Something Rare... And Something Even Rarer

     

             Winslet (Winnie) never got to "dress up" for a holiday until she came to America. She got to around Halloween, and did a meet and greet at a dog bakery. (Whenever any of the dog cookies got knocked onto the floor, she was eager to help with the clean up.)

         Winslet (Winnie) never had a toy, even though she was three years old. When she came to America, she got two toys--an alligator-y thing and a dragon.
She was so proud of her two "babies." She would prance over to us and put one of them into our lap. Our job: squeeze the baby, make it squeak, and then she'd take it back.  Never did she even think of tearing either one of them up.

     
       Winslet (Winnie to us) never had the luxury of sleeping in a dog bed. She also didn't know what it was like to sleep in a safe place. Winnie went back and forth between Radar's bed whenever she wanted (he's an easygoing guy) and a folded-up quilt. Winnie went wherever she wanted... and that was fine with us.

      Winslet (always Winnie to us) would go out fifteen times a day to pee (if we let her) because it meant a treat for her when she came in. She'd never gotten a steady supply of treats before she came to St. Louis, never could depend on food and clean water, so when it was breakfast/lunch/dinner (she got fed three times a day) she danced. Literally, she'd dance. When we pulled the lid off the tub of dog chow, she'd stick her head into the tub and get a headstart. When we poured fresh water into the bowl, she'd stick her head under the stream of water to get some right away. You see, Winslet came from Turkey. She was a stray. Strays never know when their next meal or their next bowl of water is coming...

        Winslet (never again Winnie) had diarrhea the entire 6 weeks she was with us as a foster dog. She had a super-high white blood cell count. Going into a doggy hospital didn't help. She got released, and went to the vet this past Friday for a re-check with her blood. In the examining room, she began deteriorating before our very eyes. She couldn't use her right front leg. Then her back right leg started failing. She wouldn't blink when they poked their hands toward her eyes. She walked around like she was drunk--using the wall to help support herself and bumping into chairs.

       She went to a different doggy hospital Friday evening.* These doctors cared. They researched all weekend (during their time off), looking for the "zebra" that was killing Winnie. (They'd already eliminated all the usual suspects. They were looking for something rare... something that was hardly ever seen.)

       They think they found it. Protothecosis. It's untreatable... and on Monday evening it took Winnie.

        Before Winnie was euthanized, she had a McDonald's hamburger--another first for her. She was petted and kissed over and over... and hopefully wherever she is now, there is a food and water bowl that's always full, there are lots of stuffed "babies" ** for her to carry around in her mouth, there's people who lover her and there's no more pain.

      Winnie died from a rare disease. But a dog that can make a couple of people fall in love with her in just a few days... and then can break their heart in just weeks? That's even rarer. 


 * Heritage Veterinary Hospital in Creve Coeur, Missouri and AVS--in Bridgeton, Missouri--did a wonderful job trying to find a diagnosis. An autopsy will be done and samples will be sent to the veterinary college in Columbia. Perhaps vets will learn because of what Winnie went through.      

** Winnie was cremated with her dragon baby. If someone doesn't come into a life with a toy, at least they can leave with one...

       

Winslet, Book Signing, Yes to NaNo and Back-of-the-Book Blurb # 84

          Winslet is in the doggy hospital... again. Chronic diarrhea continues. While we were in for a vet appointment for a recheck on her white blood cell count, she became quite unstable--right before our very eyes. Walking around like she was either drunk or she'd had a stroke (she's only 3), her left front and back leg were visibly weak/nonfunctioning. We rushed her to an emergency care facility. She'll be there at least for the weekend.

         Winslet, in case you're not one of my 1.3 readers, is a foster dog from Turkey. When we took her to the emergency place, one of the techs came in with a disposable gown and said, "I'll come back in my gear." Our rescue president and I wondered what she was talking about. Would she return decked out in SWAT boots and body armor? WITH? 

         She then came back in the same way she was before, in a disposable gown, and she had another tech with her (who was also wearing a disposable gown). She said, "I'm wearing this because we're from a foreign country." My eyes widened, full of questions. What country were the two of them from, and why did their country of origin necessitate a disposable gown? When she said, "We don't know what Winslet might have picked up in Turkey," I couldn't help it.

        I had to say, "Oh, so when you said, 'We're from a foreign country,' you meant she's from a foreign country." I hate when people use "we" and "we're" like that.) She tried to claim that was not what she said, but both of us heard it.

