Guest Friday – Sarah Anderson

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Hi all!  Welcome to Guest Friday!  Today we are lucky to have the lovely and talented Sarah Anderson don her stilettos and chat with us for a while.  She was nice enough to subject herself to an interview with yours truly! Her new book, A Man of Privilege, hits shelves next Tuesday.  Trust me when I say, after getting to know Sarah, you aren’t going to want to miss it!

 

(Joelle) Why did you get into
writing?  (AKA – what the heck were you
thinking?)
Sarah – I love this question, because it implies there was actual
‘thought’ involved. I had always wanted to be an author, but had never had any
idea how to do it and hadn’t even thought about it for some years. Then, when
my son was 2 ½ and my Gram was 92 ½ we took a weekend trip. Everyone was worn
out on the way home, and I desperately wanted both of them to sleep the whole
way home. I didn’t even turn on the radio. But I had to do something to keep
from falling asleep, so I let my imagination run wild and saw this scene of two
people fighting in the rain and then kissing. The whole thing intrigued me—who
were they, why were they fighting, and what was up with that kiss? This sort of
thing had happened before—I’ve been accused of having an overactive
imagination—but this time, instead of the scene slipping off into the void of my
faulty  short-term memory, those people
stayed with me. I finally had to write down what they were saying just to get
them out of my head!
What was one of the
most surprising things you learned while writing/researching a book?
That writing the book wasn’t the hardest part. Oh, it was
hard, but that first book, with the kissing in the rain? I loved writing it.
Something inside me had been released, and it felt good. Then, after I typed
‘The End,’ I started looking around the Internet and saw how much work it would
take to learn the business, to get published, to be a professional author. That
was a terrifyingly daunting prospect. I almost didn’t do it, it was so
overwhelming.
What do you do to
unwind and relax?
Unwind? Relax? What are these words? Seriously, I watch a
lot of kid’s movies with my son, play solitaire, and, if I have the time, read
a book. If I get really wild, I knit. I’ve been working on the same scarf all
year!
Tea or coffee?
Tea. Lots and lots of tea. Black, green, white, oolong—anything
but mate. And, in the summer, water and lemonade. But tea.
Chocolate or potato
chips?
No contest—chocolate. I’m really enjoying the chocolate with
the hint of chili in it—that edge of spice is wonderful!
Do you ever suffer
from writer’s block? If so, what do you do about it?
When writer’s block hits, I take a calm, reasoned step back
and freak the heck out. Then I force myself to remember all the other times
I’ve drawn a blank—after I had the flu, when I wasn’t sleeping, etc. Sleep is
the first step, getting back into my routine is second, and third is reading a
book or two. I might as well enjoy the writer’s block, right? By then, usually
my Muse has had a nice little vacation and she’s raring to go again!
What dreams have been realized as a result of your writing?
As I said, I always thought I’d be an author. My mom had me
in a creative writing summer course for kids back as far as third grade. I’d
taken a couple of cracks at stories in college, but never could get back my
Dreaded Backstory Problem. (Trust me, it was a dreadful problem!). I’d
basically given up on achieving that goal, but through a caffeine-fueled road
trip, I found that spark I’d been missing. It took a hell of a lot of hard
work, but it’s really wonderful to say that, all those years ago, I knew I was
going to be an author and now I am.

What would you say is
your interesting writing quirk?

I write best with music—with lyrics. Part of my brain needs
to be distracted so the rest of it can focus on the words I want. I know a lot
of writers who cannot write with music or with music that has words, but
humming along with Toby Keith or Motley Cru keeps me from worrying about
laundry or dinner or whatever so all that’s left is the story.
Do you read reviews
of your books? If so, do you pay any attention to them, or let them influence
your writing?
I do. I know I’m not ‘supposed to’ because I’m leaving
myself open to the slings and arrows of outrageous reviews, but I do. So far,
they haven’t overtly influenced my writing, but I gotta tell you, reading a
positive review makes me smile for days. I know that one day I’ll hit the
negative review that rips my heart out, but I just can’t quit those reviews!
Which of your characters would you like to invite to
Thanksgiving dinner and why?
Well, which one can cook the best? Probably Maggie in A Man of Privilege. She’s been baking
cookies and carrot cake for about nine years!
What is the best
thing about being a published author?
Ooh, it’s a toss-up between being paid to do something I
really like and having a reader tell me how much they loved something I wrote.
Both are pretty awesome!
What’s next for
you? 
It’s more a case of what’s not next for me! In addition to having A Man of Privilege out on July 3rd, my next book, A Man of Distinction, will be out on
September 4th. All three of the A
Man of books are loosely related—Rosebud, the heroine from A Man of His Word, shows up in all
three.  After that, I have my very first
release from Samhain due on January 1st called Mystic Cowboy, a Valentine story from Desire called The Real Cowboy on February 5th,
and then a series called the Bolton Biker Boys from Desire out later next year.
Whew! I got tired just typing that!
Finally, tell us
about your pets!
I love my dogs. We have always rescued dogs. For almost a
decade, we had a three-legged wiener dog named Jake. Sadly, he went to Dog
Heaven last year. Right now, we have a beagle-terrier mix—a teagle!—named
Gater, as in Al E. Gater (say it out loud!). He doesn’t look like a beagle, but
boy, he sure barks like one. And a few months ago, we got Fifi, a ‘shepard
thing.’ She’s supposed to be Australian Cattle Shepard and Border Collie, but I
highly doubt the collie part. She’s mostly just a smallish shepard dog with a
whole lot of energy! 
Readers, is there anything you want to know that I forgot?
I’m giving away a copy of A Man of Privilege to one lucky commentator! Plus—bonus—every week I’m
giving away one of these handcrafted (by me!) book necklaces from everyone who
commented throughout the week! Check the Authorial
Moms blog
every Sunday to see if you were the winner!

