Tag Archives: animal rescue

Furbaby Friday with Gerri Bowen

I’m very glad to welcome animal lover, Gerri Bowen, here to share her furbabies and her paranormal romance, Discovery and Love In Gettis (the second of three novels set in Gettysburg). She writes ‘Stories with Humor, The Impossible, and Love.’

Gerri: I’ve always had cats or dogs in my life. Bundy was my first adult dog. She was a puppy when I got her, and I spent the first couple of nights sleeping on the kitchen floor with her. She cried otherwise.
Sushi was a small kitten when found in a hedge and slept in my armpit the first night. The vet said he was about 99% Siamese. He was the best cat, almost like a dog. Smart and greeted me at the front door when I came home. Iggy was a little grey cat. Sweet and shy. Bree came after Bundy passed. The three kittens came along although one had to be put down. She ate a string and, sadly, it didn’t pass but wrapped around her intestines.
Tawny is my dog now, a red heeler mix. She and the cats, Sally and Loupie sometimes sleep together.

(Tawny and kitty friend)

Our pets sometimes display what I think of as human characteristics, a look, a cocked head. I can almost hear what they’re thinking. Which got me to thinking about having a character in an animal body, but with a human or a human-like brain inside. So in my novel LOVE’S BLOOD, I had a Raven, a Cheetah and a Dog discussing events and helping to move the story along with their actions. In DISCOVERY AND LOVE, I have 2 dogs, and two cats, three of them the same characters from the LOVE’S BLOOD and also in the first book in the LOVE IN GETTIS series, ESCAPE TO GETTIS…AND LOVE. They also appear in the third book, SERENITY: ACCEPTANCE AND LOVE…IN GETTIS.

Excerpt from Discovery and Love In Gettis:

Daisy put her head between Laurels knees and looked up at her.
Laurel slowly petted her. “I know you’re a smart dog. Not always sure about Splitter.”
“He’s smarter then he pretends.”
Laurel’s hand stopped in mid-air. She looked closely at Daisy. “I could have sworn I heard you say he’s smarter then he pretends, but in my mind.”
Daisy’s head came up and then cocked to the side.
“But that’s silly.”
“No it isn’t. I’ve been trying to talk to you people for ages. You’re mother and Joren are too involved with each other to listen to small voices. Helen is a challenge, but we’ll get to her yet. Dromo, whom you know as Splitter, has been trying too, and for far longer then I. I’m Koozie, by the way, but I’ll answer to Daisy.”
Laurel stared at Daisy and wondered what she’d ingested that was causing her to have a psychotic break.
“You aren’t having a psychotic break, I assure you. I’m actually Queen MariV1, last of the true Amazon Peacekeepers. Dromo is Dromo the Magnificent, once a great and terrible ruler, and Loki’s real name is Port, because Dromo never remembered his real name, but Port was Dromo’s amanuensis when Dromo ruled his bit of the universe.”
Laurel stared at Daisy. She could hear the dog talking to her, but only in her mind. Such things could not be, therefore she was having a psychotic episode. Her first. Hopefully her last, but she knew it didn’t work that way. If you had one you could count on other episodes to follow. Although…what the little voice in her head told her was rather interesting. If she was going insane she would have some interesting stories to think about.


“Listen to me, you are not having any psychotic break or episode, nor are you going insane. Dr. Brad hears us as does Gaspar. Ask them what our true names are and see what they tell you.
“But to get back to the important matter at hand, Dromo, Port and I know not to scare off Sammy or her children when they come tomorrow. We want Maggie to look at Sammy’s aura and Joren to heal her. We don’t have an opinion on Dr. Merriweather yet. Once we meet him we’ll let you know what we think. Is that settled for you?”
Laurel just stared at Daisy. The voice had sounded reasonable. But if it was she herself who produced the voice, of course it would seem reasonable.
“Call Dr. Brad and ask him what our true names are.”
Laurel pursed her lips. She could do that and see what the man said. The question didn’t sound too outlandish. She picked up her cell and found his number and called.
Laurel almost hung up.
“Something wrong at the house?” His voice sounded annoyed.

