Writing with Pets by Eileen O'Finlan

 

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As people who share their homes and lives with pets can attest, their furry companions are often involved in everything that goes on at home. For me, that includes writing. My two cats, Smokey (now a Rainbow Bridge Angel Kitty) and Autumn Amelia even inspired my latest book, All the Furs and Feathers. In some ways, they helped me write it since I often took my cues from their personalities.

It's one thing to pay attention to the pets, think about how they might respond given various fictional situations, and put it in a story. It's quite another to have them physically involved while trying to write that (or any other) story.

About a year ago, I became a Rover.com sitter and began boarding small dogs in my home for weekends while their pet parents were away. Two of them, Chewy and Bruce Lee have become regular clients. They are getting used to me spending time on my laptop while they are staying with me, though if a writing session runs too long in their estimation, they make their feelings known and cut it short. However, the last time they were at my house, Bruce Lee decided that rather than trying to drag me away from my writing, he'd help out. Here's how that went:

Does this mean he's now co-author on my next novel?

Not to be outdone by the dogs, Autumn Amelia has been spending more and more time huddle as close as she can get to my laptop whenever I'm working on it, inching ever closer to the keyboard. A strict editor, she keeps a close eye on my writing. I can tell when she thinks her editing skills are needed. Here, let me show you in pictures how that progresses:

Autumn settles in, ready to start assessing my current writing session.

Hmm...this could use some help.

Autumn thinks she can write it better so she takes over

It's well-known that pets bring us many joys and having them in our lives offer a number of benefits. Who knew writing help was one of them!

The Past is a Different Place...by Sheila Claydon

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Readers are taken back to the 1800s in Remembering Rose, the first book in my Mapleby Memories trilogy. In the third book, due out in May and still untitled, readers are taken to the 13th century. Until today I didn't expect to travel further back but now I have learned a whole lot about life 50,000 years ago.

Why? Well because my 20 year old granddaughter, who is studying Biology at university, asked me to check a paper, shortly due to be submitted, for flow, and also to advise on losing approximately 400 words without significantly altering the research. 

As it is a scientific paper I had to read it through several times to fully understand it, especially the scientific terms, but once I done that I became really interested. I learned, for example, that animals and humans have domesticated each other. Initially wolves and humans lived in the same area but without interacting, but by the time humans began to develop into agricultural societies, about 10,000 years ago, they were working together. It is thought that a human preference for smaller, more docile and therefore easier to manage dogs, are what led to the breeds we see today.

One of the interesting changes is that wolves could solve tasks by observing the behaviour of others and they could also follow the human gaze to 'see' a problem, whereas domesticated (wolves) dogs cannot differentiate between the intentional and accidental actions of their handlers. Domestication has taught them to ignore cues not specifically addressed to them. Instead, living in close contact with humans has taught them to rely on help rather than trying to solve problems independently.

Cats, of course, are very different and it is thought that initially they probably took advantage of the the mice and food scraps they found around the first settlements. Later they learned to live with humans, becoming more docile and developing behaviour and reward conditioning, but even today, thousands of years later, they are still largely independent, and able to find their own food and breeding partners.

Domestication of horses occurred much later, around 6,000 years ago and, surprisingly, given how important horses have been for transport, farming etc. over many centuries, their behaviour has changed far less than that of dogs and cats. While they benefit from the food, shelter, physical care and protection humans provide, left to their own devices they would still very quickly reassume a feral lifestyle.

There was much, much more. All of it interesting. However I found the animal/human relationship the most intriguing. Probably because I have been around dogs, cats and horses all my life but never, until now, considered how they have evolved over hundreds of thousands of years. And how we have helped them do just that. And how they, in turn, have helped us domesticate ourselves. 

A loyal Friend—Tricia McGill

Find all information on my books here on my Author page at BWL

In these uncertain times, it is our family and our friends who see us through. For those of us who live alone, most of the time it is our pets, be it dog, cat, rabbit or horse, who help us to cope. In my case it is my remaining dog, Candy, who you can he sure is always there at my side. She follows me from room to room, and although now completely deaf knows the moment I move. Don’t ask me how she does it for she most definitely cannot hear me but her sensory organ or whatever alerts her to my movements, can bring her from a deep sleep, head tucked down, to a wide-awake watch-dog, ready for anything.

I have had many pets in my lifetime and although of varying breeds and colours they had one thing in common—their loyalty. Nothing equals the welcome we receive no matter how long we have been away. There they will be at the window waiting patiently for your return. My love of animals is common knowledge—you only need to look at my Pinterest page to understand my infatuation with all creatures great and small. A dog, cat or horse or at times all three appear in most of my books. I recently realised that I do not have one in my current work in progress so that inconsistency will need to be taken care of very soon.

