Remember Me Thursday

Yes, I know it's Friday.

But this message is important enough not to be picky about this.

I admit, I plum missed it myself until I was reminded by a Cocker Spaniel and a Poodle (imagine!) of this important day for those of us who have not yet found a forever home.

Princess Rosy and Annie (aforementioned blog-buddies at http://www.bearhugsforever.com ) are a great source of amusement and wonder for me and I go there often to see how the other half lives (by 'other half' I mean these two funny, obviously spoiled, but apparently very well behaved dogs).

Anyway, these two entertaining canines let everyone know not to forget those waiting in shelters all over the country. We were also supposed to light a real candle, but my mummy said 'no.' (I guess, ever since I stuck my tail into the flame, those things are out around here.)

I guess, I'll be safe with a virtual candle though.

Please, before you buy,check out your shelter;

Your sweet buddy may be waiting for you.

A Courageous Exploration of Our World

Cool Creatures, Hot Planet -

Exploring the Seven Continents

by Marty Essen

This award-winning book is a heart-felt, humorous account of Marty and Deb Essen's exploration of our natural world. And when I say world, I mean every single continent.

Here is my Review:
(Five Stars - what else!)

A delightful, extremely well-written and laid-out romp through the continents. It is evident that the author loves and respects all creatures with maybe two exceptions: His house cat and Mildred - the traveler from hell. Maybe three, if you count George W. Bush.

I expected slithery, slimy, crawly things - and got them - but in a way that was not only educational but fun and actually page-turning. Marty Essen not only looked for venomous snakes (his passion) but imagined himself (in Never-Cry-Wolf-fashion) running with the caribou way up north in the Klondike.

To boot, his intrepid, water-loving wife was game for anything. Though I had some doubts when I read that "she ran into the cold river, wallowed in the mud until her backside was all black." Oh, wait! I must have been distracted. Luckily, I realized that Kate was the dog! There are some tender moments with Annie (also a dog), as well as Deb (that's the wife).

A wonderful reading experience. Don't let the high page-count scare you off. Traipsing through the thicket of seven continents does take time, and patience, and love for our planet; as well as courage.

Let's hope Marty and his intrepid wife Deb stayed at a safe distance for this photo op;

there's nothing quite so exciting as annoying a hippo (I've been told).

As you can see, Marty is no armchair adventurer.

He goes where the action is - and go he does;

from one continent to the next -- as so beautifully

told in this multi-award winning book.

Check out Marty's exciting blog:

http://marty-essen.com/

* * *

To sum it up, it was Marty’s love for our world that made his book one of my favorites.

Check it out on Amazon - it might become one of your favorites as well.
Cool-Creatures-Hot-Planet

* * *

Marty has a new book coming out.

Endangered Edens is already on pre-order at Amazon - Marty Essen - Author Page

You might also see the Cover Reveal and Description (with some great photographs)

on my other blog: http://devilwinds.blogspot.com/

Things that Keep you from Writing

The first, of course, is a handy excuse; anything will do.
The second could be "I'm hungry. I need to go to the store for ice cream."
The third, .... you get the point. We are writers.
Writers are inventive, especially when it comes to things that keep us from writing.

Not wanting to be 'banal,' I came up with a different one.
Going out on my deck, I idly looked at an old bird house; there was some leaf matter sticking out.

Hm, I wonder... I tapped a fingernail on the roof.

"Hey, lady, what'd you do that for! I was sleeping."

A few dried "cranberries-on-a-stick"

and a sliced juicy grape later,

we were friends.

I let the little Flying Squirrel go back to sleep.

Tomorrow, I'll try some almonds.

Tomorrow, I'll keep writing.

Careful What You Write About

… especially, if it’s a snake!

     I just finished Book 4 of the Legends of the Winged Scarab and, to clear my head and relieve my aching back from spending my life in front of the computer, I went out into the overgrown yard to cut down the wilting foliage of the spring bulbs. (Far from relieving my aching back, of course, it added a couple more spasms.)

     What does this have to do with The Crystal Curse? Well, in it I talk about the legend of El-Hanash, the Crystal Snake.

And Since you Ask - Here it is:

Read an excerpt here: http://devilwinds.blogspot.com/

     Anyway, El-Hanash wasn’t particularly on my mind when I ducked under my deck to put the buckets with the cut foliage aside until I could take them to the dump.