A Man of Privilege :  She isn’t what he expected.

Blue-blood lawyer James
Carlson is working on the case of his life.  After winning this trial, his
career will be set.  He won’t let anything…or anyone… alter his
course.  Then he meets his witness.
Maggie Eagle Heart makes
him question everything–his family, his goals, his future. Because she’s the
one woman he wants, and she’s the one woman who is completely off limits. Yet
even as he struggles to keep their relationship all about business, he can’t
deny the attraction is mutual–and irresistible. James has always done what
is expected of him…until now.
A Man of Privilege is available! Visit
your favorite bookseller, at Amazon, or for the Nook.
Bio:
Award-winning author Sarah M. Anderson may live east of the Mississippi River,
but her heart lies out west on the Great Plains.
With a lifelong love of horses and two history teachers for parents, it wasn’t
long before her characters found themselves out in South Dakota among the Lakota Sioux.  She loves to put people from two different
worlds into new situations and to see how their backgrounds and cultures take
them someplace they never thought they’d go.
When not helping
out at school or walking her rescue dogs, Sarah spends her days having
conversations with imaginary cowboys and American Indians, all of which is
surprisingly well-tolerated by her wonderful husband and son.
Blog Boilerplate
This post is brought to
you as part of the A Man of
Privilege/Distinction Blog Tour.  For a complete tour schedule and
rules, visit www.sarahmanderson.com. Comments on this blog will be entered
to win a signed copy of A Man of
Privilege.
Next tour stop is July 3: Video Interview at Happy Ever After

Saving the World, One raccoon at a time

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 A few weeks ago, my hubby took the dog out for his evening walk. As they were heading back to the house, he decided to take a short cut through our front lawn. That’s when Truffles, our very precocious and only semi-trained 3 year-old dachshund (remember, all my dogs are doggie school dropouts) began barking furiously. This is why he was barking.

Yep. Those are baby raccoons. It’s hard to see from the pictures, but their tiny eyes are fused shut. The one on the left was a female (we found this out later) and trying to walk. The one on the right was a male and a bit wimpier than his sister. They were lying at the base of a big oak tree in the middle of our lawn. All alone.

Because at this point I still believed in the baby bird myth (you know, the one that says you aren’t supposed to touch a wild baby because then the mother won’t go near it), Truffles and I stayed with the babies to protect them while my hubby called a local wild life sanctuary.

The wild life lady (for want of a better title) immediately drove to our house. She picked the babies up and held them against her chest where they warmed up and literally came to life. She told us that the mother was probably gone and the babies had gotten hungry and shimmied their way out of their hidey hole in the tree and fell to the ground. Poor babies! If Truffles (hence forth known as Raccoon Saver) hadn’t found them, they’ve died of exposure during the night. They are currently residing at the Goose Creek Wild Life Sanctuary, where they are being fed on Raccoon formula (yep, there really is such a thing). According to the wild life lady, they’ll free the raccoons at about 8 months when they can take care of themselves in the wild.

Not a bad day’s work for Truffles, the RS!

Dusty (or the dog that got away)

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From the
cat who literally swallowed the canary (and then threw it up on your aunt’s
antique Persian rug) to the dog who ran away, we at the Stiletto Gang put our
collective heads together and thought: what could be better than walking down
memory lane with thoughts of some of our favorite–and not-so-favorite–pets?
Join us for the next two weeks as we reminisce about the animals we loved and
those who loved us.
For most of my childhood, my mother didn’t work.  Then, one day, she went back to work at an office
in the Bronx, leaving just before I and my three siblings left for school in
the morning.  Fortunately, my grandmother
had just left her job at the local convent and was burdened with the task of
getting the four of us off to school. 
But if you’re a regular reader, you know that Mom and grandmother had a
great system for lunches (all made on Sunday; grab and go from the freezer on
each weekday) and the bus stop was only across the street.