A few of my favourite doggie quotes:

We give dogs time we can spare, space we can spare and love we can spare, and in return dogs give us their all. It is the best deal man has ever made. M Facklam

I have found that when you are deeply troubled, there are things you get from the silent devoted companionship of a dog that you can get from no other source. Doris Day

Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole. Roger Caras

My goal in life is to be as good a person as my dog already thinks I am. Anon

If there are no dogs in heaven, then I when I die I want to go where they went. Will Rogers.

For me a house becomes a home when you add one set of four legs, a happy tail, and that indescribable measure of love that we call a dog. Roger Caras.

Some of our greatest historical and artistic treasures we place with curators in museums; others we take for walks. Roger Caras.

My Pinterest page if you are an animal lover: 

https://www.pinterest.com/authortriciamcg/

My Web Page

  

Sugar and Spice and...by Sheila Claydon

Click here to find my books at Books We Love

No! I definitely do not feel like this picture of Kerry in my book Double Fault. She was at her wit's end trying to bring up 2 year old twins on her own,  and so missing out on the joy children can bring, whereas I am feeling blissful!

With the partial lifting of the CoronaVirus lockdown in the UK, my house is now full of teenagers, dogs and, not to put too fine a word on it, mess!  There are dog toys all over the conservatory courtesy of the 11 month old puppy, dog beds taken apart with blankets and cushions awry as my own dog attempts to hide her bone, and a muddy towel on the the floor by the garden door because it's been raining and they all know the rule of paws being wiped before they come in.

Then there are the teenagers. With iPhones attached to their hands like an animated extension, their music and chatter has banished the long silence of lockdown. Of course the bathroom is now far from pristine (although they do hang up their towels to dry), and I'm just ignoring their bedrooms until they go home again. There is more washing too. And more housework. But there are many compensations.

The long walks to the beach with all three dogs, the games in the garden, the different meals as they take over the kitchen and make bread, or a club sandwich, or risotto, or soup, are all welcome. They are both good and practising cooks too, so no longer having to provide every meal, as I did for their grandfather and me during lockdown, is a real bonus, even if their clearing up skills still need quite a bit of refinement!

And the conversations! With one a budding biologist who is also testing her political opinions, our discussions range from the interesting to the heated to the downright amusing, while the younger one concentrates on educating us about everything to do with horses and craft projects. We do learn a lot too because, thanks to their permanently available friend Google, they access facts and figures 24/7, and have the sort of conversations with us that their busy, hard-working parents rarely have time for. Hopefully they learn from us too. They seem to because, during lockdown, I had many phone calls from the biologist for advice on setting up a herb garden, while the arty/horsey one sent me regular updates on her painting projects. Today a tie-dye kit is arriving but it'll be staying in it's box until the rain stops as, lovely as it is to have family with us again, I do draw the line at tie-dying indoors!

Then there is the little one in Hong Kong, who should have been with us now but, thanks to CoronaVirus, cannot travel. It doesn't stop her joining us though...often, and loudly. She reads to us via Skype and we manage to play card games too. And now they are all on school vacation she doesn't just call us, she also calls her cousins, making it possible for all of them to maintain a relationship despite the distance.

In other words I prefer the mess, noise and busyness that comes with having young people around to the peace and quiet we enjoyed during lockdown. And eventually, Kerry in Double Fault was able to do that too. That's the good thing about happy endings!

Every dog has its day by Priscilla Brown

Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend.  

Inside of a dog, it's too dark to read. 

(Groucho Marx)

The mayor's farm and her town are strapped for cash. 

Is this sexy television producer financial salvation or major trouble?

For information and purchase details on this and the stories mentioned below, 

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I have never owned a dog. In our childhood home, the only pet was a much-loved ginger cat who thought he ruled his people ('dogs have masters, cats have slaves'). His reincarnation appeared in my contemporary romance Finding Billie as a feisty feline who purrs with most humans but spits at those who are not nice to Billie. My sister and I would have loved to have a dog, but -- "you have a cat, you can't have another animal" and "who would walk it"  and "we don't have room", and other reasons/excuses. We had a temporary enthusiasm for an aquarium, though goldfish can hardly be termed pets; ours led short and probably wretched lives.

As an adult, for various reasons it has not been possible to own a dog. Maybe as unconscious compensation, in several of my contemporary romance novels I have enjoyed including a dog with a part to play in the plot. Researching is one of my favourite aspects of writing fiction, and I spent considerable time on deciding which breed of dog would be appropriate for the character whose lifestyle and/or job needs a canine companion and/or a working dog.

In Sealing the Deal, Anna lives alone on an isolated alpaca stud, and needs a dog as a companion and as a guard animal, and one whose breeding indicates he can get on with other animals and therefore can learn to check the alpacas. I gave her a Great Dane, and named him Hooli short for Hooligan. She

hopes that alongside his normal friendly attitude  he will display some hooligan behaviour if she, her animals or property are threatened. The sheer appearance of a Great Dane can at first be alarming; a visitor describes Hooli as the size of a small pony when the dog won't let him get out of his car until Anna arrives and assures her guardian this visitor is harmless.