     The sky was getting dark with another storm threatening, so the space was quite dim even early in the morning. Still, the funny branch lying on my raked pea-gravel bothered me (don’t be a neat-nick if you do not have 20/20 vision anymore).

     Yup. There it was: El-Hanash!

     I dropped my buckets in a hasty retreat and went into the house to Google the pattern I had noticed on the snake’s body.

     Yup, yup! It was a lovely Copperhead, one of the “six most venomous snakes of Arkansas.”

     I think I will let things go natural for a while because:

"No one escapes the crushing coils

of El-Hanash, the Crystal Snake.
For such is The Crystal Curse."

The Author and The Beaver

In my very first blog article, at the beginning of 2013, I posted a love letter to a dog named Chips.

It was Marion Zola's best-selling book:

Romancing the Dog: 

The Struggle To Make A Pound Dog Happy in Beverly Hills

http://www.amazon.com/Romancing-Dog-Struggle-Pound-Beverly-ebook/dp/B0094A14LG

(It's the only book I have come across lately with all five-star reviews)

Of course, Chips is not a beaver. But Marion is very active in all kinds of animal rescues and the survival of the American Beaver is something near and dear to her. 

Today, Marion shares her thoughts on 

the plight of the American Beaver with us:

"For those who missed the wonderful Nature episode on beavers, I'm here to tell you that they're simply fabulous creatures.  Unfortunately, for them and those that are aware of their wonderful virtues, their fur was coveted and they were hunted within an inch of their existence for about two hundred years.  From approximately the 1650s to the 1840s, beaver hats and other products were in style and quite popular.  Then, as silk became cheaper to make garments out of and other furs gained popularity,  beaver pelts were not as attractive.  Fortunately, for us and the beaver, their populations once again began to flourish. Thankfully, many people now realize how valuable these creatures are to have around.        

They are the original dam builders from whom mankind no doubt got the notion that we could build dams too.  Beavers are extraordinary engineers, working long hours on bringing the needed mud, stones and wood to their structures.  As their main food is the bark from trees, they eat the bark on the wood they use for building as well.  Their teeth are incredibly hard so that they can chew through wood with little effort.  

Although the beavers build in order to provide themselves ponds as protection against predators and provide food in the winter, their structures can benefit many animal species and people as well.  Their structures actually change and benefit the ecosystems.  Though many people have removed beavers from places they didn't want them, dam building can restore wetlands, provide flood control, improve biodiversity and cleaning of the water.  Pesticides are removed during the building process and silt is retained.   This silt collection is particularly prized by farmers because it creates a pond bottom rich in all kinds of nutrients.

One Ambitious Beaver

Almost half of the endangered species rely on wetlands that the beavers help restore. Additionally, the dams and ponds they create can provide nurseries for salmon and trout.  Their underwater structures are amazingly complex, with several entrances.  Believe it or not, they teach their young to exit the sleeping and eating quarters in order to relieve themselves, thereby keeping their houses clean.  Beavers are also generous and good- natured beyond belief.  If another species like muskrats or frogs come in their structures during the winter to keep warm, they welcome them and share their lodging and whatever food they have.  Wood with the bark removed is, however, not everyone's favorite meal. 

Beavers are also very affectionate and family oriented creatures.

A wonderful woman who rehabilitates orphaned beavers showed how she had to be careful not to let the beaver get too attached to her, as she wanted to return it to the wild.  They touch noses as one sign of affection, which the woman did with her charge.  She had to bring her wood and hope that she'd learn to eat it.  The beaver did learn this.  The woman also went into the water with her, though the woman was on a kind of surfboard.  The little beaver paddled alongside her, not letting her get too far away.  One day, the young one did swim off and join her own kind.  Eventually, the woman, who kept looking for her, saw her return when she was grown with her own baby.  

Thank goodness there are wonderful people who do try to repair the damage to animals that so many others have done.  I came away from this program really respecting this creature, about whom I knew next to nothing.  During this holiday season, let's remember that we have more choice than any other species on earth and don't need to take the fur away from any other critter to stay warm.  Lucky us!"

* * *

Thank you, Marion, for taking time out of your very busy life to write this article for us. We can never be reminded often enough that all animals must be given their rightful place in our world; or surely we will perish with them.

Please, also check out Marion's blog: www.romancingthedog.com

Review of Theodore, Musings of a Small Dog

What a Funny Face!