“This is Laurel, Dr. Brad. This might seem like a strange question to ask you, but do you know Daisy’s true name?”
Silence. Laurel could feel her face heat. He probably thought she was crazy.
“Who wants to know?”
“I do. I want to know her true name.”
“Why’d you call me to ask that?”
No matter what she said he’d think she was crazy. “Just humor me. What is Daisy’s true name?”
“Also ask about Splitter and Loki. Go on, ask.”
“And you might as well tell me Splitter’s and Loki’s true names.”
Ten seconds of silence. “I’ll be right there. Back porch.”
Laurel met Dr. Brad on the porch, Daisy at her heels.
Dr. Brad bent down and faced Daisy, and then stood tall with a grin on his face. “So you can hear them now? Daisy is Koozie to her friends, but is really Queen MariVI, the last true Queen of the Amazon Peacekeepers. Splitter is Dromo the Magnificent, and Loki is Port, although I believe Port is a shortened form of the word, Porto.”

From Gerri: I love to write. I love to read. Typical writer. I love to discover new authors, and will read just about anything, but unless I’m researching, my first choice is fiction. Fiction with a HEA or Happily Ever After. If I want to be depressed after I read a story, I can read the newspaper.
I was born and raised in Maryland, but moved to South Central Pennsylvania in 2006. Lovely countryside. Wonderful people who always wave to you when you pass by. There are times when the main road has no traffic! Wonderful!
Traveling to other countries is a great joy of mine, but it’s been many years since I’ve been overseas. Soon, I hope. I still have all the photos I took.
I’m a dog lover first, and a cat lover second. (***Bundi on the steps above)

Follow Gerri’s Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Gerri-Bowen/e/B002BLL6ZE/

DISCOVERY AND LOVE IN GETTIS is available in Kindle at:



Thanks for stopping by. Please leave Gerri a comment.



Kicking Off Furbaby Friday

Attention pet loving authors and readers, I’m kicking off a new weekly blog feature in honor of dear little Sadie who was my faithful writing companion, as was my curmudgeonly cuddler, Kitty Percy.

Both Sadie and Percy left me in late winter within a week of each other, and it’s been very hard without them. This is the last image I took of the two by my side. But precious memories go on, and I’m grateful for other writing buddies. Puppy Cooper needs to settle down a bit, but he’s beginning to sit with me when not in scamper mode. Peaches and Cream, who also act as my publicists, are purry pals. Jilly has a seat at my right side while I research and type away on my keyboard. She also has every other seat in the living room if she wants. All surfaces are covered with sheets that can be changed due to her shedding, and I’ve added towels for the occasional puppy puddle. But Cooper is getting better about that, I say cautiously. (Cooper sitting by my knee.)

My furbabies help me to write. I know many authors greatly appreciate their furry companions, and cherish memories of past friends. Peaches and Cream are ready assistants (when not snoozing in a sunbeam), as is Jilly, below, giving me the ‘I didn’t do it look.’ *She did. Kitty Pavel is a funny bird, but does his best.

I rescued these animals, but they are the ones who rescue me. Every day.

My thinking is to have authors share about furbabies who are or have been part of their writing life, and then share the highlights of a recent release. No erotica. Pet pics are essential. If you’re an animal loving author, please message me about a spot at bctrissel@gmail.com or leave me a comment. Or both.

Our Beloved Pets

Contributed by Pamela Roller

Last month, I wrote about animal cruelty and included some disturbing photos, information and statistics. This month, I’d like to turn about and give you several heartwarming stories from people who simply adore their pets. Be sure to leave a comment with your own loving pet story. I’d love to read them!

The photo above is of our beagle and his boy.

Our family went to the SPCA one afternoon. Amidst the howling, barking, pacing, and pawing, there, crouched trembling in his cage, was a beagle. The card read, “Elvis. Male. Brought by owner.”

He stared at us with soulful brown eyes. “Let’s look at him,” I said impulsively.