What could possibly go wrong?
Enter Dusty, the recalcitrant golden retriever.  Lovable, yes. 
Obedient?  Hardly.
My grandmother opened the door of the house one lovely Fall
day in the mid-1970s and ushered the four of us, all clad in our plaid
Catholic-school uniforms, across the street to the bus stop, watching us from
the protective comfort of the storm door. 
As the door slam started to slam shut, Dusty emerged from whatever hidey
hole he had set up for himself and ran past her, taking all hundred pounds of
her with him, racing down the steps.  It
was bus stop time!  The best time of the
day for a two-year-old golden retriever. 
Nothing would stop him in his quest for a place at the bus stop with the
kids.
Maga, our grandmother, lay prone on the sidewalk in front of
the house.  This was a woman, however,
who had left the comfort of her Irish cottage in the early 1920s and sailed for
America, forging a new life and new family for herself, so this was not a woman
to be trifled with.  She made a valiant
grab for Dusty’s collar but he wasn’t wearing one and off he took, down the
street, our collective groan no match for the sound of the bus trundling down
the street. 
I looked at her in horror. 
She looked back at me.  The
mission was clear:  get Dusty back in the
house before the bus reached our stop.
Did I mention that Maga couldn’t drive?  Hence, the horror.  If I missed the bus, I would have to walk two
miles to school.  If I had to walk two
miles to school, I would be late.  And if
I was late, well, Sister Loyola would not be pleased.
I dropped my book bag and took off down the street toward
the lawn where Dusty frolicked; when he saw me, he was overjoyed at the thought
that I would skip school to play with him. He ran and jumped and chased his own
tail, all the while I stood in one spot in the middle of the street, my pleated
wool plaid skirt and weskit not suited to playing with a dog.
After a few minutes, Dusty wore himself out and came over to
me, throwing himself to the ground at my feet, his tongue lolling out of one
side of his mouth.  I looked up the street
and saw the bus pull to a stop, everyone else getting on, staring at me
wide-eyed from their seats as the bus pulled away.  My heart sank.
I grabbed the dog around the neck and pulled him the entire
length of the street, his back feet digging into the asphalt as I begged,
pleaded and cajoled that he help me get him to the house.  It took the better part of a half hour, my
hysteria mounting the whole way, my grandmother standing by the driveway,
helpless.  We finally reached the house
and I dragged him inside, my grandmother swatting his behind with a copy of the
Daily News and screaming at him that he had made me miss the bus. 
He didn’t care.
I ran outside, gathered up my book bag and looked around
frantically hoping to spy a neighbor on their way to work or the grocery
store.  The neighborhood was desolate and
I was at a loss.
Next door lived my favorite neighbors.  They had five sons and one daughter, and
their youngest son was my best friend in the whole world. His older brother,
second in line, was not.  To him, my best
friend and I were just snot-nosed kids (by this time, he was in his twenties
and we were tweens), something that he made crystal clear when we were admiring
his brand-new, all white Ford Mustang. 
“Don’t touch anything!” he hollered when we got close to the vehicle,
the one that would take him to his new job as a high-school teacher.  As I stood on the front lawn that day, I
heard the familiar rumble of the Mustang’s engine as he revved it, preparing to
peel out of the driveway and head to school.
I tore across the front lawn, throwing myself in the direction
of the car, screaming “please, please, please!” as I got closer, hoping that he
could hear my frantic cries over the roar of the engine.  He looked up and saw me and while I could see
a threat of indecision cross his face—should I or shouldn’t I—he decided to
stop and see what I needed.  “A ride,” I
gasped.  “I need a ride.”
Of course, he was late for school.  Weren’t we all that beautiful day?  I put my hands together and begged him for a
ride, something that took far longer than it should have, given the circumstances
(crying tween girl, non-driving grandmother). 
He finally relented and opened the door for me with one condition:  I couldn’t touch anything in the car.  So, we rode to school, me sitting on the edge
of the white leather bucket seat, my hands crossed on my lap, desperately
trying to hold on as he sped toward St. Catherine’s.
I made it to my classroom just before the first bell. (And
by the way, Bobby—I touched your dashboard. 
Three times.  When you weren’t
looking.)
Dusty only lived two years (he died of a congenital birth defect)
but he had two years filled with such capers. 
He was not a dog for the faint of heart, but he lived life to the
fullest, taking any opportunity to frolic and roam and wander.
We all need a little Dusty in our lives.
Maggie Barbieri

