Tag Archives: dog rescue

Furbaby Comfort in Times of Grief


When the going gets tough.

(Cooper licking my elbow as I type)

Furbabies don’t understand when someone dies. They carry on as usual, but sense something’s wrong. Maybe with cats, it’s because our purr is off, or our auras are. With dogs, it’s our demeanor. They know, without being told a thing. No explanation required. I need that kind of empathy. My younger brother, Chad, died suddenly this past weekend. He’s had immense challenges for years after a tragic skiing accident as a freshman in college left him with a severe head injury. There were close calls since then, accidental overdoses of his seizure med, and choking incidences. But we always got him back, a little worse for wear, but still with us. This time, we didn’t get him back. He’s with God now, freed from his earthly bonds, but my, oh my, how we miss him. Chad was one of the good ones. His challenges didn’t diminish his inner light. It burned brighter.(Image of my sister, Catherine, Beth, brother John, and Chad in glasses)

Chad insisted on living his life as fully as he could after the accident and was an inspiration to many. His warmth and gentle spirit touched all who knew him, as did his love of nature. He spent his last hours (weeks, months) laying stone around the beautiful water garden at his and my parent’s home, a project that brought him much joy. Now, the water garden is his memorial. Chad’s Pond. Stones with inscriptions from friends and family will be laid beside this lovely site. I will help mom plant bulbs and perennials around it–a memorial garden. We found a plant order form he had already filled out, likely with this in mind.

I have admired that water garden often this week. Each time I return home from these bittersweet visits, I’m greeted by an exuberant puppy, ecstatic to see me. After circling the room/house/yard like he’s been shot out of guns,  Cooper calms down and sits not only with me, but on me. This is new. Normally, Kitty Cream sits by my head. Last evening, when I was very sad, he sat on my middle and snuggled close. He’s nearly three and has never done this before. Kitty Peaches hugs me. Jilly sits by my side. Kitty Pavel isn’t a Cooper fan, so he perches overhead on the couch. I am not alone. Furbabies see to that. Where I am, they are.

(Cooper and Jilly)

‘We long for an affection altogether ignorant of our faults. Heaven has accorded this to us in the uncritical canine attachment.’~George Elliot

(Peaches and Cream as kittens)

‘What greater gift than the love of a cat?’ ~Charles Dickens

Furbaby Friday with Author Jennifer Wilck


I’m glad to welcome fellow Wild Rose Press Author Jennifer Wilck who shares about her special furbaby. her family, writing, and exciting new release.

Jennifer: Our dog rescued my family and me when she was approximately two years old. We count her birthday as her adoption day, April 10.

After my two daughters argued over approximately thirty names, they settled on the extremely non-creative name of Midnight. As an author, I’m a little embarrassed about that, and swear my character names are better—I hope!

I have no idea why her original family gave her up, because she is the smartest, most well behaved dog, I’ve ever known.

She learned her name within three days.

We don’t let her upstairs because of my allergies, and not only did she learn not to go upstairs within the first day at our house, but she transfers that training to my parents’ house as well.

She can tell, based on the clothes I wear when I come downstairs in the morning whether or not I’m taking her for a walk (even my kids don’t do that!).

She only eats food if you tell her to, which means when you drop food on the floor, she looks at you first before going after it. An awesome trait, except that I STILL have to vacuum up crumbs.

(Midnight at the vet hoping for a treat)

She likes people better than animals. When we walk, she goes up to the human while their dog goes up to her. However, her best dog friend is Chester, a 90-pound hound. She’s 30 pounds. And she thinks she’s the alpha. She makes him walk behind her and she barks at any dog that tries to come near him. She’s fickle in her affections, though, and if she’s not in the mood for him to sniff her, she runs through his legs. Or she turns her head away and refuses to look at him. Poor guy.

I spend a lot of time at my computer—I’m a writer, after all. When she wants attention, she sits at my feet and leans against my legs. If I don’t notice her, she bangs against me. So I stop, rub her back and give her the attention we both need. Sitting all day would otherwise be boring and unhealthy.

Walking her in the morning provides me with inspiration. We live on a lake and it’s 3.5 miles around. She loves it because she gets exercise and a chance to sniff everything. I love it because it gets me moving, gets my creative juices flowing and wakes me up.