Callum in Hot Ticket, now living in the city after a childhood on a cattle station, misses animals. From Animal Rescue he chose a puppy cattle dog because of his breed and that he looked sad. JD (= Juvenile Delinquent because clearly he had never been trained) becomes an important secondary character in the developing romance between Callum and Olivia.

A sheepdog is a necessity in  Dancing the Reel, a story involving sheep farming on two Scottish Hebridean islands. Deefer, as in D for Dog, is the border collie so named by Hamish because after owning many dogs in his long shepherding life he had no more names. This intelligent young dog is undoubtedly the boss of the hundreds of sheep, and off duty is a loyal and caring companion for Hamish.


At the start of my dog research, I discovered there are over 400 breeds worldwide. Intending to check exclusively for the canines who became Hooli, JD and Deefer, I found out far more than I needed to know for the story purposes, and became somewhat sidetracked into a few other breeds. I have a dog in mind for the current work-in-progress...

Happy reading, Priscilla

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https://priscillabrownauthor.com

It's a dog's life...by Sheila Claydon

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In my When Paths Meet series two of my characters are dogs. In book 1 it is Blue, an old Labrador and in books 2 and 3 it is Cora who grows from a boisterous puppy to a well trained dog. They are both integral to the stories although the books are not about animals, and now my love of dogs has come home to roost!

I never thought I would end up as a dog whisperer, but that's what I am. After a long career in health and a busy retirement where I have juggled writing 11 books with helping care for my grandchildren, it's now all about dogs!

None of this is intentional. We have always had dogs and now our furry family member is Elfie, a 4 year old poodle/cavalier cross. She is super bright and friendly and is the reason we keep walking and making like-minded friends, and that is how things have escalated.  Looking after our daughter's very deaf cavalier, Peppa, was a given when she was away, but then we made an agreement with a dog-walking friend that we would care for her wire-haired fox terrier, Ginny, whenever she needed us to. This meant that we frequently had 3 dogs at the same time. Then a fourth dog, a black Labrador  joined us. This was Archie. He was old and creaky but because one of his owners was very ill we had him on and off for weeks at a time. So now we were up to 4 dogs on a very regular basis. It's a good job we live right opposite open country that leads straight down to miles of sandy beach where dogs can run off lead because the thought of managing 4 dogs on leads is not my idea of fun,. Fortunately all our canine guests are very obedient if only because they are all very keen on biscuit rewards!

. 

For a while all was well but then, while we were still looking after him, Archie became very ill and after an operation and a spell in the veterinary hospital, he died. It was devastating to us and to his owner who, having only just lost her husband, was visiting her daughter in Australia, so all the decisions about his care had to be made by phone and text. Dogs are so brave. I spent 2 nights sleeping on the couch beside him when he could no longer walk and he still wagged his tail when I spoke to him, or licked my hand.

With any pet you have to be prepared to love them and lose them, however,  and now, although we miss Archie,  a new recruit has joined our ever growing canine collection. This is Paisley, another cavalier/poodle cross, 13 weeks old and being trained as a school dog to work with children with Autism. She belongs to our daughter who is a specialist in autism practice but as we will often be caring for her we are having the training too. It will take a year to cover everything but, as you can see from the picture, the training is working. At 13 weeks old Paisley already knows to sit for a treat and wait her turn. And although he died so soon after she joined the family, Archie did meet Paisley, so the circle is complete.

Also, as a complete coincidence, or was in foresight, in one of the books a dog is important to an autistic child. Life can be stranger than fiction but just occasionally fiction gets there first!

Farewell to My Loyal Writing Companion, Zak by Stuart R. West

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Not too long ago, we lost our beloved dog, Zak. Zak sat at my feet non-stop while I wrote eighteen novels, the best muse a writer could ask for. The perfect sounding board with no mean criticism. 

More than that, he gave us ten joyous years of love, loyalty, and play, while the eleventh year was fraught with emotion, and at times harrowing as we saw him go through four major surgeries, one amputation, rehabilitation, and finally, loss.

Zak was an absolutely unworldly ball of energy finally done in by the limitations of his physical body. He simply couldn't be contained within his aging body. His high-level play did in his back legs.

He will be sorely missed. He is missed. This is the hardest blog post I've ever written.

But I don't want to mourn, but rather celebrate Zak's wonderful life.

Zak was a rescue dog. At six months old, we found him rummaging through trash cans, love at first sight! The first night we brought him home on a trial-basis, I found myself sitting on the kitchen floor, laughing hysterically as he licked me with wild abandon.

I said to my wife, "I really, really like him."

"Yeah," she answered, "we're keeping him."

And we were off! What an adventure we had...

