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 

Helen Hollick - A Lady with Tuxedos and Hats

Helen Hollick 

is the 

Author of the rollicking

Sea Witch Voyages

(and many other novels too numerous to picture here).

Helen favors black and white only when it comes to her animals.

Here we have her black-and-white tuxedo-clad pets.

Kitty Mab 

and Labrador/Collie Baz

And then, there is Sybil who eschews a traditional tux in favor of a more free-style design.

Confidentially, I have been told there are more animals on the loose around the barnyard, including four horses, several chickens, and ducks.

 And let's not forget the white goose.

When it comes to her novels, however, Helen traverses easily through the colors of the rainbow.

Her kings and queens (British, of course), pirates, damsels, and old ships sail the high seas in the 18^th Century when a lady was a lady (at least, in public) and a boy became a man quickly, or died trying.

Check out her many interesting novels:

Amazon US: http://www.amazon.com/Helen-Hollick/e/B000APLJJQ

Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Helen-Hollick/e/B000APLJJQ

No one evokes the old saying “Give a busy person a task and it will be done” more than Helen. Not only a prolific author, she is also the Managing Editor of the Historical Novel Society’s Indie Reviews: 
http://historicalnovelsociety.org/

As such, she has become a great champion of the Indie. Throughout the year, she accepts submissions, collates them, and sends them out to be reviewed by her UK team. In the US, her colleague Steve Donoghue does the same.  (I was fortunate enough to have my KHAMSIN not only reviewed by him, but chosen as his Editor’s Choice for that month)
http://tinyurl.com/l5zehvx

This year, Helen brought to life and organized the judging of the First Indie Award at the Society’s London Conference. It was something she had to fight for as the conference organizers wanted to stick with trad-published books.

It takes really dedicated people to choose, read, and select the best from among hundreds of the outstanding offerings. Eight novels wound up on the short list. From those, four finalists were chosen. (Khamsin was NOT among those, although it did make the original shortlist of eight out of quite a few books, I was consoled. Still, it is something I am proud of and thankful for.)

Did Helen swipe us four aside like pesky has-beens? Certainly not. On the contrary. She graciously featured each of us among the four finalists on her blog. This will give especially the four of us who didn’t make it into the finals added exposure (being somewhat on the prissy side, that’s one type I don’t blush about one bit).

I am not just happy to feature another interesting novelist, animal lover (and let’s not forget fearless wearer of great hats), but this is my way of a much too small Thank You to a tireless champion of the Indie Author.

Thank you, Helen, as well as your team members of intrepid reviewers.

We Indies appreciate you all

Be sure to read more about Helen and her books on her website and connect with her through her social sites:

Website: www.helenhollick.net
Main Blog: www.ofhistoryandkings.blogspot.com
Leaning on the Gate – Devon Diary: www.leaningonthegate.blogspot.co.uk
Facebook: www.facebook.com/HelenHollickAuthor
Twitter: @HelenHollick
Newsletter : www.h2unews.blogspot.co.uk

Pasha - A Name by any other Cat

Sometimes - okay, regularly - I browse the Internet for cat pictures/videos. Why? Boredom (unlikely), Inspiration (it helps to get the imagination flowing), and simply Love for that mysterious, mischievous, oft-maligned creature, The Cat.




When I adopted "Cody" from the shelter, I wanted to bestow upon him a name to reflect his regal bearing. PASHA seemed to fit and he subsequently made good use of it, demanding deference and adoration. I was quite proud of myself to come up with it, too.

Lo and behold, just the other day, among my browsing, not only did I come across another cat named Pasha, but a Red-and-White Maine Coon: 
http://cats.about.com/od/breedpictures/ig/MaineCoonPictureGallery/MaineCoonCatPasha.htm
Check it out; there are some wonderful scenes of the breed, lounging, sleeping, stretching--you get the picture.

I guess, my name for my "best cat ever" wasn't so far-fetched after all.

Celebrating Being a Lady (again)

After all the yard work in the hot weather, or being cooped up in the house writing, blogging, tweeting -- all that nonsense we call being productive, I wanted to feel like a lady again.


So, I celebrated ... went shoe-shopping in 'the big town.' 

I tell you, there isn't anything else (well, almost nothing else) that will lift a gal's spirit higher than a beautiful pair of Italian pumps, wearing pearls and drinking Champagne.

Anyway, I love my new shoes. And so does Pasha. So there!

A Celebration with Author Brian Braden

TEARS OF THE DEAD,

the exciting  sequel to BLACK SEA GODS,

by Brian Braden,

debuts August 8th

Brian Braden is hosting a Facebook debut party, with dozens of authors and several businesses giving away over 100 e-books, paperbacks and audio books. Joining the event gives you a chance to win.

The winning starts August 7th 

and continues through August 9th.

I will be giving away a print copy of SIROCCO, Storm over Land and Sea, 

Book 2 of the Legends of the Winged Scarab (US/Canada/UK only).

For Details see my other blog: http://devilwinds.blogspot.com/