We’re a good team, she and I. And I think I might be a better writer because of her.

Beth: What a touching story about Midnight rescuing you and your family, Jennifer. I agree, that’s often the way with our ‘rescues.’ They actually rescue us.

Jennifer: Addicted to Love is my first contemporary romance with The Wild Rose Press. It’s the first book in an anticipated three-book series. While the story is a mainstream romance, the characters are Jewish, which I think adds some spice and variety to the story, especially the meddlesome-yet-loveable grandma and the food! The setting is Hoboken, NJ and New York City. And, like many of my other books, there is a child. In this case, she’s a teenager. As the mom of two teen girls, I have a lot of experience in this area, and it was fun creating a relatable character that showcases the best side teenage girlhood (and, of course, a few eye rolls, because, you know, teenagers!). I hope you enjoy it!

Blurb: Dan Rothberg struggled after an accident killed his wife and he nearly lost custody of his daughter. He can no longer allow himself to get attached to anything or anyone. Until he meets Hannah.

Hannah Cohen is a young executive with a meddlesome grandmother and a troubled brother. She’d like nothing better than to find her own Mr. Right, after too many Mr. Wrongs. A sexy older man with a teenage daughter was never in her plans.

As they navigate their relationship through adolescent attitudes and grandmotherly interference, they realize age is just a number and love can be right in front of them. But when the terrible truth of Dan’s former struggles is exposed, Hannah must decide if she can get past his deception and allow love to conquer all.

Buy Links:

The Wild Rose Press: https://catalog.thewildrosepress.com/all-titles/5133-addicted-to-love.html?search_query=jennifer+wilck&results=2

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Addicted-Love-Serendipity-Book-1-ebook/dp/B071HZQS4S/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1499096714&sr=8-1&keywords=jennifer+wilck

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/addicted-to-love-jennifer-wilck/1126454796?ean=2940157486310

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/addicted-to-love-13

Biography: Jennifer started telling herself stories as a little girl when she couldn’t fall asleep at night. Her favorite stories to write are those with smart, sassy, independent heroines; handsome, strong and slightly vulnerable heroes; and her stories always end with happily ever after.

In the real world, she’s the mother of two amazing daughters and wife of one of the smartest men she knows. When she’s not writing, she loves to laugh with family and friends, is a pro at finding whatever her kids lost in plain sight, and spends way too much time closing doors that should never have been left open. She believes humor is the only way to get through the day and doesn’t share her chocolate.

She writes contemporary romance, some of which are mainstream and some of which involve Jewish characters. All are available through Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

Social Media:

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Jennifer-Wilck-201342863240160/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/JWilck

Website: http://www.jenniferwilck.com

Blog: http://jenniferwilck.blogspot.com

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/jenniferwilck/

Furbaby Friday with Author P.L. Parker


Friend and fellow Author P.L. Parker is sharing about her amazing childhood friend, a little dog with a big heart who didn’t know he was small, and giving away a copy of her featured romance. More on that below.

…And then there was Spike

(Spike with Patsy’s brother)

He was already 2 years old when Grandma and Grandpa found him for us. Scrawny and ugly, dirty brown and unkempt, he was a far cry from Sandy, our beautiful little Chihuahua who’d recently died of kennel cough. He had the large soulful eyes and a baby face and his name was Spike, a strange name for a little part Chihuahua/terrier who barely weighed in at 5 pounds. He was scared and mean, having spent the first two years of his life beaten and tied up in a dark basement, maturing without anyone to train him or give him love.

The first few days, he hid under a chair and as we walked by, he’d jump out and bite our ankles and then dive back into his hidey-hole. Finally, my dad got disgusted, put on a pair of leather gloves and dragged him out biting and squealing. Dad sat him on his lap, talked soothingly to him, petting his back until he settled down. One by one, Dad had us come over slowly, put our hand out so Spike could smell it and then, if Spike was willing, we could pet him. After we’d all introduced ourselves, it was if Spike said “okay, these are my people.” He got down off of Dad’s lap and found his food bowl. That was the beginning of our life with Spike. Once the good food and lots of love kicked in, Spike’s coat turned into a beautiful light golden blonde.