My Review of Theodore, Musings of a Small Dog 

by

Theodore Johnson (yes, himself)

***** (5 out of 5 stars)

With that face, he should be in pictures. And he is, since ‘Theodore, Musings of a Small Dog’ is a picture book. While ‘Theodore’ might be a big name for a small dog, with his irresistible funny face and occasional wise thoughts, it fits. When he tells us, “It is important to choose one’s words carefully before sending them out to the world. They are not as easily retrieved as tennis balls,” it gives cause for reflection.

This is not one of those perfect, glossy, professionally posed coffee table books. Instead, it feels like an impromptu photographic love letter from an enchanting little imp to his good life (without having to admit it). It’s one of those books you want to look through at least once a day; it’ll lower your blood pressure and make you smile.

And the most wonderful thing about little Theodore is that a portion of the proceeds from his book goes to an animal rescue organization.

http://www.amazon.com/Theodore-Musings-Small-Dog-Johnson-ebook/dp/B00N3YPGJA

PS: I note that Amazon lists this book as having 27 pages; not so. I actually counted over 60 on my reading device. So, don't let that deter you; it's a darling little book to soothe the soul.

Celebrating Oktoberfest

This is part of a "Celebration Blog-Hop"

Today, we are celebrating Oktoberfest in our little town.
Of course, it's nothing like "back home," when the beer flowed, the songs reverberated through the square, and the polizei was busy collecting car keys from people too 'happy' to drive. (It was a small village and everybody knew or was related to each other - it also wasn't far to walk - or toddle - home).

Here, in Arkansas, it's quite different. While there is a valiant
effort with hot dogs and pretzels, there is NO BEER. You see,
I live in one of the dry counties.

Instead, we have a cookie sale that benefits our little
Animal Shelter. Something to celebrate, after all.

And now, I have to go collect some kittens from the shelter
to take to the square where they'll romp in a nice big cage.
Hopefully, there will be somebody to adopt the sweet little critters.

The Old Seal

Fat-sleeked bodies glisten, fins thrash blackening the water until only the old bull is left on his solitary rock; a deposed king without subjects.

The seals had stayed on this island until the brief summer day relieved the arctic night from its long guard. Here, they had fished the bays without fear of being pierced by storm-driven floes. But on this day, they are to return to the far North to bear the offspring of their new ruler.

The old seal watches until they disappear. For uncounted seasons, he had led his herd unchallenged, reining in the impatient, encouraging the weak, beckoning the disheartened.

He attempts to heave his aching bulk toward the water. His wounds are deep and he longs for the icy spray to numb his pain.

Not since his early years had he been defeated as the herd’s leader. The younger bulls had never before attempted to challenge him. Secretly, patiently, they had waited for them to grow strong; and for him to grow old, and nearsighted, and weak. They attacked in the late morning while the females were sunning. His indignant, angry bellows had echoed over the island, then turned into grunts coarsened by blinding pain. One after the other, the cows had left his side to seek favor with the new ruler who impregnated the still wintry air with heady barks of victory.

A streaming mass of raw burning wounds, the old seal can no longer support himself on his frayed fins. Flat on his fat-rippled belly, he wriggles toward the shore, leaving a trail of darkening blood. He must reach the water before nightfall before frost will sink its murderous teeth into his exposed flesh. Red fog shrouds his sight as he heaves himself toward a drop of jutting rock that lies between him and the water. Over the millennia of their predestined journeys the tumbling herds had chiseled smooth slides toward the ocean. The old seal catches a glimpse of white froth and leaps with habitual faith and his remaining strength toward the savaging edge as razor gravel tears through him. Unconsciousness cloaks his senses.  The incoming tide halted his fall.

Crystals of white spray shudder on his pelt. The faint throb of life still pulses through the old seal’s heart. As the next wave crashes over him it carries him into the sea; he is home.

* * *

(Excerpt from Moments of the Heart)

"In Moments of the Heart, you are in for a strange and wonderful trip, a most interesting read. Many of the individual pieces are quite unique. This is a writer of wide range and strength. Recommended."
Jim Bennett, KBR Review Team member.

My Heart Aches

Help Us, Please...