Alas, because of Zak's breed--half pit-bull terrier (the other half never determined and it didn't matter to us one bit)--he faced a life-time of prejudice. My mom, brother, a good friend, even strangers on the street when I walked Zak, were terrified of our dog. We had to be extra careful with him.

Not that we needed to. Zak was the best-natured dog we'd ever met. The only threat from him came from loving you to death, smothering you in kisses. Everywhere Zak went--doggie daycare, the vet, the nail clipper gals at Petco, physical therapy--he received lots of compliments and made fans. Everyone fell in love with him, his good nature, his loyalty, his temperament. Even my mom finally came around (and she NEVER comes around on anything), proclaiming him, "such a sweet, good dog."

In his years of life, Zak only bit two people (not bad odds for any dog): one, a mower in the next yard, who definitely deserved it for taunting Zak; and two, a cable guy who I wanted to bite. Hey, Zak was just doing his job. Loyalty like his couldn't be bought. He took his protection duties very seriously. Just ask the mailman. Dunno what it was about the mailman, but it was pretty much the only person Zak never liked. Even on our walks, Zak could spot the blue uniform several blocks away and wanted to assure the postman stayed far away from invading our turf.

Zak shared with everyone a universal desire to be loved. And we did; we loved him so much that this has been a very painful farewell. Clearly Zak returned that love in bunches. Once, while I sat on the deck, he ran up to me, something draping from his mouth...two rabbit legs. He dropped the half-carcass at my feet. Wiggled his tail, golden eyes full of hope for kudos at his gift to me. A gift presented out of love. Unfortunately, I responded with girlish shrieks. But I understood the intent. It was the kind of dog Zak was. Very giving in many ways. Whenever my wife screamed at seeing a spider, Zak beat me to her rescue.

Oddly enough, Zak was never very food-oriented. Playing was his bag. And play he did, hard and fast and furious. When he was younger, he ran whip-fast, crazy-eights in the backyard. He'd actually pounce--pounce!--on his hind legs like a kangaroo. The first time I ever saw him "play" with another dog, I was horrified; it looked as if he wanted to tear the other dog apart, all growls, nips, rough and tumble worse than a no-holds barred Black Friday shopping spree. But I also noticed Zak never bit the other dogs. Even in the unrestrained passion of play, he withheld himself. When the other dog would take a bite, Zak would just back-off, tail wagging. He loved dogs, never met a dog he didn't like. Except for maybe my daughter's brat of a beagle. Which is weird, because they started as friends (my daughter insists it stems from an unseen backyard bone incident).

In his older age, Zak still maintained his energy and that's what ultimately did his back legs in. Both of them, one by one. We tried to repay Zak's unflagging loyalty. We did everything we could to save him. But my wife saw he was hurting. And the remaining back leg had developed another bone infection, one that antibiotics couldn't stop.

 Seeing that wonderful, loving, playful, force of great-natured energy stilled on the vet's table was hard. So very heart-rending.

Over the last six years, I'd spent nearly every minute of my life with my friend, Zak. As a full-time writer, I wrote eighteen novels with him always beside me. 

I'll miss him greatly. My friend. My companion. My dear loyal, furry love.

Here's to you, Zak. *Tink* I hope you're happily chasing stupid angelic rabbits and mailmen with wings.

Dear Dog of Destruction by Stuart R. West

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(A personal letter to my dog, but everyone's welcome to read):

Zak, what did I ever do to you to fill you with so much rage? Didn't my wife snatch you from one of her students who found you pillaging in their trash? Didn't we take you into our house and offer you food, love and shelter? Haven't we set you up with a heated doggy pillow? So why do you repay us with such a disdain for our furniture?

Okay, you're not allowed on the sofas. I know that upsets you. I'm only allowed on them after a shower. Stuff happens. But you don't have human rights. You gotta stop ripping up the sofa when the mailman comes. Yes, he brings bills and fliers about hair removal. But you can't know that. Even if you did understand "humanese," it's still not a reason to wreck the house. (Let me rip up the sofa when I see the bills.)

One time you were so angry at the mailman, you put your paw through a glass picture frame. Who was there to rush you to the doggy doctor, terrified at the sight of all the blood? And who had to put up with the questions and nervous looks as to why I had blood stains all over the back seat of my car? I was nearly branded a serial killer, thanks to you, my furious, furry friend. But I've stayed with you through thick and tics.

You can be fun sometimes. Sweet, actually. It's a shame you don't like buses, joggers, motorcycles, trucks, trash men, door-ringing politicians (that one I agree with), the ice cream truck, and of course, mailmen. Everyone has their peculiarities. Other than that, you're a wonderful creature. Sort of.

Frankly, I'm at a loss why we humans put up with your furry kind at times. But I'm onto you. Took a while, though. When I try and load you into my car to go to your weekly doggy day care (I know, I know), you feign an inability to jump into my vehicle. You insist I lift all of your sixty-five pounds. Very stubborn. Huh. Of course, you have absolutely no problem jumping into my wife's car, do you? When my wife told me you were playing me, I grew furious!