He was gutter smart, not the fancy trained pet who did everything we wanted, but he was so smart—and he adored us kids. I could dress him up in my doll clothes and he’d wear them proudly for as long as I wanted.

I had a special connection with him. I could just tell him things and he would do it. I had a pet hamster once and we were playing in the back yard. Mom called me in to do something. I told Spike to keep the hamster in the back yard, went in the house and promptly forgot about them. Hours later, near dark, Mom asked: “Anybody seen Spike?” Oops.  I ran outside and there was Spike still herding the hamster around the back yard. I apologized and picked the hamster up. Spike glared at me as if to say “you idiot,” and then marched into the house and ate his dinner.

There was a human trapped inside that little body. He was a hunter, a protector and from his point of view, a German Shepard. There wasn’t a dog in the world he wouldn’t take on, much to our dismay. I can’t count the amount of times he’d slip out of the house and come back so chewed up, we thought he was dead for sure. On one such event, we didn’t think there was any hope. Spike crawled under a chair for days, not eating, not drinking. (I should mention here that Spike’s favorite food was chocolate and back then we didn’t know how dangerous it was for animals.)  Worried about the little guy, Mom went out and bought him a whole box of chocolates and hand fed him. He gobbled them down and then he was fine.

He always went everywhere with us. He would sit over the front seat so he could watch out the window and even when Dad had to slam on the brakes, he never fell off. Our female Siamese cat Tammy was his close companion and she went on vacation with us as well. We never worried about her running away, she was always two steps behind Spike. On vacation to northern Idaho one year, it was so hot, we stopped along the river and we all piled out and into the water. Spike waded in and right behind him was Tammy. They flopped down in the water next to us for as long as we stayed in. Tammy was Spike’s baby and when she died we all, as well as Spike, mourned her for a long long time.

(Spike with her father)

As I said, he loved us kids. One year at the lake in Yellowstone Park, my sister and I were about waist high in the water. Spike was on the beach with Dad so we started bobbing up and down, acting like we were drowning. Spike grabbed Dad’s pant leg and tried to drag him into the water. Finally, he jumped in and swam out, to save us I am sure. When he got to us, we jumped up and laughed saying “Ha Ha Spike, we fooled you.” He was so mad. He swam back to shore, shook himself off and then stalked to the camper where he stayed the rest of the day.

He loved to hunt and no one can tell me a Chihuahua isn’t a hunting dog. If Dad got his shotgun, Spike was on his tail begging to go. We were out pheasant hunting one day and two hunters came by with their fancy, expensive hunting dogs.  They’d just come through a field and hadn’t flushed anything. Dad laughed, told them their dogs were worthless. Didn’t make them happy. He put down Spike and told him to flush. Spike ran to the brush, paced back and forth and then froze, looking over his shoulder at Dad.  Dad gave him the go to flush and the little guy dove in.  Three pheasants flew up. Spike bit on the tail of the rooster and wouldn’t let go. Needless to say, the other two hunters loaded up their dogs in a huff and drove off.  The rooster was so big, he flew off with Spike on his tail. We thought we’d lost him, but he ran back a little bit later.  Even when he was so old he couldn’t keep up, Dad would put him in a front pack and take him along.

My oldest sister moved out but came home to visit and when she did, she had this nasty part Siamese cat who was really mean. One day I was sitting on the couch and Spike was next to me and the cat was ripping at a chair, biting people as they walked by and just being a brat. I looked at Spike and said, “Go over there and shake the crap out of that cat.”  He looked at me as if to say “really?” Then he got down, went over to the chair, hopped up, grabbed the cat by the scruff of the neck and shook the cat hard as he could. He got down, came back, sat by me and yawned.  Across the room, my Dad was sitting there with his mouth hanging open. He said, “How’d you get him to do that?” I said: “I told him to.”

I have so many memories of that little dog.  You might think these stories are fabrications, but believe me they’re not and these are just the tip of the iceberg. As I’m sitting here writing this, I begin to cry, for the loss of the little friend of my childhood and for the wonderful times gone by.  He lived to be 18 years old and by that time, he’d lost an eye to a tumor and was somewhat senile, but he never failed to get excited when one of us kids would come home.  Somewhere out there, a little dog is just waiting for us to come home—and he’ll be so happy when we do.~

***Wonderful story. I loved learning about this amazing dog, Made me tear up.

A pic of what Spike might look like in color. He was a Deer head chihuahua.

A bit from the author:

I am a dreamer, an avid reader of fiction, a sometimes gardener and an inept crafter. I live in Idaho, with my husband, three sons, daughter-in-law and little granddaughter. I love to travel, but always return to my beloved Idaho. For many years, I performed and taught dance but as time passed, I decided to try my hand at a new endeavor – writing. I enjoy life and all its promises

***PL Parker is giving away a copy of The Breeder Slave to one of the visitors leaving a comment.

Blurb for Science Fiction Romance Novel Breeder Slave:

He was her salvation…or her destruction.

The galactic war between the Chiagan-Se and the treacherous Deg’Nara wages on. The human females Leah and the Irish lass Moira are captured and then abandoned, forced to fend for themselves on a barren planet light years from all they know. Their only hope is Sulas, a fugitive breeder slave, who wants nothing to do with them. Survival is chancy at best, but together, the three embark on a perilous journey to rejoin the Chiagan-Se rebels. But can they survive?

Excerpt:

“He wants one of us to find his pet,” Leah grumbled. “Like we haven’t got better things to do.”

“Well, I cannae leave my post,” the petite redhead retorted. “I need to keep track of any emissions from the Deg’Nara encampment.”

“I wouldn’t even know what to look for,” Leah grumbled. “Could be a two-headed dog for all I know.”

Sulas regarded them with curious intensity, as if he understood their conversation, which was ridiculous since he didn’t speak English.

“You will need to search for the creature,” Sulas nodded in her direction. “I don’t trust Eschel. He needs watching and Moira has her duties.”

Leah snorted, disgusted. “And what kind of creature am I looking for? I don’t recall him mentioning that.”

Eschel favored her with a wide grin. “She’s a Zostarian….”

Sulas coughed and then turned away.

What’s with that?

“…a young female, practically an infant,” Eschel continued. “I call her Zozzi though she answers to anything. She’s very affectionate and sweet but she hates the Deg’Nara. I suspect she is hiding in the rafters of the storage compartments.” He turned back to the command console. “Just call her name and then say dostia ka.”

Looks like I’m elected to lead the hunting expedition! “And what does dostia ka mean if I might be so bold as to ask?”

“Come here…close enough. She’ll understand.” He spun on his chair. “She’s been hiding for some time and probably hungry by now. I suspect there wasn’t much for her to eat in the cargo hold.”

“Any chance she’s a meat eater…like maybe human meat?” Better get that cleared up before I find out the hard way.

Sulas ignored them, staring at the holographic star chart as though his life depended on it.

            “Zozzi eats what I eat,” Eschel said. “But she prefers plants and bugs.”

“Oh great, plants and bugs.” As an afterthought. “What kind of bugs?” Bugs came in all sizes and she herself might be considered a bug in the right environment.

“She will not hurt you,” Eschel grinned again. “She’s a female and much less aggressive than the males can be.” He whistled, the shrill sound long and annoying. “You don’t want to mess with the males.”

Leah sighed, a scrap more relieved but still nervous. “So all I do is go into the cargo hold and call her name and say dostia ka? And then she’ll come to me and it’ll be fine?”

“It will be fine,” Eschel agreed. “But hurry, she’s probably scared…”

Sulas coughed again, the sound suspiciously akin to a chuckle.

“Okay, okay,” she groused before switching to English. “Moira, I’m depending on you to save me if anything happens. I have a weird feeling about this little episode and I don’t trust these two as far as I can throw them.”

Sympathy etched Moira’s baby face. “I willnae fail you,” she vowed with solemn resolve. “If you scream, I will come.”

“Just you remember you said that!” She inhaled a deep breath. “It can’t be that bad. Here I go. Dostia ka Zozzi! she trilled as she strode down the passageway towards the cargo hold. “Dostia ka!”

The panel to the cargo hold slid open. Leah hesitated, allowing her eyes to adjust to the murky dimness of the cluttered space as the musty smell of old storage bins wafted through the door. She took a cautious step forward. “Dostia ka Zozzi!” she called.

Nothing.

Zozzi. Dostia ka! Woohoo!”

            Still nothing. Wonder if I’m getting treated to a good old snipe hunt—Chiagan-Se style!

She inched forward, noting the dark corners and concealed areas where the creature could secrete itself.  She shivered as tremors of anxiety traveled up her spine. It’s just too dark and quiet in here!

“Dostia ka, Zozzi!” she sing-songed. “Dostia ka!”

Her voice sounded tremulous even to her. “There better be something in here or someone is in sooo much trouble!”

Overhead, she heard what sounded like the flutter of wings. Did the creature fly?

“Zozzi, dostia ka!” Head tilted back, she scanned the darkness beyond the rafters.

Another flutter of wings. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

A soft chirrup—like a squirrel.

“Come on, baby,” she crooned, making smoochie noises. “I won’t hurt you.”

A black shadow erupted from the darkness. She caught a glimpse of bat-like wings and a wide open mouth lined with a double row of needle-sharp teeth before the creature landed on her head. Hissing and growling the mini-monster attacked entangling itself in her hair.

She screamed like a banshee, tearing at the little bastard. Leathery wings covered her face sticking to her skin like strips of psychotic Velcro. If she pulled one wing free, the creature clutched her with tiny claw-like feet as it wrapped the other wing around her. It’s trying to suffocate me!

She screamed again, rotating in a stumbling spin as she grappled with the hellish fiend. It wouldn’t let go!

Amidst the screaming and growling, she heard the cargo door slide open.

Lord save us!” She heard Moira yelp. “I’ll go for help!”

NO!” Leah screeched. “Don’t leave me!”

****Follow P.L. Parker on Amazon and visit her page: https://www.amazon.com/P.-L.-Parker/e/B002BMIAPM

Purchase The Breeder Slave in Kindle at: https://www.amazon.com/Breeder-Slave-P-L-Parker-ebook/dp/B01N7YXDW9

Visit her Website:  https://www.plparker.com/

Blog spot:  http://plparker.blogspot.com/

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Contact her at: E-mail: plparker92@yahoo.com

Dogs and Naps


Naps are well worth the time, a good investment in one’s day. Sometimes if things are wrong when I lie down, they are somehow righted when I awake. Only if I were taking one now I would have to ignore the geese up in the barn squawking about whatever it is that geese squawk about, and several of the cows are bawling. I’ll call it lowing. That sounds more appealing. But they aren’t. They’re really carrying on about whatever it is that annoys the mess out of cows, to use my eldest daughter, Alison’s, phrase. Not that I listen closely. I’ve never found cows had much to say that interested me. They tend to repeat themselves and are rather fixated on food. Not unlike some people, or Mia, the funny-looking dog we rescued from the animal shelter.

Mia watches us intently for the slightest indication that food may be involved in whatever we’re doing. If she’s asleep in the next room, she will poke her head into the kitchen when she hears the rustle of crackers or the ping of a toaster. Someone (me) shares their crusts with her and tosses her the odd cracker. My youngest daughter, Elise, is also guilty. And we discovered Alison feeding Mia entire sandwiches until we pointed out that the vet had urged us to put her on a diet. Mia is short but rather wide, portly even. So Alison cut back on her tithes.

Mia feels entitled to a portion of the take, though. She insists snacks were included in the contract we signed with the SPCA and that she will file a complaint with her benefactors if we default. She’d been in residence at the shelter for over a month when we adopted her and was partial to junk food. Several of the volunteers took a real liking to her and fed her cheese puffs and the corners of candy bars. A vet’s dream diet for dogs. They felt sorry for her because she’d been found abandoned in a derelict house and was so traumatized they thought she was mute. That, and her being half African basenji. She never even woofed. They said she might yodel. Basenjis do, but it seems Mia is unaware of this hidden talent.

I’d be rather surprised to discover her yodeling and playing the accordion. Either one. But she’s given up her vow of silence and sounds the inside alarm whenever the outside dogs go off at the slightest provocation…which brings me back to disturbances during naps.

©2007 Beth Trissel