As soon as Elvis was brought into the inspection room, he made a beeline to me, then to our son. He steered clear of my husband. A jagged black scar ran up his back leg, and he had tiny black circular scars on his nose–the size of the end of a cigarette. He sniffed us, wagged his tail, and when we rose to look at a couple of other dogs, he must have decided to take us home because he ran straight to the door and looked back, eyes shining.

Four years later, Elvis is comfortable around men again. He doesn’t crouch as often when we reach down to pet him or hug him, and he no longer hides when I flick the lighter to light the dinner candles. He’s brought joy into our lives, loving us the way dogs do: just right.

Dan’s story:
The hardest part of having dogs is saying goodbye. You know when you bring home a bouncing puppy that the dog will almost certainly pass away before you do, but you know that the years of joy are worth the inevitable sorrow. Kayla was our first purebred Belgian Tervuren and came into our home when she was almost three years old. She was bartered by the breeder to an Oregon cattle-rancher. She was destined to be a stock dog, but the rancher went bankrupt and Kayla went back to the breeder.

Kayla’s next stop was a large show-dog kennel in Homestead, Florida. The owner had spaniels and Rottweilers and wanted a new breed. Not long after settling in to her second home, Hurricane Andrew blew most of Homestead into the Gulf of Mexico. Kayla was evacuated in time, along with the other dogs, but the kennel was destroyed and she was given up to a foster home.

Kayla was passed among a handful of Belgian Tervuren fanciers, each showing her a little bit, but none taking such a liking to her that they wanted to keep her. Her travels took her from Florida to Texas and back, and then eventually to Virginia. She was never abused or neglected, and nobody ever considered dumping her in a shelter, but nobody wanted to make her their own, either.

I was looking for my next dog for competition training when I met the owner of Kayla’s sister. She casually mentioned that she knew of a Terv that needed a home. When I met Kayla something immediately clicked for both of us and I made the decision in an instant. Of course, a dog that has been passed around so much doesn’t make close friends so quickly. It took many months for the two of us to truly bond. But when we did, great things started happening.

After finishing her breed championship we launched into a ten-year career of training competition. Obedience, tracking, agility, rally, lure coursing…we did it all. We traveled up and down the east coast together, celebrated success often and cried together occasionally. Kayla accumulated over thirty training titles in our decade of showing.

All of those titles were unimportant as I slumped against the wall of the examination room. I held Kayla in my lap, murmuring into her ear while the veterinarian prepared the syringe. I didn’t think about the blue ribbons and the disqualifications, of the hotel bills and fast food breakfasts. What I thought about was our the bond we shared, the same bond that our two species have shared since the dawn of history. Two beings, working harmoniously together in a relationship like no other. As the vet kneeled on the floor, I told Kayla “Thank you” and said goodbye.

Alisa’s story:
The farm around the corner from us had a sign that said, ‘Golden Retriever Puppies for Sale’. The girls and Tim begged to go see them, just to ‘look.’ I gave in but said there was no way we were getting a puppy since Carly was still only 2.

Well, of course, they were the most adorable things I had ever seen. The one in the back with the green collar got my attention. He (or she, I wasn’t sure) was very quiet and didn’t jump and bark like the others did. The puppy looked right into my eyes and I just fell in love. We left and talked about it constantly. Finally, I agreed and said, ‘OK, if we get that puppy, I get to name it since I will be doing all the work. If it’s a boy, let’s name him Cody and if it’s a girl, Molly.’

The next morning, Tim went running. When he came home from his run, he had a very strange look on his face. He told me that he didn’t really go running. He went back to the farm to look at that puppy in the green collar. He said, ‘Alisa, we have got to get that puppy. It’s meant for us.’ He told me that the breeder had already named all the puppies and guess what, they named him Cody. Then the mother dog came over and Tim found out that her name was Molly. That afternoon, we brought Cody home.He is the most sweetest and calmest dog that we could have ever asked for. We love him!