I realize you see my wife (even my daughter) as your pack-masters. But c'mon! I'm the one who feeds you, walks you, hangs with you more than they do! Alas, I am but your play-pal. Sigh.

Why, in your honor, Zak, I even created a character in my thriller series, Killers Incorporated, who loves dogs. Sure, he's a sociopathic, hot-headed serial killer. But he will see no harm done to dogs. Can't be all that bad, right?

But here's the bottom line, Zak. Every time I get angry with you, I holler, rant and rave. Then I look into your golden eyes and melt. You had me at the facial licking.

P.S., chocolate's not good for you. It's like toxic lima beans. Only deadlier. One would think you'd get a clue by now.

Your play-pal,

Stuart

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It Was A Dark And Stormy Night by Tia Dani

                                                          Call Down the Darkness

"Hey, Tia. We need to get back on track. We missed our July blog at Inside Book We Love."

"Oh, dear." Tia frowned. "I remember writing something about our dads."

Dani nodded: "Yes, that was for Father's Day."

"Oh-oh." Tia glanced at her blank monitor. "I think we're really behind."

"Ya, think?" Dani said in her usual snarky tone that generally sent Tia off into a peal of laughter.

(Laughter echoed around Tia's office for several minutes.)

"Seriously, Dani. We really need to come up with a blog topic."

"Definitely. Okay, let's do it. And here's a vow we can take." Dani held up her hand. "We, Tia Dani, are committed to blog faithfully, whether it be raining, sleeting, snowing—"

"Wait! Wait..." Tia turned to look at her. "We live in Arizona and its August. I doubt we'll have to deal with sleet or snow. Actually, I'd love some rain, but really, when have we had to battle with the elements instead of writing?"

Dani let out a long sigh. "I don't care then. What do you want our vow to be?"
"Hmm...Okay. How about this? We commit faithfully to blog regularly whether there are persnickety Internet problems—"

"Persnickety?" Dani laughed. "Now that's a word one doesn't hear every day."

"Hush, now. I'm thinking." Tia drummed her fingers next to her keyboard. "Besides, I like persnickety...it has character. So, don't interrupt me. I've got more to add to this vow."

Dani waved her hand. "Add away, dear Tia."

Tia began to type furiously. "Whether there be persnickety Internet problems, cranky computers and—"

Brrrring, brringgg

Dani jumped up. "Hold that thought. Gotta answer my phone. Hello?"

Oh, great. Tia thought. This will take a while. Every time I get a great idea, her phone has to ring. "I'm going to the bathroom."

(Ten minutes later Tia is rummaging through her cupboard for something to snack on.)

Entering the kitchen, Dani shoved the phone into her back pocket. "So, what were we saying?"

"I forgot. Here, you want some potato chips?" Tia tossed a freshly opened bag onto the kitchen counter. "I'm hungry."

"Of course. You have to ask?" Dani dipped her hand into the bag and pulled a handful of chips. "You know...I had an idea for a story last night. You want to hear about it?"

"Sure." Tia scooted out one of the bar stools and hopped onto it.

Dani grabbed the other stool. "It's another paranormal. But nothing like we normally write?"

"Really?" Tia looked at her with eyebrows raised. "Since when have we ever done anything normal?"

"That's true. Every story we come up with has a tendency to take on its own life." Dani reached for another round of chips. "Anyway, here's the idea. Three women own a book store and the hero comes in as an author, who's researching werewolf stories."

"Why?" Tia munched several chips at once.

"Why what?"

"Why three women? Which one of them is going to be the heroine?"

"I don't care." Dani brushed potato chip crumbs from the front of her black T-shirt. "Besides, what does it matter who's to be the heroine? I'm just telling you my idea for a story. We can iron out the fine details later."

Tia shook her head. "I don't know. What about the hero? Why did he come to that particular book store? You know the rule. In romantic fiction, coincidences aren't supposed to just happen."

"Tia!" Another long drawn out sigh followed Dani's exclamation. "Turn off that analytical brain of yours and just listen to me. I'm telling you my idea, not the whole bloody story."

"bloody…oooh…that's right. How awesome. A bloody werewolf story. I like that.

Okay...so…there's three women and one man, right?"

"Right. We start out with this spooky prologue. Up at the lake. A dark night."

"Which lake?" Tia stopped munching and looked at Dani curiously. "Where's the story supposed to take place?"

"Who cares, right now? Anyway, there's a full moon—"

"I hate to say this, but if there's a full moon, it won't be a dark night."

"Fine. Then it was a dark and stormy night."

(Both break out laughing.)

"I like the full moon idea, Dani. We'll stick with that."

Dani shifted on the bar stool. "Are you ready to listen now? It's a really great idea."