         If you're free and in the St Louis area, come to the U City Half Price Books store. From 11-3 there will be a few Chicken Soup writers (Linda O'Connell, Pat Wahler and myself) signing books. Bring a canned good in and enter a drawing for a $50 gift card.

        My NaNoWriMo word count is 9,347. That's probably a third of the way. I'm semi-pleased with how it's going so far. Hopefully, when I post next week, I'll have progressed a bit more.

 And now onto the business of the book blurb...

         Look at the photo below. That is the cover of your book. You choose the genre. Is it a coffee table book of fashion trends? Is it a photo collection of mentally-ill patients and their clothing choices? You decide.

        Write an enticing blurb--150 words or less. (The title doesn't count in the word count.) Blurbs are those enticing bits that prod you into buying the book. Sometimes they're on the back cover of the book. Sometimes they're on the inside front cover. What they always try to do is lure you into purchasing the book. 

          Lisa Ricard Claro was the original creator of this writing challenge. She moved to Florida, and is too busy to host a weekly book blurb. Her first romance novel, Love Built to Last, just came out as an audio book.  She's quite busy these days. She's busy trying to figure out how many hours a beach lover and writer can resist the beach as she toils away at her writing.

          
          Okay, back to book blurb stuff.
     

          Include your blurb in a blog post. Include a link to this post. Also, link your post to Mr. Linky. Mr. Linky is easy. If you've never done it, you'll be impressed with how simple he is. And then, check out the other blurb(s). It's interesting to see the different directions writers take, given the same photo.

           Here's the book cover, along with my blurb:

Little Miss Dynamite

Little Imelda was a miniature keg of dynamite and she was a triple threat. She could sing, dance and act.

Mrs. Markohs tried to rein in her enthusiasm, but it was impossible. Whenever she saw an ad for a kids’ beauty pageant, this stage mom was frothing at the mouth to get Imelda’s application filled out.

Unfortunately, a monster was in the making. As Imelda racked up trophies and blue ribbons, she got more demanding.

“Use Evian water to make my koolaid, not that crap tap water!”

“Ugh. A brown paper sack? Put my lunch in a Birkin bag.”

“No ‘Super Cuts’ for me. Take me to get a $200 haircut.”

Even her mother can see Imelda is getting a bit unreasonable.

Will she be able to bring her daughter back to earth? Or, will Imelda continue with her monstrous and demanding lifestyle? (143 words)

And for those few who are considering playing along, here is the book cover for next week:

Livin' the Good Life

         Last night I watched the Michelle Obama special. She spoke of many things, but one topic she touched on several times resonated with me. She said, "I don't have any complaints." 

         After she spent time with military families, with their frequent moves and the obstacles and loss they deal with, she said, "I can't complain because of my little problems."

         When her daughters started to whine about the ever-present Secret Service agents, she and President Obama would shut them down immediately. Too much security and being too safe? Not a problem. 

        During this time of year, we might be tempted to complain about the craziness of the holiday, about all the last minute stuff we have to do. We might moan and groan about the cold weather. We might gripe about how our money isn't stretching as far as we'd like (to cover the expense of gift-giving).

       However, if we have family and friends and get-togethers to look forward to... we're lucky.

       If we have a warm house to come home to, if we have a bed with blankets and pillows to settle into at night... we're fortunate...

       ... because there are many people who don't have those things.

       Consider keeping some packaged food in your car during the next week or so, for the homeless. Some granola bars, muffins, beef jerky--whatever you'd like. Then, when you're stopped at a busy corner and there's a homeless person, you can at least help them out in a small way.

      On Thursday Radar and I will be at Half-Price Books in University City all day. He'll be begging for bellyrubs and pettings. I will be begging for donations to Love a Golden Rescue. Our group will be there on the 23rd and the 24th as well. Most of the time--except on the afternoon of Christmas Eve--it will be me wrapping the gifts, and on the morning of the 24th it will be a different dog. If you have the chance, go book shopping. I'll be glad to wrap up your purchase before you go... and whatever golden retriever is there, they'll gladly roll over for a belly rub...

       ... 'Cause goldens (who are lucky enough to be in good homes) are certainly livin' the good life...

From Turkey to America... With Love

     On Friday I went on a road-trip with three other Love a Golden volunteers. We drove to Chicago to get three golden retrievers who had flown in from Istanbul.

This is Truman, who's 7. He's already learned some English,
like "treat" and "good sit."

     It was an experience that made us all teary-eyed. If you click on the below link, my three followers (plus Skittles) can get a sneak-peek at a video that hasn't been shared with the rest of the world yet.