Alleyne’s story:
Years ago I had four Belgian Tervuren in my home. One neutered male was dominant aggressive. We’d been working for more than two years to get Deacon to accept that we were the alphas and that he could not discipline us with his teeth. Our other young male, Paladin, was easy going and good natured, never challenged anyone.

One night I was home alone, lying on the sofa. Paladin was across the room, on his back playing with our new puppy. Deacon was lying next to me on the floor. I reached down to pet him and he growled. He had a toy and I knew I couldn’t let him get away with growling or all our work would have been undone, so I reached down to pick it up. Deacon bit down on my hand and sat up, carrying my hand with him.

I frantically tried to decide how to stop him from hurting me more seriously, but before I could do more than take a deep breath, Paladin leapt from his place across the room, cleared the coffee table, knocked Deacon off me and pinned him to the wall. Clasping my injured hand in my good one, I cheerfully called the dogs to go outside, which they did before I collapsed in shock. My husband arrived a few minutes later from work and rushed me to the hospital. The bites were deep but not my hand was not torn up.

We realized that night that I was pregnant with our daughter. I will always believe that Paladin saved me from being mauled. He watched over Tierney every day from the day she was born until he died two years ago at almost 16. He was a champion in dog shows, but more importantly he was my champion, which of course is what “paladin” means. Alleyne Dickens http://www.alleynedickens.com/ http://www.bonheurbelgians.com/

From my mom:
Our five-pound, two-year-old papillon, Corwin, gave us a surprise a few days ago. We were noticing the fur by a leg that had a knot in it. Joe was trying to straighten it out when Corwin used his tongue to water the area and then proceeded with his teeth to pull back and forth until the knot was straightened out. It amazed us both, but happily so.

From fellow ace blog writer Beth Trissel:
I’ve always had cats. Cats are an integral part of my world and our farm. Three reside indoors; Gabby, a lavender Oriental Shorthair, closely related to the Siamese and just as vocal, and her chestnut-colored son, Pookah, so named for the invisible creatures that steal things, and he does. We used to call him “the paw” because of the way he opens drawers or cabinets and pilfers whatever he likes, usually hair thingies. He and Gabby are mad over scrunchies, and colorful bands that hold hair in pony tails.

Pookah is a gorgeous cat and an excellent thief, but he sucks his tail. Not very manly. A kind woman living in Florida sent us Gabby years ago to comfort the children after the tragic death of their young cousin Matthew. Gabby came to us on a plane, an odd infant highly unlike the barn cats we were accustomed to.

At first we didn’t know what to think of this little gray monkey forever disappearing into the highest cabinets or crouching on the tops of doors and wardrobes. Nor did we understand her peculiar cry, but once we learned to know her, we were hooked. That’s how we came by Pookah, the big-eared kitten we kept from a litter of three after we had Gabby bred to a fancy Siamese, Cappuccino. He wasn’t manly either.

Then there’s Minnie Mae, the tabby kitten-cat my daughter Elise and I raised from early infancy after her stray, airhead mother inadvertently left Minnie Mae and her brother Cedric in our care. Minnie Mae was so tiny she barely spanned my palm and is still small for a grown cat. Cedric is a big boy and resides with son Cory on the other farm, but he’s a sissy too, and has a favorite blanket which he kneads obsessively, probably due to the trauma of being abandoned shortly after birth. He also sucks on it. His father is a tough old barn cat named Chester. Nothing sissy about Chester.

All three of our cats must content themselves with gazing out the window, tails twitching whenever they spy a bird. It’s touching how devoted they are to birds, and have often asked for a bird of their very own, “To hug it and squeeze it and call it George,” but I am not so gullible. I don’t know how common it is to have arguments with cats but Gabby and I argue all the time–Pookah, only when he is particularly put out with the accommodations here, and then he really howls.

Minnie Mae is a whimsical creature, with a funny series of purrs. Elise calls the chirrupy purr when she scampers across the room, her bouncing purr. Then there’s her inquiring purr, when she has a question, which is fairly often being a thoughtful, observant cat. Her excited purr hums forth when she greets us after a long absence, say overnight. She sleeps outside Dennis’ and my bedroom door and eagerly awaits the dawn.