Learning from our pets

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by: Joelle Charbonneau
It’s still pet week (or weeks to accommodate those of us who
post every other week) here on the Stiletto Gang.  When the group talked about doing some themed
blog posts, I was happy to hear we were going to chat about our pets both past
and present, because you can learn a lot about a person by hearing them talk
about the animals that share their lives.
But while I had a great idea for a funny blog post in mind, I
have chosen not to write it.  Why?  Because my heart is breaking for a friend.
Yesterday, I learned that a dear friend and fellow author,
Ellery (Jen) Adams, lost a member of her family.  Her sister-in-law gave birth through c-section
to a beautiful baby girl and then passed away before she ever had the chance to
look into her baby’s eyes.  This year, I,
too, have experienced the loss of a close family member, so I admit that I
broke down and cried when I heard the news. 
There never seems to be enough time with our loved ones.  Sometimes the final goodbye lasts months or
years, but often, as in Ellery’s case, the final moments come too soon leaving
us with thoughts of the things we wished we said or did.  Making us long for extra moments where we
could share our love without reservation.
Too often in our lives, we hold back.  We don’t say what is in our heart because we
worry that someone will think we’re overemotional, or dramatic or just plain
odd.  Sometimes we don’t express what is
in our hearts and minds because the people we care about are not demonstrative
in their affection.  Sometimes, we are
scared to risk sharing our feelings in case they are not returned.  Other times we just take for granted that
there will be moments in the future to embrace what we feel.
But those moments don’t always exist and too often we are
left sad and unhappy that we didn’t grab those precious moments as we should have. 
Which is why we should learn from the theme of the last two
weeks….our pets 
Dogs don’t worry about whether showering you with affection
is going to embarrass them.  (If they
did, we probably wouldn’t see quite so many dogs sniffing crotches.)  Cats don’t fret about whether the love they
give is returned.  At least my cat doesn’t.  He just worms his way onto my lap and insists
that I make him feel loved.  Rabbits,
camels, gerbils, guinea pigs, parrots, ferrets…none of the animals we welcome
into our lives worry about the proper time to express their love.  They just love us.  And because of that we love them.  Unashamedly. 
Without reserve.  Without waiting
for the right moment to express what is in our heart.
So today, I say that we should learn from our pets and learn
to express affection to those we love every time the moment strikes.  We should go to those we care about, wrap our
arms around them so tight they try to wriggle away and let them know they are
important.  So we are never left
wondering or wishing.
And for those of you who pray….please put a special prayer
in your heart for Ellery and her family and send as much love and affection as
you can her way.

Lori’s Book Sense

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Sadie Girl
We weren’t really an animal family. Growing up we had two
dogs. Muffin was a Lhasa Apso, and the cutest little lap dog.  My brother then got a dachshund that he named Chili –  a chili dog – who was adorable,
but also a pain in the butt. That dog would bark at the wind.

I’d never really had much of a desire to have a dog of my
own. I am out of the house for work 12 hours a day, and it wouldn’t be fair to
leave a dog locked up all day like that. About nine years ago my parents got a
little Maltese puppy and named him Max. 
For about a minute I thought about getting a puppy myself. But again,
the work issue came up. I just couldn’t do it. And my parents had been pushing
me to get a puppy for a while.  Because I
live with a treatment resistant type of clinical depression, my parents felt it
would be wonderful for me to have a little companion around. Someone I could
take care of and that would love me back unconditionally.

One weekend about four years ago, my parents needed me to
take care of Max.  I had a blast with
him. And by the time Tuesday rolled around, I realized I really missed having
him around. Dad and I sat down and talked. I told him how surprised I was to
find myself missing have Max there.  (Now
mind you, since Dad had  been after me
for a while to get a puppy, I just got the “I told you so” look.)  I again reiterated my concerns about leaving
the dog alone for 12 hours a day, and I got this in response: “Lori, you work for
me. You’ll bring the dog to work with you every day.”  Well, that was easy.  The next day he called the breeder who he got
Max from, and she just happened to have two puppies left from her last litter, each
about six months old. She had a boy and a girl (Max’s niece and nephew). We set
up a time on Friday night to go and meet with her. Before we even got there my
parents were insisting I take the boy. “Boys are easier, you want the boy!”  Well, the three of us took one look at the
two puppies, looked at each other, and said ,“ We’re taking the girl!”  And since Dad was being so generous in
letting me take her to work, I named her Sadie, the name he had planned to give
the girl puppy my mother wouldn’t let him get. 
The next day I brought her home.

