to a much-loved family member.

“Charlie’s favorite activities were walking, stick-collecting, swimming, smiling, and snoozing. If we’re being honest, Charlie loved everything life had to offer (except stairs. He hated stairs).”

Right there is why this resonated so much. It’s that perfect parenthetical that every dog parent understands. We know our dogs’ quirks so intimately. The stairs they refuse to climb. The specific spot on the couch that’s theirs. The way they lose their minds over peanut butter but turn their nose up at carrots.

What makes this obituary different is how specific it is. Charlie’s family didn’t write generic platitudes about a “beloved pet.” They wrote about his actual life:

“Charlie loved everything life had to offer (except stairs. He hated stairs).”

That detail about the stairs is so real. That’s the kind of thing you only know when you live with someone for years. When you carry them up the stairs because they’re too stubborn or scared to do it themselves.

The same here:

“We will think of him every time we open the peanut butter. We will miss him every time we see a sock on the floor or pass a stick on a walk.”

This is what grief actually looks like when you lose a dog. It’s not just the big moments. It’s an ordinary Tuesday when you catch yourself saving the last bite of your sandwich and then remembering they’re not there anymore.

Why This Matters

Charlie’s obituary is honest in a way that most memorials aren’t. His family wrote about his actual personality, not some idealized version. He hated stairs. He had a thing for peanut butter. He collected sticks like some dogs collect tennis balls.

They didn’t try to make his death itself meaningful or find silver linings. They just said: this is who he was, this is how much he mattered, and now there’s a Charlie-shaped hole in our lives.

That’s the kind of honesty that makes grief bearable. Not the forced positivity. Just the recognition that losing someone you love, even if that someone has four legs and a tail, leaves a mark.

The Real Thing

Here’s what I keep coming back to: Charlie’s family put an obituary in an actual newspaper. They spent money to tell strangers about their dog’s life. Some people might think that’s excessive, but I think it’s exactly right.

When you love someone that much, you want the world to know they existed. You want their story told properly. You want people to understand that this wasn’t just a pet. This was Charlie, who hated stairs and loved everything else life had to offer.

That’s love. The real kind. The kind that doesn’t care what other people think.

Goodbye, dear Charlie. You were a very good boy.

What details about your dog would make it into their obituary? The weird things they’re afraid of, the specific ways they show love, the routines they’ve trained you to follow? Sometimes thinking about it that way makes you realize how much attention you actually pay to those you love.

Free Dog Story!

Like • 0 comments • flag

Published on September 06, 2025 01:31

August 22, 2025

THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF AN EXTREMELY DISTINGUISHED DOG

As a busy writer in the real world (as well as on Substack), I reserve a portion of one day out of the work week to focus on reading things that I have not written. As you may have somehow guessed, I kind of have a thing for dogs and stories about dogs. So I am often in search of doggie literature. I was fortunate enough to come across a fantastic piece that I had never heard about.

I thought it was so wonderful that it should be shared with you. All of us who have loved and lost a dear little fur friend will be able to appreciate this piece O’Neill write in honor of his own beloved best friend, Blemie.
Enjoy!

I, SILVERDENE EMBLEM O'NEILL (familiarly known to my family, friends, and acquaintances as Blemie), because the burden of my years and infirmities is heavy upon me, and I realize the end of my life is near, do hereby bury my last will and testament in the mind of my Master. He will not know it is there until after I am dead. Then, remembering me in his loneliness, he will suddenly know of this testament, and I ask him then to inscribe it as a memorial to me.

I have little in the way of material things to leave. Dogs are wiser than men. They do not set great store upon things. They do not waste their days hoarding property. They do not ruin their sleep worrying about how to keep the objects they have, and to obtain the objects they have not. There is nothing of value I have to bequeath except my love and my faith. These I leave to all those who have loved me, to my Master and Mistress, who I know will mourn me most, to Freeman who has been so good to me, to Cyn and Roy and Willie and Naomi and -- But if I should list all those who have loved me, it would force my Master to write a book.

Perhaps it is vain of me to boast when I am so near death, which returns all beasts and vanities to dust, but I have always been an extremely lovable dog. I ask my Master and Mistress to remember me always, but not to grieve for me too long. In my life I have tried to be a comfort to them in time of sorrow, and a reason for added joy in their happiness. It is painful for me to think that even in death I should cause them pain.

Let them remember that while no dog has ever had a happier life (and this I owe to their love and care for me), now that I have grown blind and deaf and lame, and even my sense of smell fails me so that a rabbit could be right under my nose and I might not know, my pride has sunk to a sick, bewildered humiliation. I feel life is taunting me with having overlingered my welcome. It is time I said good-bye, before I become too sick a burden on myself and on those who love me. It will be sorrow to leave them, but not a sorrow to die. Dogs do not fear death as men do. We accept it as part of life, not as something alien and terrible which destroys life.

What may come after death, who knows? I would like to believe with those my fellow Dalmatians who are devout believers, that there is a Paradise where one is always young and full-bladdered; where all the day one dillies and dallies with an amorous multitude of houris [lovely nymphs], beautifully spotted; where jack rabbits that run fast but not too fast (like the houris) are as the sands of the desert; where each blissful hour is mealtime; where in long evenings there are a million fireplaces with logs forever burning, and one curls oneself up and blinks into the flames and nods and dreams, remembering the old brave days on earth, and the love of one's Master and Mistress.