When I was a child I listened repeatedly to a favorite record that I still have about the adventures of Dick Whittington and his cat. Dick would exclaim: “Here comes Ripple Dee Dee! Oh, cat, I love you very much.” And I do. All of them.

I went down to the dairy this morning and played with Zippy, the bouncy black kitten that has come into our lives. He’s about five or six weeks old and scampers around fearlessly like a streaking bullet. But also tolerates snuggling and is very sweet. His mother, Kate, a small calico barn cat, is affectionate though not overly. Until two days ago, Zippy and his shy as yet unnamed orange brother lived up in the loafing shed. That’s the building where dairy cows hang out and shoot pool, play cards or snack in the dining hall until they feel like ambling out to the meadow to soak up some rays and chew the cud.

The loafing shed is also like a hotel or all girl dorm with sleeping accommodations, wooden stalls filled with shavings, which they haggle over. The stalls all look pretty much the same to me, but apparently cows can discern the difference in quality. Maybe some command a better view of the barn or have plusher shavings. Only they know. It’s a great place for kittens as long as they don’t get stepped on.

The milking parlor is where the real action is, and the milk. Cats and kittens get free samples and snitch dog food and whatever else is tossed their way, in addition to the very important work of mousing. And now Zippy has graduated to the big league. What’s next? The old red barn.

Elise and I found a bedraggled black kitten in a shadowed corner of the old barn huddled beside an ancient water trough. Hay was stuck to its fur and its head slick in places from a calf’s sympathetic tongue. We carried the mewing puff ball down to the house and gave it a bath. Being mostly fur, it shrank considerably in the water and nearly disappeared.

After drying this soggy specimen of catdom, we bundled it up in an old towel and fed it the formula concocted by a local vet for orphan kittens: one cup whole milk, one teaspoon of vegetable oil, one egg yolk, whisk well and warm. This baby is old enough to lap and downed the lot I had poured into a shallow lid. We filled a canning jar with hot water, screwed the lid on tightly and tucked our swaddled charge beside the improvised water bottle back in the small closet in the laundry room. Assorted farm coats, jeans and shirts hang on hooks up above and brush our heads as we kneel to peer into this den-like place. There’s nothing dogs like better for a bed than a worn coat with that farm smell still clinging to it, cozily tucked back into this closet.

Cats prefer sunbeams but will make do. I’ve spent many hours on my knees helping to birth puppies, fuss over their care and tend kittens. Countless kittens and puppies, tiny terriers that could fit in a shoe box, medium size dogs and dogs that have grown too big but are still attached, have called this comforting space home. The narrow walls are gnawed and deeply grooved from the many inhabitants over the years. Every household should have such a place.

Fortunately, our dog, Mia (an animal shelter rescue) also likes her bed in the dining room because she can’t be trusted to kitten-sit. The formula rapidly dwindles. Not only that, she’s afraid of kittens. Silly, silly Mia. The kitten does not yet have a name because if you name a creature that implies that it’s staying, which this one very well may be. Sometimes you just need a kitten.

Oddly, it would seem that Mia always wanted a kitten of her own after all. She follows the minute puff ball around the kitchen and hovers over it with a worried look. Actually, Mia generally looks worried. I suppose from earlier traumas before we took her in. She has never had a small furry friend though and even tries to play with the kitten as it bounds around the kitchen in great excitement over everything and anything.
My mother made the observation that kittens and other babies can utterly give themselves to play in a way that the rest of us can’t because we’ve had the “play” smacked out of us by life. Now and then, I think we should all play as unreservedly as possible.
Beth Trissel

So there you have it. Wonderful stories from people who love their pets. How about you? Have stories to share? Write back with your wonderful pet story in the comments section.

Thanks for reading!

Pamela Roller is the author of On Silent Wings, a sexy gothic historical romance set in Restoration England. Visit her website at http://www.pamelaroller.com/.©Pamela Roller