Never in my life did I think that something so little in
size would have such a big impact on my life. From day one, she was stuck to me
like glue. Every single place I went, she went. 
I should have named her Shadow, because she still follows me everywhere.
If I get up to turn the light on, about three feet from where I’m sitting, she
hops off the couch and follows me. Even though she can see me right from where
she is sitting.  She’s got to be right
beside me at all times.

 I would always hear
people talking about their “fur babies” and not really get the attachment. Now
I do!  She’s my baby, and I would be lost
without her. She’s playful, happy, and such a snuggler.  Not only did Sadie change my life, she also
saved it. She gives me unconditional love, covers my face with kisses when she
knows I’m down, and loves to hold my hand while she sleeps.    I
can’t imagine my life without her.

Here are some dog related series I think you’ll enjoy!

Andy Carpenter Series (with a golden retriever named Tara) 
David Rosenfelt





Pet Rescue Mysteries
Linda O Johnston


Ellie Engleman ~ Dog Walking Mysteries
Judi McCoy

 

Dog Lover’s Mysteries
Susan Conant






A Bonded Pair

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From the cat who literally
swallowed the canary (and then threw it up on your aunt’s antique Persian rug)
to the dog who ran away, we at the Stiletto Gang put our collective heads
together and thought: what could be better than walking down memory lane with
thoughts of some of our favorite–and not-so-favorite–pets? Join us for the
next two weeks as we reminisce about the animals we loved and those who loved
us.

Tragedy brought me Bonnie, a
13-year-old cat who was as tiny as a kitten, first. Her owner was my
almost-brother. Steve was my little brother’s best friend. They’d lived with my
husband and me briefly, and when they moved out, they rented a house just a few
blocks away and continued to eat supper at our house every night. Once my
brother married and moved out of town, Steve kept coming to our house for
holidays or any time he needed family support. Steve was a shy geek with a warm
heart. One day, someone tied a litter of five kittens in a plastic bag and
dumped them in the middle of the street to be run over. Steve found them, took
them to the vet, and spayed and neutered them. Thirteen years later early on a Sunday
morning, Steve was killed by a hit-and-run driver, leaving five old cats in his
house waiting for him to come home.

His friends gathered and parceled
out the cats among us. I already had two elderly cats and a young one, all
rescues, at home, but when no one would step forward for Bonnie, the runt of
the litter, I took her. Within a week, several of the littermates turned out to
have liver cancer and had to be put to sleep. Over the course of the next year,
this happened to all of them, except tiny Bonnie.
From the first, Bonnie hid. One of
her favorite places was behind the refrigerator. She had a bell on her collar,
and once the lights were out and we were in bed, we would hear her venturing
forth. It took me so long to get her to venture forth voluntarily and sit on my
lap to be petted, but once there, she decided that was where she always wanted
to be. If I were doing some chore around the house and not paying attention to
her, she would wind around my legs, scolding me.

Shortly after we took Bonnie into
our home, we ended up rescuing a beautiful seven-year-old Shar Pei/Husky mix.
We took Mina on what would have been the last day of her life otherwise. When
we brought her into our house, all the cats fled, except Bonnie. I was set to
try to gradually introduce them to each other when Bonnie walked straight up to
Mina, who was giant in comparison, and touched noses. From that second, they
were the best of friends, never apart.
Bonnie was the dominant member of
the pair, though. She would go nibble a few pieces of Mina’s dog kibble, and
Mina was then allowed to eat some of Bonnie’s food. They made a point to drink
out of each other’s water bowls also. At night, Mina would curl into a circle,
and Bonnie would curl up within its center. Mina showed affection by licking
Bonnie as if she were a puppy, and Bonnie tolerated it. Mina would bark at
suspicious noises at night, and Bonnie would stand behind her, mimicking her
stiff-legged posture and give the best imitations of a bark you ever heard from
a cat.
Then, Bonnie started eating less and
having bouts of loud crying that could only be assuaged by my holding her and
petting or by Mina licking her. When I took her to the vet, the word was that
the deadly liver cancer had finally hit this last living member of that
five-cat litter. We think she held the cancer at bay for those almost four
years by sheer strength of personality. She was finally somewhere where she
wasn’t the bullied runt—and we’d even found her a giant pet! She wasn’t about
to die when things were finally going so well for her.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to
be done. As she got sicker, she cried more. Until Mina would wash Bonnie with
her big tongue, leaving her looking like a little drowned rat. But she was
always at peace and purring when Mina licked her or I held her. The vet said we’d
know when to bring her in one last time, and that point became clear one day.
We packed her carry-crate with lots of blankets and soft fabric because she was
so bony by then. Mina was licking her one last time. At the vet’s, Bonnie lay
in my lap, purring, as she slipped away peacefully.
Mina was disconsolate for months and
then rallied to remain our wonderful friend for five more years before she left
us the same way. We laugh when we think of the surprise and joy those two friends
must have felt when their spirits encountered each other again. It’s a comfort
to think of them curled around each other at night as they were for so many
nights in our house—a true bonded pair.