"Fire away."

"Here goes. Back to wherever we were."

"It was a dark and—"

"Forget that. We're back at the lake and the moon was full."

Tia suddenly laughed and potato chips flew everywhere. "Sounds like a song. Stagger Lee, right?"

"Right...but I believe the moon was yellow."

In typical fashion, Tia cleared her throat and started singing. "The night was clear, and the moon was yellow..."

Together they finished the last line. "And the leaves came tumblin' down..."

(This time they both broke out in hysterical laughter.)

Tia fanned her face and took a deep breath. "I almost inhaled a chip after that one."

(Five minute break here while they drink iced tea and talk about nothing in particular.)

Dani suddenly remembers why she was there for the day. "Let's return to my story."

"Right. So what else happens?"

"It's a werewolf story, but comes with a catch."

"Oooooookay?" Tia gave her friend a doubtful look, thinking there were all kinds of "catches", but knew she had to hear Dani out. In other words...KEEP HER MOUTH SHUT!

"And, here's the deal. Our werewolf is really a–"

Woof. Whine…woof...whimper.

"Dang it." Tia hopped off the bar stool. "Why does this always happen when we start to roll on something? Now, the double D's have to go outside." (The double D's are Tia's two Dachshund pups. Diva and Darcy.)

"No problem. I'll tell you the rest of the story while we're outdoors with them."

Fifteen minutes later—after both puppies who "really" had to go, and then greet their favorite mailman with a thousand doggie licks, Tia and Dani are back in the office in front of the computer.

"You know, Dani. Your idea has a great premise. I think we should run with it. I'm going to put the major plot points down." She looked at her computer screen. "Omigosh! I forgot we were doing this earlier."

Dani groaned. "Oh shoot! That's right. We were going to come up with something for a blog."

Tia flexed her fingers over her keyboard and grinned. "Don't worry. I think I have just the title for it."

IT WAS A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT....

And, this is really a glimpse at how we work together. You don't have to worry, we won't write a story with the title, It Was a Dark and Stormy Night. However, we do have a new book just released from Books We Love. Call Down the Darkness   It has Apache legends, past life regressions, a evil shape-shifter, and some passionate romance.
  

To find out more about the writing team Tia Dani and our books visit us at:

 http://bookswelove.com/authors/tia-dani/

 https://tiadaniauthor.wordpress.com/

 https://www.facebook.com/tiadani.author

Tia Dani is the writing team made up of good friends, Christine Eaton Jones and Beverly Petrone. Together they create endearing and realistic characters, humorous dialogue, and unusual settings.

A Dog's Life by Gail Roughton (as told to her by Max Branan)

I used to be an only dog. I remember those days. Life was good. Mine was the only food bowl on the floor. All the toys in the toy box were mine. No other belly vied for attention when I rolled over on my back. The last bite rule applied only to me. (The last bite of food any of my humans were eating, I mean. You know, that last bite of anything that tastes so good? The rule that it belongs to the dog, no matter how hungry the human is?  Wanted to clarify that, didn’t want y’all to think I was the one doing any biting. I would never!) At least, I think I remember those days. It was so long ago.

I’m Max, by the way. Max Branan. There’re eight humans in my family, Mama and Daddy of course—y’all know her as Gail Roughton ‘cause she writes under her maiden name, says it’s her love song to her daddy or some such—my human sister, Becca, my human brothers Lee and Patrick, Becca’s husband Jason, and Becca and Jason’s puppies, Austin and Kinsley. See, my birth Mom lived with Becca and Jason and got herself in the family way. Becca didn’t believe it at first because she said her dog didn’t do things like that. As if. What’d she think my Mom was? A doggy saint?  Anyway, all my puppy brothers and sisters got new homes but I’m the one who lucked out, ‘cause Patrick picked me out of all ‘em to bring back to Home Central.

Patrick did a search and told Mama that Max was the most popular name for male dogs and Maya the most popular name for female dogs, but that’s not why my name’s Max, un-uh. My name’s Max because about three days after Patrick got me vaccinated up with all the puppy shot prelims at the vet’s office and brought me home from Becca and Jason’s house I got sick. Real sick. So back to the vet I went and they said I had that parvo thing. With a fifty-fifty shot of making it out of the vet hospital alive. But I’m tough. I made it through with flying colors. And when I went back home, Mama (that’s Gail Roughton to y’all) said I looked as pitiful as the Grinch’s dog Max on the cartoon version of The Grinch That Stole Christmas. So that’s why I’m Max. No popularity contest or anything involved. And boy, did they spoil me rotten or what?