I am afraid this is too much for even such a dog as I am to expect. But peace, at least, is certain. Peace and long rest for weary old heart and head and limbs, and eternal sleep in the earth I have loved so well. Perhaps, after all, this is best. One last request I earnestly make. I have heard my Mistress say, "When Blemie dies we must never have another dog. I love him so much I could never love another one." Now I would ask her, for love of me, to have another. It would be a poor tribute to my memory never to have a dog again. What I would like to feel is that, having once had me in the family, now she cannot live without a dog! I have never had a narrow jealous spirit. I have always held that most dogs are good (and one cat, the black one I have permitted to share the living room rug during the evenings, whose affection I have tolerated in a kindly spirit, and in rare sentimental moods, even reciprocated a trifle).

Some dogs, of course, are better than others. Dalmatians, naturally, as everyone knows, are best. So I suggest a Dalmatian as my successor. He can hardly be as well bred or as well mannered or as distinguished and handsome as I was in my prime. My Master and Mistress must not ask the impossible. But he will do his best, I am sure, and even his inevitable defects will help by comparison to keep my memory green.

To him I bequeath my collar and leash and my overcoat and raincoat, made to order in 1929 at Hermes in Paris. He can never wear them with the distinction I did, walking around the Place Vendome, or later along Park Avenue, all eyes fixed on me in admiration; but again I am sure he will do his utmost not to appear a mere gauche provincial dog. Here on the ranch, he may prove himself quite worthy of comparison, in some respects. He will, I presume, come closer to jack rabbits than I have been able to in recent years. And for all his faults, I hereby wish him the happiness I know will be his in my old home.

One last word of farewell, Dear Master and Mistress. Whenever you visit my grave, say to yourselves with regret but also with happiness in your hearts at the remembrance of my long happy life with you: "Here lies one who loved us and whom we loved". No matter how deep my sleep I shall hear you, and not all the power of death can keep my spirit from wagging a grateful tail.

The End.

Free Dog Story!

Like • 0 comments • flag

Published on August 22, 2025 03:11

August 12, 2025

Almost There — and a Little Dog Story to Share!

So summer has just begun its slow turn toward autumn here along the fjord. The mornings and evenings are cooler now, the sea air pleasantly crisp. But the days still glow with sunshine, and we’re making the most of every golden hour.

In between walks and berry-picking (Mocca remains a tireless blueberry hunter), I’ve been deep in the world of words. My manuscript for The Goodest Boy: Heartwarming Dog Stories is ready for formatting — a milestone I’ve been working toward for months. The road here has been full of learning curves, from navigating publishing tools to sorting out all the little details that make a book feel just right. It hasn’t always been easy, but it’s been worth every step.

This collection is close to my heart. Each story celebrates the love and loyalty of our canine friends — the way they walk with us through joy and sorrow, changing our days in ways only they can. Soon, it will be out in the world, and I can’t wait for you to meet every dog within its pages.

While we wait for launch day, I have something for you: a complete short story called The Way Home. Think of it as a little preview of what’s to come — a warm, heartfelt tale meant to be read in a single sitting, perhaps with a cup of tea and your own dog nearby.

You can read it here: The Way Home

I hope it makes you smile, and maybe reminds you of the “goodest” dog in your own life. Thank you for walking alongside me on this writing journey — your company makes the path a lot more fun.

Thanks for coming along! :)

P.S. If you enjoy The Way Home, I’d be so grateful if you shared the link with fellow dog lovers in your life. Every share helps bring these stories to more people who understand that a dog’s love is one of life’s greatest gifts.

Like • 0 comments • flag

Published on August 12, 2025 07:40

July 19, 2025

Summer Walkies Along Our Norwegian Fjord

Hello, folks!

Summer has hit its stride here along our Norwegian fjord, and the place is buzzing with life. The air hums with real warmth, wild currants are turning a glossy red (must pick LOTS today!), and Mocca? She’s on a mission to gobble every blueberry we pass on our walks down to the fjord. Her nose is a finely-tuned berry detector, sniffing out those tiny bursts of sweetness hidden in the bushes. Raspberries are also ripening and moving onto the menu. She has learned that gooseberries have wicked thorns, so they are NOT on the menu ;) Watching her prance along as she searches, tail wagging like a metronome, it’s obvious she’s living her best summer life and I’m just along for the ride.

We’ve been heading out early these days to beat the lively hum of the summer people who’ve settled into their charming houses in the hills and by the water.

The paths between these homes are my favorite part of our walks. They are quiet, car-free narrow lanes of grass, gravel, or stone, winding past hedges and wooden fences, leading down to the beach or the ferry stop.

I’ve snapped so many photos to share with you: sun-dappled trails framed by wildflowers, glimpses of colorful summer houses with their tidy gardens, and the fjord sparkling just beyond.

Even the ferry as it comes in to pick up local residents or travellers just moving on to the next little summer vacation spot along the water.

As Mocca and I stroll these mornings, the sounds of kids screeching with laughter (as they make the summer memories that will last them a lifetime) drifts over the hedges, and the rich smell of brewing coffee wafts from open windows. It’s a slice of summer magic, and now you get to see a bit of it through my lens.

These walks with Mocca remind me why dogs are such perfect companions: they pull us into the moment, whether it’s savoring a blueberry or pausing to watch a gull soar over the fjord. They teach us to notice the little joys, like the crunch of gravel underfoot or the way the light dances on the water. It’s the kind of inspiration that fuels my stories in The Goodest Boy, my short story collection coming this August. Speaking of which, I’m still on the lookout for early review readers to dive into these tales of canine loyalty and love. If you’re up for it, drop me a note or comment and I’d be thrilled to have you join the pack.

I’d love to hear about your summer adventures with your furry friends. Are they chasing waves, sniffing out treats, or just soaking up the sun? Feel free to share your own stories in the comments. And don’t miss the photos—those paths and summer houses are calling your name!