by Linda Rodriguez

___________
Linda Rodriguez’s novel, Every Last Secret (Minotaur Books), won
the Malice Domestic Best First Traditional Mystery Novel Competition. The
second book in the Skeet Bannion series, Every
Broken Trust, will be published in spring of 2013. Linda reads and writes
everything, even award-winning books of poetry and a cookbook, and she spends
too much time on Twitter as @rodriguez_linda. 
She blogs about writers, writing, and the absurdities of everyday life
at http://lindarodriguezwrites.blogspot.com.

The Dog Ate my Cake

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From the cat who literally swallowed the canary (and then threw it up
on your aunt’s antique Persian rug) to the dog who ran away, we at the
Stiletto Gang put our collective heads together and thought: what could
be better than walking down memory lane with thoughts of some of our
favorite–and not-so-favorite–pets? Join us for the next two weeks as
we reminisce about the animals we loved and those who loved us. 

by Maria Geraci

I admit it. All my dogs have been doggie school dropouts.

This trend started early on in my pet owning career. My first dog was an Irish Terrier named Chico. Not very Gaelic sounding, but hey, when you grow up in a Cuban American household, your pets have names like Pepe and Paco (yes, that’s the name of my parent’s current Schnauzer).

Chico was a sweet dog, but totally unmanageable. I think this is because my sister and I (who were 9 and 10 at the time) were in charge of his early training. We begged and begged and begged our mom for a dog who refused until she finally got tired of our begging.

“Okay, but you two are in charge of training him, feeding him, and cleaning up after him.“

“Yay!” we squealed.

In our defense, we tried to train the dog. We really did. My mom even enrolled Chico in a 6 week obedience course. But hey, it was summer and there was swim team and sleep overs and day trips to the beach, so Chico’s training took a shabby back seat to our summer fun.

End result? We didn’t reinforce the stuff Chico was supposed to be learning in the obedience course (stuff like: Sit, Chico, Sit! and Stop, Chico, stop!). At the graduation day ceremony when all the other dogs, were sitting and stopping, Chico was sniffing the orange cones and yep… you guessed it, even baptized one.

This was just the beginning of our family humiliation at Chico’s hands. Or rather, paws.

Later in life, Chico even became famous at my high school for his bad dog ways. He was a notorious leg humper, which, trust me, is only funny in the movies. He ran away every chance he got (not sure why, when he practically ruled the roost at our home). We would comb the neighborhood, calling his name loudly, and the neighbors would shake their heads. “That Chico! Has he run away again?”

 He would always come back, hours later, his fur matted and his eyes shining brightly.

“What does he do when he runs away?” My mother asked, “roll in the woods?”

But without doubt, his worst bad dog moment came my senior year in high school. When our basketball team won a big district game, I was in charge of making a cake for the team and presenting it to them at a pep rally. It took me all afternoon to make that cake. I iced it carefully, then sat it in the middle of the dining room table so that a certain someone (who had already become famous for tipping over pies) wouldn’t stretch his snout to take a lick. Ha! I guess the moral here was if you want something bad enough, you’ll find a way to get it, because somehow Chico managed to jump onto that dining room table and devour half the cake before I even knew what was happening. By that time, it was too late to make another cake.

The next day at the pep rally, my humiliated seventeen-year-old self went up to the mike to present the basketball team their “cake.” Instead I had to admit, “the dog ate my cake.”

It was settled. Chico was now officially a legend.

Maria Geraci writes contemporary romance and women’s fiction
with a happy ending. The Portland Book Review called her novel, The Boyfriend of the Month Club,
“immensely sexy, immensely satisfying and humorous.” Her fourth novel, A Girl Like You, will be released
August, 2012 by Berkley, Penguin USA.
For more information, please visit her website at www.mariageraci.com

The Dog Was Doing What in the Bathroom?

/in /by

From the cat who literally swallowed the canary (and then threw it up on your aunt’s antique Persian rug) to the dog who ran away, we at the Stiletto Gang put our collective heads together and thought: what could be better than walking down memory lane with thoughts of some of our favorite–and not-so-favorite–pets? Join us for the next two weeks as we reminisce about the animals we loved and those who loved us.

by Bethany Maines

If you’re friends with me on Facebook then you know of my
picture-snapping obsession with my dog Kato.  He’s a two-year old Lab Rottweiler mix with a belief that
people-chairs are really dog beds and that dishwashers are where we put the
silverware to be licked. We named him after Inspector Clouseau’s surprise
attacking valet, so that we could yell, “Kato, now is not the time!” whenever
he jumps out at us, which he does frequently. My friends, acquaintances, and
frequently strangers are forced to listen to my “hilarious” dog stories and
occasionally shown the “baby” photos on my phone.  Yes, I’m that “pet parent.”  I try not to be, but my dog is just that darn cute.  (See photographic evidence below.) 