So there I am. Dog heaven. I was about three, I guess. And then Jason found this stray on the side of the road. He thought she was a German Shepherd and probably a couple of months old. So he took her home. At first Becca thought it’d be great to have a German Shepherd for their baby – Austin wasn’t born yet, he came about two weeks after that – since my humans used to have a big white German Shepherd they still talked about. Only problem was, this gal liked to eat furniture. And she was scared of her own shadow and didn’t know the meaning of the words “house-broke”. Well, Mama’s such a soft touch. She took one look at her and then sent Patrick over to collect her. He named her Maya. To go with Max. Not so much because it’s the most popular female dog name as for the “M” thing.

And uh – by the way – German Shepherd, my wagging tail. As near full Doberman as makes no never mind. Mama and Patrick knew it first time they looked at her. The undocked tail and ears made everybody else hard to convince, until they saw a Dobie with undocked tail and ears on Animal Planet. Then they all yelled in amazement, “Hey! Maya’s a Dobie?!” Mama and Patrick just rolled their eyes. She was already as tall as my stomach when she first walked in the door and I ain’t no shrinking violet, I’m a fifty-five pounder myself. The vet really blew it, too. Told my folks she’d be about fifty pounds full grown. Try 110 pounds last weigh-in. Maya’s Mama’s shadow. And I got to confess, yeah, I fell in love too. Eventually. Oh, no hanky-panky or anything, both Maya and I have made that trip to the vet, but yeah, I love the girl. Mainly because Austin was born two weeks after Maya got to Home Central. And I liked the little bundle of screams and wet diapers, don’t get me wrong, but Maya? Oh, man, she fell in love. Took all my share of the eye pokes and pulled tail. All I had to do was walk up and lick his face every now and then. That kid grew up laying on her, sitting on her, standing on her. She loved it all. We got him grown to darn near human size and what did Becca do? She brought in a brand-new one and the whole thing started all over again. Though I got to admit, that Kinsley’s a pistol. Her “Hiya!’ makes my tail wag, I just can’t stop myself.

Only thing about Maya is – you got to watch the sudden noises. Mama knocked a kitchen chair across the floor once when she was sweeping. And Maya – man, she moved like lightening. Next thing I know, she’s sitting on Daddy’s lap on the sofa, all hundred plus pounds of her, with her arms wrapped around his neck! She looked just like that Scooby-Doo character when he gets scared and jumps in Shaggy’s arms, you know?

And then one Saturday night when Austin was about two, Patrick came home from work and called Daddy out to his truck. Now, that was weird, right there, man, ‘cause in this family, when anything’s wrong, you call Mama first. But I figured maybe his truck engine was making a strange noise or something. Not. Daddy walked back in and announced, “Patrick’s brought home a puppy.” Mama goes “For real?!” And Daddy says, “Oh, yeah. Says he was sitting by his truck in the parking lot when he got off work. ” So Patrick walks in with this little – and I mean little – bundle of black and white fur and sits it on the couch by Austin. Austin says, “Baby!” Funny, he was only two, but he knew that was a baby. Must be some universal baby language. Lee looked at Mama and said, “Did it ever occur to you that there’s always a baby something or other in this house?” Mama looked pitiful and said, “Oh, yeah.”

Poor Mama. She got another shadow with that boy. Patrick named him Murphy. Gotta keep that “M” thing going. He weighed maybe four pounds but he thought he was a Great Dane. He didn’t bother me that much, all I had to do was growl real low and he’d back off but Maya? Guess you can’t beat the mother instinct. He was all over her. All the time. Don’t know how that gal kept her sanity, if Austin wasn’t climbing all over her, Murphy was. Sometimes both of ‘em together. And feisty? That Murphy, he gets going, you’ll swear you need to call an Exorcist from the sounds coming out of his mouth! He’s topped out at twenty-two pounds, so he’s way the smallest of us, but dang, is he annoying sometimes! You can’t even lay your head on a pillow! And he’s always all over Maya!

Now, as a side note, I heard Mama tell Daddy, “Patrick conveniently forgot about showing me a picture of a friend’s litter of puppies on FaceBook a few weeks ago. Funny, how they were all little black and white bundles of fur, just like Murphy. Found him in the parking lot, right! In a box with a friend standing guard till Patrick got there!”

So there you have it. How I went from an only dog to a trio. But it’s not so bad most times. I guess it’d be pretty boring if I just had my humans. Like at Christmas, it’s kinda nice to have the two of ‘em in the middle of things with me. Gets kinda irritating, that last bite of food having to be split into three bites all the time, but still. Keeps me young. Hey Murphy!! Wait up!! That’s my stuffed squirrel and I don’t have all the stuffing out yet!!! Oh!  And before I forget, you can check out Mama here--http://bookswelove.net/roughton.php   She's on the computer a lot, and I'm told I and the rest of the gang might make an appearance in an upcoming book she's got brewing. Which would only be fair, I mean, we put a lot of effort into distracting her when she's been working too hard.  

P-Nut and Miss Kitty are teaching me how to live in the moment By Sandy Semerad #pets

Philosopher and author Joseph Campbell was known for saying, “Follow your bliss.”