     It's only five minutes (and five seconds).

From Turkey to America... With Love

Turkey Dogs? Or TurkISH Dogs?

     In about two months a few Love a Golden volunteers are going to Chicago to meet some international canines... to meet some goldens from Turkey, so we can drive them back to St. Louis, so they can soon find forever homes.

     It's an expensive endeavor. The plane fare. The vet care (done in Istanbul). The sending back of the crates. The rental of a vehicle that will hold four people and three extra-large crates.

     But it should be a blast. And soooo rewarding.

     If you click on the link below, you can find out more about the project, along with the problem that's rampant in Turkey. Atlanta has gotten a bunch of goldens already (Lisa and Cathy--yahoo for Atlanta) and many other cities have already gotten some goldens as well, or are in the process of getting some. (I wrote the text for the Go Fund Me page, so I'm gonna keep this short.)

     Clicking on the link will also enable you to--if you so desire--donate to the cause. Every little bit helps.

     Go Fund Love a Golden Rescue Getting Dogs From Turkey


     And if you'd like to see a video about this project that has spread all across the country, check out this piece about the work Atlanta has done so far...

       And if you have a dog or cat, whisper to them, "You're so lucky to be in a loving home..." Because they are.

A Face Only a Mudder Would Love

Believe it or not, this is a golden retriever. Actually, he's quite a handsome golden, but with all the rain we've been getting, he becomes a mud puppy... every time he goes outside.

         Some people complain about their dogs not wanting to go outside when it's raining. Sometimes, I wish I had that problem. Once Radar's out for five minutes, he might as well be out for five hours, because after a few minutes, it would be impossible for him to get any muddier...

         This dog loves the water and loves the mud. 
    
         When he comes in from prancing and galloping in the raindrops and digging in the mud, he's covered from nose to tail with mud... and has a face only a mother would love.

        It makes me wonder if my WIP is the same. Will I be the only one who loves it (or likes it slightly)? Will I think it's a seamless, entertaining and moving story... but no one else will have the same opinion? Right now I'm up to 65,000 words, but have reached a crucial point in the storyline. Will I muck it up? Or, will I be able to successfully navigate around the obstacles so that--eventually--I'll be able to finish it?

       Only time will tell...

       What story do you have about a pet or a kid who did something--and only you were able to laugh about it?

Everything (Okay, SOME Things) I know, I Learned From a Puppy

        Our house is no longer a quiet, peaceful place. Four new paws patter and clatter across our floors. My husband and I already had two senior dogs, but a puppy changes things completely...


       Here are some things I've already learned in the very short time (24 hours) we've had Radar:

• It's a good thing to chew on bark. Radar--no matter how I try to divert him in a variety of ways--loves to get a piece of bark/a stick/a hunk of sod and chew on it. I pick him up and move him to another part of the yard, but he keeps returning to get his "prize" (or a different one--after all, there's an endless supply of things to slobber on in the backyard).

       If I had the same amount of persistence as that little dog, perhaps I'd be a best-selling novelist by now. (And if I chewed on bark instead of chocolate, I'd be skinny and successful!)


 

• Get rid of the bad stuff. How many times a day can a puppy pee and poo? Yesterday, the count was 1,237. I'm hoping for a few less times today.

       Of course, as writers, the "bad stuff" we have to get rid of is self-doubt. Negativity. That internal editor that cuts us down. Evacuate that sh**. Now.

• Naps (and breaks) are good things. After spending time tormenting the older, cranky dogs and checking the food bowls and floors for stray pieces of food and trying to tear up the rug and gnawing on the furniture and checking for stray bits of food and knocking over the trashcan...it's time to take a break. A short nap is all it takes to recharge and reenergize.

       When we're immersed in a writing project--whether it's a short piece or a novel-long manuscript--we have to step away. Relax. Do something different. And then get back to it...


        Now I'm off to play with the puppy ... (And if Blogger was cooperative, I would be including a couple of photos. Maybe it will get less persnickety later on.)








 

Never Say Never

Never say you would never fill a puppymill's pockets with money...if it means getting dogs out of the breeding-reproducing cycle--forever.

Never say you would never write a novel-length manuscript, and you would also never share your writing in an auditorium...you just might have a story that's begging to get out.

Never say you will never get another puppy...because you might encounter a litter of 11 Goldens, and they melt your heart.

We are still in the thinking/vacillating stage--I think--but by
the end of the month, we will have decided yes or no and if it's
a yes, we will pick out a rescued puppy to adopt...and then, heaven help us!

What was the last time you said "never" and then you had to eat your words?

Paddling Along

       Sometimes the waters push at you, and you must expend a great deal of effort to stay your course.

       Other times, you are able to coast along. The waters are tranquil--perhaps even shallow--and you can lie back and relax.

   
         Right now my "real" job is pushing and pulling at me. The waves are rough, leaving me exhausted most of the time. I have time to--sometimes--work on my writing, but it's only in small spurts. Lacking stamina, I am letting my "longish" project coast along. However, I am doing some mental writing. Small currents are meandering around in my brain. At some point, enough will accumulate to form a swell...

       The kayak pictured above belongs to "Doc" Savage. This summer he paddled 340 grueling miles along the Missouri River, from Kansas City to St. Charles. He paddled to raise money. He paddled for puppies. (Half of the money that was pledged went to Love a Golden Rescue. The other half went to a charity in his hometown.)

      If you'd like to read about this event, go to MR340. It was beyond tough...

      And now--what kind of "tough" things have you tackled lately? Sioux's nosey nature wants to know...

Looks Can Be Deceiving

Huey, a dapper, at-least-ten-years-old gentleman

       
          Yesterday I was at a meet and greet event at Wolfgang's new location on Washington Avenue in downtown St. Louis. We are trying to find Huey a forever home. (If you're interested in a handsome, well-behaved senior fellow, go to Love a Golden Rescue. He's a wonderful dog.)

          There were two other (younger) dogs, who spent most of the time playing with and barking at each other. They grabbed each other's neck in their mouths. The "snapped" at each other (their brilliant white teeth flashing, but no blood was drawn). They left trails of slobber on each other.

           One of the dogs was Mr. Wilson, a dog who has a golden heart but isn't a golden. He is gorgeous, he's young and he's en-er-get-ic. (The photos below don't do him justice.)

He's a Lab mix, is around 90 pounds but still needs to fill out a little.

          Often it looked like Mr. Wilson and his playmate were fighting. But looks can be deceiving.

          At times, we might be sitting at our computer, and it might appear as if we are just sitting there. Like we're doing nothing. After all, we're not tapping away at our keyboard, so jumping to that conclusion is logical.

          But perhaps we are mentally doing some re-writing or even writing. Maybe we are searching for the perfect word. It might even be that we are imagining a scene in our heads and breaking it down, so we can recreate it on paper.

         Yes, looks can be tricky, they can suck you into making the wrong assumption. And now, about those dogs. Are you in the mood to rescue either Mr. Wilson on Huey? (I'll make some fudge for any takers.) 
        

Huey, Hilarity and Hub-bub

        Huey has been with us since the beginning of September. Because he's a senior foster dog, we figured we'd have Huey until he died. After all, it takes special people to take on an elderly dog. You never know if you have weeks...or or months...or years...with an old dog. You just know that whatever time you do have, it will be "golden" time when it comes to that dog's heart. Animals know when they have a second chance at life, and are so grateful...

     It seems a family is interested in Huey. He may be leaving us soon. It will be bittersweet if that happens, because no other dog has gotten along so well with Foley as Huey. Although his picture does not show it, Huey has a lot of life left in him. He plays ball, will even jump up in the air for it, and does an excited series of left turns when it's meal time or when we come home. So, we may have to bid adieu to Huey soon...

     As far as hilarity, last night was our WWWP night. All of us were snorting last night (usually Beth is our prime snorter). Linda O'Connell shared an Alaska story with us; she is writing a series of memoir pieces that is sure to be a blockbuster when she's finished. They are poignant. They are gripping. They are snortingly hilarious. Last time, we critiqued a piece that had us all on the edge of our seats. Imagine a trip in the dark along an ice-covered mountainous area, and having to back up, each time sliding closer and closer to the edge (and the drop off). A can of Coca Cola saved the day. Intrigued? You'll have to wait until the manuscript is finished and published. The story we read last night was about a character who was bigger than life (in more ways than one), and yet Linda swears she was not exaggerating at all.

    Lynn Obermoeller shared a story about boogers. Yep, boogers. It was the kind of story that included a twist--you thought it was about one thing, but then it made a sharp left turn and left us all satisfied. Laughing. Thinking about past relationships. And connecting to our childhood. 

   And this is hot off the press--Lynn is going to read her Fifty Shades of Santa story at a local gelato place on Grand on December 17 in the evening. (It's at the corner of Grand and Wyoming.) The time has not been determined but more details will follow. Lynn was only one of 12 writers who were accepted into this anthology. Linda and I were gnashing our teeth because we did not make the cut All of the WWWPs congratulated her. 