However, it occurred to me, as I tried to integrate a dog
into my latest manuscript that pets are rather like the bathroom in most books
– they never get mentioned. That is, unless they’re important to the plot line
or they ARE the plot line (see The Cat Who…
series by Lillian Jackson Braun). Both bathrooms and pets are important
features of everyday life. Pets require feeding and water and are generally
greeted immediately upon entering a house, as well having a host of other
little ways of integrating themselves into their owner’s lives. Bathrooms, for
obvious reasons, are visited multiple times a day and usually have their own
attendant routines of make-up, showering, and dressing. But both rarely rate a mention in most
books. What gives?
Well, like all the strangers I accost with my Kato stories,
most readers probably just aren’t that interested in the heroine’s pet. And
really, who wants to spend that much time with a protagonist in the restroom?
And of course, with space at a premium, it’s a bit hard to justify giving
paragraphs of space to the pet while the plot languishes about looking for a
little attention. But is a well-written story with a fast moving plot mutually
exclusive with pets and bathrooms? 
Can’t a character blurt out, “I have to pee,” when faced with shocking
news? Can’t the dull routine of feeding the dog, feed a characters wish for
excitement and adventure? Why should the pets and restrooms not at least get
the recognition they deserve for being a meaningful part of our lives?
All of which makes me want to write a story that takes place
in the bathroom… with a dog. I just need a plot and some characters and I’m
golden.

Our Pets Through the Years

/in /by
From the cat who literally swallowed the canary (and then threw it up on
your aunt’s antique Persian rug) to the dog who ran away, we at the Stiletto
Gang put our collective heads together and thought: what could be better than
walking down memory lane with thoughts of some of our favorite–and
not-so-favorite–pets? Join us for the next two weeks as we reminisce about the
animals we loved and those who loved us.

When my sis and I were kids we always wanted pets but weren’t good about caring for them. Looking back, one of our favorites was Mumpsy, the cat. We had many dogs, but the best one was Copper, a mixed collie that had once been a “star” at Paramount Studios. My dad  (who worked at the studio as a plumber) rescued him, from what he never said.

With my own family, we had many animals, more than I can actually remember. We had lots of cats and kittens. We once had a dog that the mama cat would leave to babysit the kittens. Yep, she’d haul all of her kittens out of the box and line them up next to the dog. When she came back, she’d collect them and return them to the box.

Another cat would bring me lovely gifts, usually while I was asleep. I’d awake to a dead bird, mouse or lizard next to me on the pillow. Yuk!

Probably the most unusual  pet was son’s snake, that escaped. For several weeks it was missing. I didn’t dare tell my friends or they would never have come to visit. One day while housecleaning, I tipped up a chair and there was the snake, wrapped around the bottom. 

We’ve had wonderful dogs over the years. One, a German Shepherd, Bos’n, moved with us from the beach to the mountains. Was he ever delighted to have 2 acres to protect after only a small yard on a city block. We acquired a female pitbull during that same time period who was the most placid dog I’ve ever seen. She was the best dog with children. She had a huge litter of puppies, 12 and they all lived. Finding homes for them was no problem at all.

Now that we’re older, we have two inside cats. (Except when they escape and run out.) Both these cats are neutered males and huge. Sundance looks like a Siamese (though he’s not) and his brother, Butch is dark gray and white.

Outside we have a group of feral cats (thanks to people dropping them off–an ongoing problem) that my husband feeds and waters. We’ve caught some and had them fixed–but then they disappear.

Our eldest daughter has a dog we’re fond of and have gone on motor home travels with him–a golden retriever named Archie. He probably lives one of the best lives of any dog I know. He gets taken to Pet Mart on a regular basis and is allowed to pick out a new toy of his choice. He spends time at a dog park and has many friends. Every Wednesday night he goes on a long walk with my daughter and her husband and a couple of girlfriends who are also goldens.

That’s just a smattering of our pets.  And no, none of my pets help me write.

I don’t often include pets in my mysteries though in Bears With Us, there is a large dog named Killer who is anything but and a whole slew of bears, though they certainly aren’t pets. In my next Deputy Tempe Crabtree mystery, Raging Water, a friend of mine is a major character along with her two little dogs, Blondie and Chloe.