After having pompously announced that “I am through once and for all. I am going to be a writer,” I abdicated from all my volunteer duties at our little Animal Shelter. It so happened that a bunch of us long-time volunteers and (hands-on shoveling, washing, walking, scrubbing) board members left the same time a couple of years ago when a new and very clueless president with a Napoleon complex came into power. We turned things over to the new crowd (who promptly fired the fiercely dedicated manager, and never asked any of us for advice). Still, the Shelter was left in tip-top shape. And because of the generosity of our donors (and my annual membership drives, I might add, as well as the careful management of our resources), there was a nice nest-egg to draw on for the future. Nobody now wrote my weekly Paws Report anymore to make people aware of the animals on hand and what we needed in the way of blankets, etc. But, I was out of it and needed to keep my mouth shut. Still, the “ex-crowd” would meet for lunch and in a small town like this, we naturally got the latest (and often sadest) scoop of what was going on.

Even Pasha Cried

Last Monday, I received an urgent call from one of our 87-year old previous donors, Jeanne, who was on a single-handed warpath to change things (bless her heart). The very young (and grossly overworked) new girl now managing the shelter had called in sick. There was only one other person to “do the dog runs.” Being the former “cat lady,” I offered to clean the cat cages, having introduced myself as Ida.

“Have you ever done this?”

“A little,” I grinned.

“Have you been here before?” She peered at me somewhat suspiciously.

“A few times,” I shrugged. When I was shown how I should “scoop the poop,” I naturally went right to town the way I was used to doing it. Pretty soon, this shelter worker (a wonderful and caring gal who had tears in her eyes when she told me about the mess everywhere) flat-out stated, “You aren’t Ida. You’re the woman who wrote the book. We were told to read it.” So much for trying to slide in under the radar.

Sweet Jeanne, who came in too, and I worked for the next three hours to bring some semblance of cleanliness (and breathing air) into the place while the shelter worker sloshed out the dog pens. Believe me, after a prolific night of doggie output, this must surely be one of the least enviable jobs ever!

One of the major problems was that our previous “prep room” had been made into a cat motel, shutting off access to the outside dog cages. Cute. They had also ripped out the working table, the bath tub with warm/cold water, the triple-deep stainless steel tubs to wash/rinse food dishes and various “icky stuff.” There was no place for me to put down a cat to comb/deflea it on a towel and rinse her off if necessary, nor even to wash the litter boxes. GRRRRRR….I just about platzed with frustration.

Went in the following Wednesday for another three hours of gore and grime. What am I doing? I had sworn I was not going to get involved again. Haunted me all weekend to the point of not being able to concentrate on anything else other than yard work. An aching back often helps to put things into perspective.

While the present board is trying to do its best, none of them have a clue about the daily grind it takes to keep a shelter clean and running. I’d just love to get them to the Shelter at eight in the morning and I could guarantee them that they’d not only get a reality check, but lose a few pounds in the process. Because – for sure – they’d not be eating for a couple of days after walking down the dog pens. It’s a chocolate factory out there – except it ain’t Hershey’s!

Anyone Out There for Us?

A little moral blackmail can go a long way to make one I feel guilty that now one has become part of the problem by insisting, “Been there, done that.”

Maybe I need to move. As it happens, my house is up for sale…but I was just going to take it easy in a nearby condo, leaving me lots of time to write. How cowardly would it be for me to plot a move to Tahiti, or Costa Rica?

My heart aches.

Celebrating Afterglow

Today - for our blog-hop - I am celebrating an afterglow. No, I haven’t switched from Historical Fiction to Erotica (something perhaps to be considered). But traditionally once a runner-up or someone having been shortlisted for an award is out of the finals race, he or she sinks back into oblivion.

Not so with the founder and organizer of the 2014 Indie Award for best historical fiction. Helen Hollick was the driving force for the Historical Novel Society’s first nod toward self-published authors. And what an awesome array it was http://ofhistoryandkings.blogspot.co.uk/p/hns.html.

FYI, the deserving winner was Virginia Cox’s “The Subtlest Soul.”

To keep our feathers puffed up for a while, Helen’s colleague Charlie Farrow – one of the mainstays of organizing the HNS Conference - has put together a super (and unique) “banner/logo” for us Shortlisters to display and gloat about.

KHAMSIN, The Devil Wind of The Nile

Thanks, Helen and Charlie. I like and appreciate it.

Check out Helen’s interesting blog as well as her books: www.ofhistoryandkings.blogspot.com