    And what's with all the hub-bub? What's behind the flurry of press releases, and extra police patrols, and security gates being installed? Who is responsible for all this frenzied excitement? Val, of course. Val is supposedly coming to St. Louis on Saturday for a rare appearance. It's for a good cause. You bring a canned good (or two, or a box) and get a discount on your books. And you might get a glimpse of the elusive Val. If you would like more details, go here.     

    

Gone to the Dogs or Thirteen Naked Blondes

      Love a Golden Rescue, a group of all-volunteers who rescue unwanted Goldens and Golden mixes, has a gorgeous calendar for sale. The colors and the scenery are breathtaking.

      All 13 of the dogs featured were once throw-away dogs...dogs who were once in puppy mills as breeding machines, dogs who were abandoned, dogs who were unwanted. Now, they are well-loved members of their family.

      You may go to Love a Golden to order your calendar. Or, you may shave $2 off your purchase price, and send me a check (made out to Love a Golden Rescue) for $10, and I'll pop for the postage. Email me at sroslawski(at)yahoo(dot)com and I'll send you my snail mail address.

       The whole price goes directly to the dogs. Our photographer (who is one of Purina's main photographers) donated his services, the graphic artist who designed the calendar donated her services, and the printing was covered by the calendar dogs' owners. (They bid for a page in the calendar.)

      They would make a wonderful Christmas present (don't be afraid to order more than one) and is for such a marvelous cause...

      How many calendars would you like? 

Carry Yourself Like a Champion

      In less than a week, our dog Foley will be prancing around Purina's huge arena. It's the national Golden Retriever show, and when he makes his entrance, all eyes will be on him glazed over; they will be impressed aghast, because Foley does not look like the typical, show-quality Golden Retriever. So, even though it is only the "Rescue Parade," it seems our pooch will get a rosette to commemorate the occasion, and for one brief moment, he will run with the thoroughbred dogs.

      Once in a while, we've captured Foley looking like the typical Golden--head up, eyes alert, and posed in the perfect stance. Those times always involve a ball held out of the camera's view, because the only thing our dog loves is playing fetch. More than eating. More than taking a walk. Hurtling after a ball is his passion.

        As writers, we have to carry ourselves like dog show champs. We have to fluff and primp up our drafts, and prance from critique session to critique session, making sure our confidence is always intact. We have to keep whispering subliminal messages to ourselves, to ensure we don't get battered or beaten by critics and rejection.

       What kind of champion canine is your dog? What do they excel at?

or

       What kinds of things do you tell yourself to keep yourself on the writing path?
     

Dog Heaven

        There is a picture book by Cynthia Rylant called Dog Heaven. It outlines what heaven is like for our canine friends. Of course, fields to run in and treats to eat and attention...it's all in abundance in dog heaven...

        Annie was a heavenly dog. She never had an accident in the house. She never chewed up anything. She never begged for table scraps. She was here on earth just to love and be loved...

         She was high maintainence, however. Chronic ear infections had forced her original family to give her up when Annie was 8. A couple of deep ear cleanings---after many ear infections and vet visits---resulted in expensive ear drops and a life of yeast-free food. No pizza crusts. No store-bought dog biscuits. Her treat every night at 8:00 was half of a raw carrot. (And she knew exactly when 8:00 struck, although she'd start pleading her case around 7; it just got quite frantic the closer it got to treat time.)

         Soft, silky puppy fur, even when she was a 14-year old senior. Ears that were mostly deaf due to years of ear infections. Eyes that were cloudy and mostly-blind from cataracts, but she could still see people across the street, and then she leaped into action. A loud, deep bark that made her sound like she was a much bigger dog---paired with her front legs rising off the ground repeatedly in her earnestness--caused the neighbor kids to recoil and call her "a monster." Little did they know that she was literally all bark and no bite. Once you came into the house, you would get a paw---she loved to shake---or a rear end bumping into you (so you could be prodded into scratching her butt) or she'd shove her head under your dangling hand, as if to say, 'Pet me!  And since you have two hands, you can pet me in two different places!'

         Annie only failed in two ways in the six years we had her. One, she refused to chase a ball. We could never entice her to "retrieve."  We had to adopt Foley to get a dog that was obsessed with playing ball.

         And her final failure...She didn't go on her own. She needed a nudge. But that was just like her---always wanting to be around her people...

            Annie...I know you're chasing rabbits and squirrels through a green, grassy field right now and tonight at 8, you'll get as many carrots as you can eat!

        


       

Annie's Last Legs

       
           This was Annie in 2005. She was eight then. Having spent her whole life with a family, they finally surrendered: Annie had chronic ear infections, and they could no longer afford to keep her.

            When Love a Golden Rescue brought her with them when they did the home visit, they were sure Annie would not be a good fit in our house. After all, we had two cats and Annie was living on a (foster) farm, and relished chasing the barn cats.

            But when one of our cats sidled out during the visit, they didn't run, so Annie had no reason to chase. And since she had earlier won our hearts by rolling on her back begging for a bellyrub when we saw her at Petco, we adopted her.

            Annie has never been the typical dog. If you throw a ball, she stares at you with an expression that says, 'I'm sure you want that ball there for a reason, since you were the one who threw it.'  She is not a typical Golden, as she barks (most don't) and doesn't like other dogs (most do).  When it's breakfast or dinner time, you have to say several time, "Eat, Annie...Go on, eat!" before she will delicately begin consuming her food.

            Now Annie is 14. She has lost interest in most food (in the past week) and now, all food. She won't get up and go outside, and yet she has no accidents, either. 

            On Saturday morning we have an appointment with our vet. We waited too long with our last dog, which meant her end was most likely painful. We don't want to make the same mistake with Annie...  

            

           

A Magical Pig

          A couple of weeks ago, Love a Golden Rescue worked an event at Purina Farms about an hour outside of St. Louis.  As I was working the booth---it was then late in the day---I spied someone carrying a large metal pig.

         Racing over to them, I discovered where they had purchased it.  Telling my boothmates that I would be back, I grabbed my purse and headed toward The Pigman. (Paul Zindel--where are you when I need you?)

         Did I need a pig?
         Do I collect pigs?
         Would this make a great gift for someone I knew?

         No, no and no.  But still my feet propelled me toward the booth with the pigs.

photo by Laughing Squid

         There was only one large pig left. Like the other one, it had wings attached. Blue body. Orange feet. Red ears. Yellow wings. And rusty scratches and weld-marks all over, adding to the "character" of the pig.

        I cannot explain it, but that pig spoke to me. And to make my desire even more inexplicable, our house is tiny.  We have two small bedrooms, one bathroom, (I would kill for a second bathroom!) a kitchen too small to eat in, and our "greatroom."  I laughingly call it that because it is definitely not huge, but serves as our livingroom/familyroom/diningroom (with TV trays)/recreation room (wrestling with the dogs for a spot on the couch)/entertainment room (that's where the TV is).

        And I told the welder-artist that: it doesn't "go" with any of our "decor," I don't really have room for it, but it spoke to me. And the artist--wisely--did not argue with my crazy impulse.

         The pig hid in my car for several days, until I could bring it into the house, cloaked in darkness, along with my coat thrown over it, so I could find a spot for it before my husband caught onto another piece of junk being in the house.  (He sees a thrift store and floors it, while I attempt to catch a glimpse of the goodies I'm missing as we fly by at 93 mph.)

         There are many things that will probably only happen when pigs fly.  Getting back down to 150 pounds.  Finding some technology that will hoist up my breasts so they hover above the two-feet-off-the-ground mark.  Being able to tear Viggo Mortensen/Johnny Depp/Mark Harmon/Benecio Del Toro away from any skanky girlfriend/wife they have settled for.   Another "when pigs fly" accomplishment: getting a book published...

         Three days after I bought the pig, I heard from Louella Turner of High Hill Press.  She says her publishing company might be interested in a picture book manuscript of mine.

          Is this possible success due to years of writing and revising and response groups?  Is this glimmer of hope the result of a modicum of writing talent?  Is this dream coming true due to hard work and persistence?

        Or is it the work of the Magic Pig? 

         My money is on the pig...

My Magic Pig

Mine!  All mine!  If you want to rent him,
please contact me for the details.

If you want to buy your own pig, I don't know if John Everett has the materials in stock to create another one, but you can contact him at irondecornmore@yahoo.com.  His website is http://www.irondecornmore.com/.  He's located in Grafton, Illinois, not too far outside of St. Louis, Missouri.  His cell phone is 314-607-0407.

Cruising for Pumpkin Cheesecake

        (This title came from The Husband. Since it is his dastardly dog that did the deed, and I'm giving him credit for claim to the canine, I am also giving him credit for the title.)

       Picture the scene:  two middle-aged women (middle-aged if they are going to live to be 100 or 120 years old).  Both redheads (from the same bottles).  Both a little a lot ditzy. Both responsible for wrapping gifts at a St. Louis Barnes and Noble for Love a Golden.  To round out the team is Foley.  He's embodies what I like in men--he's handsome, blonde, and not too bright. (Actually, my glances rarely stray to blonde men, but since I don't have a chocolate or black lab, I have to work with what I have...Just follow along.)

Foley...Photos of Cindy and Sioux are not available, due to
their wish to remain anonymous

      One is retired teacher. The other is still teaching, so they get excited about simple things.  Tape that comes off easily from the tape dispenser. Pens that write nicely.  Anything free.

      At some point The Husband comes with two tall chocolate-coffee drinks in his hands, along with two servings of pumpkin cheesecake.  Cindy and Sioux squeal.  Chocolate and sugar and caffeine and pumpkin (which is usually just relegated to Thanksgiving!).  And it's free (for them).  More shrieking and shivering with anticipation.

     A couple of bites, a couple of slurps, and then someone ambles over to the table with some books to wrap.  Sioux put her plate on her chair--since she had to stand to wrap--and Cindy put hers on a chair way off to the side as they busily worked.

     When the books were wrapped, Sioux began to sit down.  Since The Husband was still there, he shouted out, "Don't sit down," but it was too late.  Sioux's rear end had made contact with the cheesecake.  It was not completely flattened, but probably (since there were witnesses) past the point of being edible. 

     Off Sioux went to the bathroom to wipe the whipped cream off her butt.  (She also took a moment to contemplate:  Would it be so improper to eat the cheesecake?  After all, some of that rear end came from eating cheesecake...It would be like a brother meeting a long-lost sister.  And how dirty could her rear end be?  No one ever thought dirty thoughts when gazing at her flat, wide rear end...)

     Since falls and trips and drips and spills are such an integral part of Sioux's life, this was not life-shattering.  And thankfully, The Husband had fed Foley the "ruined" cheesecake during the clean-up in the toilet, so Sioux did not have to face the dilemma of the century...

     A few more book wrappings later, The Husband (still there, perhaps waiting for the encore performance, albeit sans cheesecake) noticed that Foley had whipped cream on  the top of this head.  And Cindy noticed that her dessert plate was completely empty.  And all three noticed that Foley looked quite...content.

photo by scrap sister
Could Foley have been cruising the internet, spied this photo, and developed an
overwhelming desire to taste whipped cream? 

     Now the Cheesecake Factory is screaming out their new endorser:  Foley.  He helped wrap gifts the next day as well but sadly, there was no more pumpkin cheesecake for him.

Appearances Are Deceptive...Or Are They?

         Yesterday, for most of the day, I was wrapping gifts at Barnes and Noble.  It is one of Love a Golden Rescue's top fundraisers each year; we are at several area bookstores during the holiday, and always have a great time talking to people.

       There was a couple I recognized; when I walked past the cafe to use the restroom, there they were.  For several years now, I have seen them when I wrap up books.

        I don't know what the attraction is. Do they come in to read the magazines for free?  Do they come in because it's a warm place in the winter? I didn't look too closely, but I assume the male half of the couple was drinking coffee or tea in the cafe.  All I saw the female doing was talk. Loudly.

photo by weirddollz

         To describe their clothing choices or their appearance would not do them justice.  They both  have the look, however. You can tell, just by a quick glance, that they are a bit "off."  (He has the oddest-looking, longish wig...at least I am praying it is a wig.)

        Mentally ill?  On the brink of homelessness?  Just a bit mentally retarded?  I wasn't sure.

         As they were heading out the door, they stopped at my table.  She wanted to go home.  "I'm feeling a bit peckish," she said.

        Geeze Louise!  I've never heard anyone use that term.  It's from another century; I've seen it in ancient books, but uttered from a mouth in 2010?  How weird!

       She then playfully grabbed the donation box--full of dollar bills---and said, "Thanks for the donation!"  Catching my eye, she put it down, and they walked out the door.

       Strange!

A Whooping-It-Up Tuesday and Wednesday

          Today my teammate and I spent the day doing a science experiment with our 3rd graders (homemade cranberry sauce), and we also began a huge pot of pumpkin soup.  (The secret to driving nine-year olds to salivation over the prospect of eating pumpkin soup?  Sautee a bunch of onions and add them into the soup.  It will create an aroma that is indescribable!)

         Tomorrow we will have a feast---a chicken casserole, green beans, cranberry sauce, a sweet potato casserole, the soup, and corn muffins.

         But tomorrow night is when the whooping it up begins...

         My mid-quarter progress reports have just been turned in.  The papers have not had a chance to form their usual overwhelming piles yet.  It's going to be a wild night of frivolity, even to the extent of extending into the next day. 

          Knitting...Watching two of my favorite TV shows...Hopefully finishing the book I've been reading and then falling asleep on the couch in a puddle of drool...Heaven!

         Wednesday I am off (my husband has to work!) so I might take a mid-day nap, a kind of daytime slumber party with the dogs.  After all, that's what they do all day!

Annie (on the left) and Foley---both rescued from Love a Golden Rescue

          If I am too busy getting a short story ready, or my knitting needles are clacking against each other at such a furious pace that I am prevented from posting in the next couple of days, have a great holiday.  Gather 'round a table and tell everyone what you are thankful for. You never know when it may slip between your fingers...

Foley: A Guest Blogger

             My mom is swamped this weekend.  She is working on finishing report cards, and today, she has a board meeting for Love a Golden. (Love a Golden is the dog rescue group that saved me.  Before I was rescued, I was running the fields, I had to find my own food, and I was scared to death of storms but I had nowhere to feel safe---I spent all my days and nights outside.)

             Since Mom is so busy, she asked me if I would write a post today.  (It's slow going, because my paws are so big, so sometimes they hit several keys at once, and I have to erase and begin again.)  My day is usually spent napping on the couch in between sessions of playing fetch, so I figured, I have the time...

This is a photo of me as I contemplate where I will take my next nap...
In the hall?  On the futon? By the door?  So many decisions...

                 I admit, I have an easy life.  I get fed two meals every day and even though I eat the same thing every day, I don't complain.  It's pretty tasty stuff!  During the sweltering summer months, I suck up the air conditioning right along with Annie, the senior citizen I live with, and my mom and dad. When the snow piles up, no worries.  I can go outside and play in the drifts if I choose, but otherwise, I curl up on the couch where it's cozy and warm.



This is Annie. (I figured I might as well include a picture of her,
since she was nice enough--two years ago---to agree and share her home with me.)
Her eyes are really cloudy.  Mom and Dad say that she has something that sounds like "cadillacs..."

                 There's only one bad thing about living here:  the squirrels are quite wily.  They scamper around the yard in the early morning, and when they hear the back door open, they race for the trees and the fence. As fast as I run, I can never catch one.  Before I was rescued, I had to catch squirrels and rabbits for my meals.  It's been a long time since I've had a snack with four legs...



                                       

This is a picture of Love a Golden's booth at a dog rescue event.  Humans bake dog treats and spend their free time selling things so there is money to rescue more dogs.  Look them up at http://www.loveagolden.com/. (That's our president. She doesn't get any money for all the work she does, just like all the other unpaid "workers." I give them a rating of "four paws out of four.")

               
             I only do one thing that makes my family look at me in mean ways.  I love to chew. Sofa pillows. Shoes. (Only my mom's shoes. My dad says his are too stinky, too smelly to even tempt a dog!) Any paper within my reach.  Bags of bread. (I not only eat the bread, but I tear and rip the plastic wrapper until bits of it are strewn all over the floor.)  Now the house looks a little different.  All the pillows are put away, the bedroom doors are closed while us two dogs are alone during the day, and Mom does a final "security check" before she leaves in the morning. Shoes? Put away, check. Bread on top of the microwave or way back up against the wall on the table? Check.  Doors closed so they "click" shut? Check.  Any mail or papers or magazines or books set up out of reach? Check.

               I know what you're going to say.  I've tried.  I've tried to blame Annie on the mischief I make. (Hey, before you look aghast, she's deaf, so she wouldn't be able to hear Mom and Dad admonish her and she's also forgetful, so her shame would pass in an instant...)  The two-leggers are not buying my scam. They know that nothing ever got chewed up before I came along, so I can never escape the well-deserved reputation of being the Chewinator.

This is one of my "pin up" photos.  The girl dogs love me in this tantalizing pose,
but I have no interest in them.  (The vet made sure of that when I got rescued.)
At my side is one of my two favorite things. This one is "red ball." My other
favorite thing is "purple ball." I used to also have "disgusto ball" but my dad threw it too hard,
and it went into the neighbor's yard and since it looks like a jungle back there, no more "disgusto ball..."

                I suppose this is a long enough post. I hope my mom is happy with it.  She had this idea when one of her blogging friends Lisa Ricard Claro had her two grand-cats write a post!  Yuck! Cats!  They make me even more crazy than squirrels!