P-Nut, my little Shih Tzu, follows her bliss without being told. She sniffs a flower like she’s reading a masterpiece.

Eckhart Tolle, who wrote The Power of Now, would be proud. Even as a puppy, she seemed to know how to live in the moment and show unconditional love. When I'm traveling, she's protective of me and gets fiesty at times.

But she'd never hurt a child, and it's painful to hear about dogs who do. Personally, I think it's because people train them to fight and kill for amusement. The pit bull terrier is the breed they usually pick.

It saddens me. My daughter once had a Pit Bull named Sonja who wanted to lick you to death, but she’d never attack anyone.

I once heard about a feisty pit bull named Major who roamed the farms around Hartford, Alabama, the town near where I grew up. “Major could tear your butt for a new one,” Cody Ryles used to say.

Major became unpopular with farmers after he killed their hogs. One day he made the grave error of killing Cody Ryles’ prize pig.

Cody grabbed his shotgun and sent Major to the great pit bull heaven in the sky, Cody said.

Was Major bred for fighting for the amusement of humans? No one seemed to know. But I can’t believe he inherited his meanness.

I’ve read that pit bulls are a relative of the English bulldog. I’ve never owned an English bulldog, but I’ve heard about one named Bozo.

Bozo was trained to hunt wild hogs. He would bay the hogs and grab them by their ears until the capture was complete. Or so the story went.

He also liked to catch snakes and one day Bozo caught a poisonous rattler. It bit Bozo. He swelled up and almost died.

When Bozo recovered, he continued his pursuit of snakes with a vengeance. He’d grab every rattlesnake he saw and shake the dickens out of it. If the snake bit him, it didn’t bother him at all, because he’s developed immunity to the venom.

In my life, I’ve had the pleasure of knowing wonderful dogs, and I hate that pit bulls have gotten such a bad rap.

I’ve read they’re a cross between an English terrier and an English bulldog. I suppose many dogs are in the mixture category, not pure bred.

When I lived in Atlanta, we had a dog named Sam, an English terrier and German shepherd mix. One might think this combination would bring violence, but Sam was a sweet dog, though mischievous.

He loved to roam and collect things. Once he brought me my neighbor’s old house slippers. I took them back to her, of course, but when Sam presented them to me, he acted like he’d delivered a diamond.

I scolded him with “No, no.”

He cocked his head from side to side, not understanding my ungratefulness.

Another time, he snatched a flannel nightgown from my neighbor’s clothesline. No mistaking it was hers. The gown had red cherries embroidered all over it.

Sam must have jumped the fence to get the gown. When he brought it to me, I discovered it had a huge rip in it. I was too ashamed to return the gown. My neighbor didn’t like Sam, and I knew she wouldn’t understand.

The torn gown somehow ended up in the washing machine and then in the dryer. One morning, I was looking for something to frump around in. Lacking anything else, I slipped on the infamous gown. As my luck would have it, my neighbor—the rightful owner--came over to borrow a cup of sugar.

When she saw me in her gown, she looked shocked, as if I threatened her life. 

Time and again, I scolded Sam for his thievery, but he still pillaged.

He continued until the day he died. The pond behind our Stone Mountain home froze over. Sam fell through the ice while chasing the ducks. He froze to death before we could rescue him.

In an attempt to recover from Sam’s death, we adopted a Brittany spaniel named Prince, who’d rather play than eat. I can still see him chasing squirrels, barking at falling leaves, running and playing with the ducks.

After we lost Prince, I didn’t have the heart for another dog until I saw P-Nut’s furry face. She came into my life after I’d finished writing my second mystery Hurricane House.  In that book, one of the characters is Onyx, a black lab, who possesses superior powers.

Don’t most dogs? And perhaps you could say the same for cats.

Recently we adopted a stray cat. We call her Miss Kitty. P-Nut bonded with her from the beginning, though Miss Kitty hid from P-Nut at first.

Eventually Miss Kitty began to feel safe. Now she frequently cuddles with P-Nut and follows her on our walks to the beach.

And guess what, Miss Kitty seems to know how to live in the moment, too.

Maybe one day, they'll teach me.


     After working as a newspaper reporter, broadcaster and columnist for many years, Sandy Semerad decided to try her hand at writing novels. Her first novel, Mardi Gravestone has been republished as SEX, LOVE AND MURDER. She wrote her second mystery HURRICANE HOUSE after a hurricane ripped through her little beach community. Her third book, A MESSAGE IN THE ROSES, is loosely based on a murder trial she covered as a newspaper reporter in Atlanta. All books have garnered five star reviews. Semerad is originally from
Geneva, Alabama, but now lives in Santa Rosa Beach, Florida with husband Larry, their spoiled Shih Tzu P-Nut and wayward cat Miss Kitty. She has two daughters and a granddaughter. 

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