Marilyn

Saying Goodbye to an Old Friend

/in /by
From the cat who literally swallowed the canary (and then threw it up on
your aunt’s antique Persian rug) to the dog who ran away, we at the Stiletto
Gang put our collective heads together and thought: what could be better than
walking down memory lane with thoughts of some of our favorite–and
not-so-favorite–pets? Join us for the next two weeks as we reminisce about the
animals we loved and those who loved us.

By Evelyn David

Let me tell you a little about Snickers, the Irish terrier who
made us dog owners. She was from a line of champions. That didn’t matter to us. We had, however, deliberately chosen the breed because they were
hypoallergenic. Put my husband around most dogs and his eyes swell
shut and he develops a throbbing headache. So it’s reasonable to ask, why did
we get a dog in the first place? Our second son, then six, was deathly afraid of all
animals, but especially dogs. We thought having a puppy would help him overcome
his fear. (It worked.)

Neither my husband nor I had ever owned a dog before so our
expectations were primarily based on watching years of Lassie episodes. I
thought Snickers would follow me from room to room, come when called, rescue me
if I fell down a well. Instead, we got a dog who clearly considered us her
intellectual inferiors. Don’t get me wrong. She was a sweet animal who, when I
had a baby a few years later, was as gentle as a lamb around this new interloper
who pulled ears and tail. She never so much as growled at us no matter what the
provocataion, but there was always a certain distance, a sense of independence.
She was the first to dash out any open door. We would chase after her and she
would race ahead, stopping occasionally to look back to see if we were
following. Once when we couldn’t find her, having scoured the neighborhood
calling her name, offering treats, we returned to find her sitting on our front
porch, with a look of disdain that we hadn’t been able to keep up with
her. We incorporated a similar scene in our mystery ZONED FOR MURDER.

I realize just how independent Snickers was, now that we
have Clio, another Irish terrier. Clio too is sweet, but to be honest not too
bright. At 40 pounds Clio believes she is a lap dog. She is happiest when
stretched across one of us, with her belly being scratched. Snickers just
wasn’t that kind of dog.

When Snickers was 13 years old, she had arthritis, was going deaf, and was slightly blind. Our vet, the kindly Dr. Thorndike told us, Snickers had outlived “most of her classmates.” Still I was unprepared when one
morning, Snickers had a stroke before my eyes. She lost control of her legs and
bladder. I rushed her to the animal hospital and Dr. Thorndike gently told me
that the time had come for us to be loving pet owners. He predicted that
Snickers would have more strokes over the next few days and be increasingly in
pain. We couldn’t let that happen. We made arrangements to have her put to
sleep the next day, after the kids said their goodbyes. It was a long and emotional
night, but Snickers seemed comfortable and had regained limited use of her
legs. She ate very little, slept nearly round the clock.

Despite her independence, Snickers was, from the day we met
her, fiercely protective of her family. So she was that last morning. My husband
took off time from work to go with me to the vets. I carried Snickers out to
the driveway and put her down to open the car. She stretched out on the
concrete for a moment until a sanitation man came to the back of the house to
get our trashcans. I watched as Snickers drew herself up, on shaky legs, and
then barked with a clear message, “This is my family. I’ll protect
them.”

I reassured Snickers that all was fine – but she watched, growling softly, until the sanitation man had left the area. We
lifted her into the car and she settled back down to sleep.

The selfless, devoted, protective, let me say noble
character of Snickers taught me a lot about parenting. She loved without
question, if on her own terms. She was the fierce defender of this family and
asked nothing more than kindness, food, and shelter in return. We got so much
more.

Dogs, like people, come in all shapes, sizes, and
temperaments. But what they give to their families is the unconditional love
that each of us needs. How lucky we were to have Snickers in our life.

Thanks
old friend.

Marian

Zoned for Murder – Kindle (Exclusive at Amazon this month)
Trade Paperback

Brianna Sullivan Mysteries – e-book series
I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah- Kindle (Exclusive at Amazon this month)
The Holiday Spirit(s) of Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
Undying Love in Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
A Haunting in Lottawatah – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
Lottawatah Twister – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
Missing in Lottawatah – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
Good Grief in Lottawatah – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

The Ghosts of Lottawatah – trade paperback collection of the Brianna e-books
Book 1 – I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries (includes the first four Brianna e-books)
Book 2 – A Haunting in Lottawatah (includes the 5th, 6th, and 7th Brianna e-books)

Sullivan Investigations Mystery
Murder Off the Books Kindle – Nook – Smashwords – Trade Paperback
Murder Takes the Cake Kindle – Nook – Smashwords – Trade Paperback
Riley Come Home (short story)- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
Moonlighting at the Mall (short story) – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

Romances
Love Lessons – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords