Tag Archives: puppy rescue

Furbaby Friday with Toni V. Sweeney!


I am glad to welcome the talented Toni V. Sweeney to the blog to share a beloved furbaby memory. This is one of the best stories we’ve had on Furbaby Friday, and deeply moving. Get out the tissues.

Toni: The Biggest Dog in the World

His name was Spud, a name for a big bruiser of a dog—think Spuds McKenzie, the Budweiser dog—and not a toy poodle, but he had the heart of the biggest dog in the universe…

He was Spud McRowdi, son of Conan the Barkbarian.

At birth, Spud weighed two ounces. If I’d put a stamp on him, I could’ve mailed him First Class.

I was there when he was born, saw this tiny creature… just lying there…not moving… blew gently against its tiny pink nose…nothing. In desperation, I took a cotton swab, forced open the toothless mouth and pushed the swab over the lax minute tongue into the little throat. There was a gigantic gag…the puppy started breathing, and I stood there, staring at the tiny miracle of life lying on my palm.

He certainly wasn’t much to look at—not much longer than my middle finger nor even as wide, bulging eyelids resembling a baby bird’s…a turned-up pink nose like a tiny piglet…the hairless tail of a white rat—looked like anything except a dog.

“Ugly little spud, isn’t he?” I quoted the famous line from the movie Ghostbusters, in the scene where the trio have their encounter with the green slime ghost. He was supposed to be named Whitey, but he was Spud from that moment on.

The next day, I made a beeline for the vet’s. He said, “If you can keep him alive two weeks, he might make it,” gave me puppy formula, a 6-ounce syringe, a feeding tube, and instructions on how to feed the puppy using the syringe.

Every two hours day and night for two weeks, I stuffed that feeding tube down that poor puppy’s throat, injecting formula. “This is like taking care of a real baby!” I told my son.

I also had to keep Spud on a heating pad to keep his body temperature regulated—even in July—and run a vaporizer to keep his respiratory system clear. Ruined the bedroom wall with all that steam, but what the heck?

In two weeks, I was feeding Spud other things through his tube: watery pablum with strained eggs mixed in, apple juice. He now fit in the palm of my hand, was the size he should have been at birth, weighed one pound. His sisters were three times that size.

During the day, Spud slept in an old playpen, protected from those boisterous girl-pups. At night, he snuggled on my pillow. When we went places, he rode in my shirt pocket.

“Is that thing real?” people would ask. “Where’s his wind-up key?”

Suddenly, he began to grow…teeth, for starters. I was beginning to wonder if I was going to have the first dog with dentures, but at six months, two tiny toothpick incisors appeared and then a mouthful of teeth. Spud started growing, and didn’t stop until he weighted 7 whole pounds and was a full 12 inches high at the shoulder, still smaller than anyone else in his family, but big enough, considering how he started out.

Being premature, he was sickly, internally, anyway. He developed kidney failure, was put on a high carb diet. Ironically, the family cat was diagnosed with the same thing 6 months later, though the vet assured me there was no correlation. Nonetheless, both went on the same diet—Ramen noodles, rice, chopped spaghetti, with a little regular pet chow thrown in. Spud gobbled it down and went on his merry way, bullying the entire household.

In Nebraska’s winter, frolicking in the snow in below-zero temperatures, he allowed me to dress him in sweaters and snowsuits, and bore Spring hair-cuts with stoic stolidness—but no nail paint or bows…please! After all, he was a he-man dog, even if he was a poodle.

I talked to Spud as if he were human. He thought he was, anyway. A canine intelligence test showed he had the IQ of a two-year-old person. He became my bodyguard—all 7 pounds of him. When the Gentleman Caller came around, he sat between us like a jealous child. It took him a year to accept the man who became his Best Buddy.

He even had his fifteen minutes of fame as one of the characters in my novel Spacedogs’ Best Friend.

The end came less dramatically than the beginning. When he became ill, I wasn’t worried; he’d had other bouts…he always rallied…for 14 years…

Not this time. Too weak to stand, he was taken to the backyard, wagged his tail and sniffed the early morning air as he always did. Then, he was carried inside and placed on my bed. He lay his head on his forepaws and took a deep breath and let it out….

spudEven now, thoughts of that faithful, loving little creature can make me cry. I can truthfully say I’ve never known any human as affectionate and faithful as that tiny dog. I was “Mama” and he was “my baby,” and we both knew the true meaning of the word “bonded.”

He loved me for no other reason than because he could.

I’d been there at the beginning, I was there at the end, and—to paraphrase another saying—Spuddy, I’m glad to have known you!

Blurb for Spacedogs’ Best Friend:

Against her parents’ wishes, spoiled teenager Jenny Halpin’s doting uncle gives her a space cruise as a graduation gift.  Unfortunately, before Jenny can enjoy much of the voyage, the ship collides with a meteor shower and her escape pod is separated from the others.

Landing on an uninhabited world are Jenny and her pod-mates…three poodles. Not just any poodles. They’re the telepathic royal family of Canaris and they seem to think Jenny’s their servant, existing just to protect and serve them…

Robinson Crusoe had it easy!

spacedogs2-001

Read about the exploits of the fictional Spud and his family in the novel Spacedogs’ Best Friend at Amazon in Kindle: www.amazon.com/Spacedogs-Best-Friend-Toni-Sweeney-ebook/dp/B00JPOGAN8/

In paperback from:

http://www.classactbooks.com/young-adult/spacedogs-best-friend-461-462-463-detail

***Award-winning author Toni V. Sweeney has numerous titles published in various fiction genres. Visit her Amazon Author Page at:

https://www.amazon.com/Toni-V.-Sweeney/e/B002BLQBB8/

Thank you for stopping by! Please leave Toni a comment.

Furbaby Friday with Brenda Whiteside!


I’m glad to have fellow Wild Rose Press Author Brenda Whiteside with us to share her wonderful dog memories and western romance, The Deep Well of Love and Murder (The Love and Murder Series Book 5).

Brenda: I’ve been lucky to share the life of a host of cats and dogs over my lifetime. The luckiest period of time was a ten year stretch when Rusty lived with us. He was by far the best animal friend FDW and I ever had. The day we walked into PetSmart for cat food and walked out with a rescue puppy, was a surprise and a great day. That puppy looked at me with big eyes rimmed in deep brown, and I fell in love.

Rusty came from the Navajo Indian Reservation in Northern Arizona. His mama was a Red Heeler cattle dog and his daddy was a stranger passing through the res. Judging from Rusty’s long fur, streaks of gold, and personality traits, we’re pretty certain that stranger was a Golden Retriever.

Not only was Rusty an affectionate doggie, but he was also the “smartest dog in the world.” He helped me unload groceries from the car carrying in packages of paper goods and other sundries. Then, I would stand on a stool, and he would hand me rolls of paper towels and toilet paper to store on the shelves. When he saw me carrying dirty clothes from the hampers to the laundry room, he’d chomp some pieces and follow me. Every morning, he’d wait at the door to go out for the newspaper. He was FDW’s favorite fishing buddy. He’d jump with excitement whenever my husband had a fish on the line. But he’d also scold him when he went too long in between catches.

He’s been gone for three years and we still miss him.

Rusty has a role in my latest release, The Deep Well of Love and Murder, series book five. He was the inspiration for Perro, a Red Heeler mix and the best friend of Randy Silva. Perro was born unable to utter any sound and his hearing is limited to Randy’s high-pitched whistle, but his other senses are heightened. He warns Randy of danger more than once. I had fun including Rusty/Perro in this story.

Blurb:
After an abusive childhood and bad marriage, Laura Katz has finally found a home, stability…and possibly love. But her blissful refuge as nanny on the Meadowlark Ranch, miles from Flagstaff, shatters when her ex is released from prison, determined to reclaim her.

Randy Silva, the Argentine foreman, has plans for his own ranch, but a nasty land grab is underway. While the battle escalates, Laura steals his heart, but there are outsiders who stand in their way. He’s in a fight for his land, and the woman he wants by his side.

Stakes are high, as the attacks on Randy and his ranch draw blood. While the vengeful ex-husband stalks Laura, a mob-backed land developer teams with a desperate gambler. Randy can’t be sure where the next attack will come from—or who will be caught in the crossfire.

Excerpt:
“You let me be the judge of what messes I choose in my life.” His hands twitched at his sides, longing to hold her and stifle her anger. He narrowed his eyes and stared deeper into hers instead. “Taking care of your ex is a mess I look forward to.”
“This is my mess, not yours.” Her tone grew more combative. “I’ve handled what I’ve been dealt, and I’ll continue handling whatever gets thrown at me.”
“I don’t see it that way.” He kept his voice level, but hard edged. His own emotions, convincing her while fear of losing her, hammered his self-control. “You’re locking me out. Why? Because you think you aren’t allowed to be happy?”
Her mouth pinched in a tight line, and she glared at him. “Randy—”
“I think it’s about damned time you stopped blaming your mother, your ex, or whoever for your unhappiness.”
She whirled away, ready to flee, but he couldn’t stop now. He needed her and had to make her see how much she needed him. “Don’t be afraid of me, Laura Jane.” He shuffled a half-step closer.
“I’m not afraid.” She faced him again. “But I don’t need you to tell me how to run my life, if that’s what you think you can do.”
Perro jumped and planted his paws on Randy’s hip, panting heavily. “For Pete’s sake, Perro—”
Laura’s brow furrowed. “Do you smell that?”
“What?” As soon as he’d asked, the hot, smoky scent assaulted his senses.
Fire.

Buy Links:
https://www.amazon.com/Deep-Well-Love-Murder-Book-ebook/dp/B07CLRX7Y8

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-deep-well-of-love-and-murder-brenda-whiteside/1129082442?ean=2940162047827

https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/the-deep-well-of-love-and-murder/id1376415644?mt=11

https://catalog.thewildrosepress.com/all-titles/5877-the-deep-well-of-love-and-murder.html

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-deep-well-of-love-and-murder

https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Brenda_Whiteside_The_Deep_Well_of_Love_and_Murder?id=vKFfDwAAQBAJ

Bio:
Brenda and her husband are gypsies at heart having lived in six states and two countries. Currently, they split their time between the Lake Roosevelt basin in Central Arizona and the pines in the north. Wherever Brenda opens her laptop, she spends most of her time writing stories of discovery and love entangled with suspense.

Visit Brenda at www.brendawhiteside.com
Or on FaceBook: www.facebook.com/BrendaWhitesideAuthor
Twitter: https://twitter.com/brendawhitesid2
She blogs on the 9th and 24th of every month: http://rosesofprose.blogspot.com
She blogs about life’s latest adventure and has fun guests on her personal blog: https://brendawhiteside.blogspot.com/
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B003V15WF8
Goodreads Author Page: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3972045.Brenda_Whiteside
BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/brenda-whiteside
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/brendawhitesideauthor/

Thanks for stopping by! Please leave Brenda a comment!

Furbaby Friday with Karen Docter!


I’m thrilled to have the fabulous Karen Docter here to share her wonderful furbaby rescue and gripping romantic suspense, Killing Secrets (Thorne’s Thorns Book 1).

I Never By Karen Docter

You know that word you should never say…never?
I said I’d never give in to another dog in the house. Two is enough…right? I believe I even said, at one point, that one dog is enough. That memory is a bit vague. After all, we tend to like big dogs and there’s just so much tripping over the Great Pyrenees or the Labrador or the American Boxer you can do without losing your mind and balance. The word move is not generally in their vocabulary. I think, in dog, it translates to walk between my legs. I’m too short for their translation.

(Baby Tucker)

But I digress.

When we lost our Great Pyrenees, our lab went into a decline. Piper seriously grieved over the loss of her best friend and we were worried about her health, so we decided she needed a new playmate. We adopted my daughter’s 2-year-old boxer, Mikka. They were already playdate friends. Our pet lives were full again. We’ve never (there’s that word again) had more than two dogs at one time so I figured we were safe from temptation for the foreseeable future. We’d never add another dog to the mix.

Famous last words.

I’m usually the soft touch. My husband can say no fairly easily, but I’m blaming him for the third dog to enter the house. Okay, I’m the one who carried Tucker through the door. Still. Husband’s fault!
I was minding my own business, happily working on my latest book. My husband had gone across the street to visit with our neighbor and his guests from Oklahoma. (We knew them, had even gone on vacation with them for the last neighborhood ride. We all have motorcycles. Ours is bright yellow and called Bumblebee, a whole ‘nother story!) He’s gone five minutes, I swear, and comes rushing in the front door and tells me I have to come see this puppy they brought with them from Oklahoma.

Following, with him talking a mile a minute about how cute he is, yada-yada, I was halfway across the street when it hit me, “We’re getting a new puppy!” So, when I met little Tucker I was still trying to wrap my head around where my husband was leading me. My resistance was down. It’s the only explanation. The next thing I know, our friend thrust this week old, maybe 10-day old (I can’t remember, it’s all a blur) bundle of fluff and cuteness, his eyes barely opened, into my hands.

(Teeny baby Tucker. Such cuteness!)

I was done. I was in love. I didn’t put him down again even after I carried him through our front door. “Never” became a leaf on the wind the moment I heard his story.

Tucker’s mom, a border collie, was run over when the litter was barely a day old. Her owners didn’t even realize she’d delivered her puppies until they heard them crying later that night. My friends took one of the pups to foster him. I didn’t know at the time they brought Tucker to Colorado with us in mind as his new parents. We’ve since forgiven them.

He was still being bottle fed and they offered to take him back to Oklahoma with them until he was weaned but I couldn’t let him out of my sight. I have to say, despite the fact I said I knew what I was getting myself into, I wasn’t quite ready for the reality of bottle feeding a puppy every two hours or bathing him as often as his mother would have or weaning him or….well, you get the picture.

I don’t think I’ll ever (variation of never that might come back and bite me in the fanny someday) take another puppy that young again, but I wouldn’t have missed Tucker for the world. We have a special relationship with him that we didn’t have with any of the others who were weaned first. My husband and I, and the two older dogs, are his littermates.

He’s over two years old now and really attached to all of us, including my new daughter-in-law who moved in downstairs. I think he’s in love with her, to be truthful. He runs downstairs to be with her whenever she’s home and has even been known to push his way between her and my son. We may lose Tucker when they move out because I’m not sure he won’t whine for his new girlfriend—he whines incessantly when he knows she’s home but he can’t get to her—but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.

Until then, I can honestly say that we’ll never add another dog to the household. It’s against the law in our town to have more than three dogs. Now, I just need to keep my husband from visiting the neighbors without me. ~


(Tucker at bath time)

Beth: Karen, I love Tucker’s story! I have two cats who were abandoned as kittens that I raised from infancy and am also especially close to.

Now for Karen’s exciting romantic suspense!

Killing Secrets (Thorne’s Thorns Book 1) by K.L. Docter Blurb:

Some secrets are better left dead.

Rachel James’ ex-husband is released from prison determined to reclaim her and her little girl — the child is his key to controlling the James fortune. Frightened, Rachel flees to Denver with the child who hasn’t uttered a word since her daddy went to prison.

Contractor Patrick Thorne wants nothing to do with another of his parents’ charity cases. He failed his own wife so abysmally she took her own life as well as his unborn son’s. After two years, it’s time to concentrate on the bid he’s won and the saboteur trying to destroy his construction firm.

There is no room for trust in either of their hearts. But trust is all that will untangle the secrets that dominate their lives, free a little girl of her silent prison, and save them all from a serial killer who stands too close.~

Excerpt from Killing Secrets
© Copyright 2014 – K.L. Docter

Denver, Colorado.

At the first crack of gunfire, Rachel dove headfirst into the garden she was weeding. Listening for the second report she expected to follow, she prayed Amanda stayed at Patrick Thorne’s house where she’d gone an hour ago to play with her new friend, Suze.
Gasping for air, she inhaled the rich, spicy scent of freshly turned soil and crushed nasturtiums instead. Dirt and grit bit into her cheek and the bare flesh exposed by her cutoffs and T-shirt. The mid-afternoon sun beat hot against her shoulders and legs, and all she could do was lie there and watch a fat bumblebee dip into a russet blossom three inches from her nose.
Had she run almost nine hundred miles only to die like this, grubbing alone in the dirt like a spineless worm?
A surge of anger gave her impetus to lift her head. She peeked over the flimsy wall of twelve-inch annuals between her and the street. A second gunshot rang out, belched in a cloud of black smoke from an ancient Volkswagen bus that disappeared around the corner.
Backfire?
She groaned, more relieved than embarrassed by her overreaction. Her chin dropped. Taking several deep draughts of the thin Colorado air, she worked to calm the pound of her heart against her ribcage. Her efforts made her head swim. A minute later she was able to push herself out of the three-foot section of garden she’d mown down.
Her nerves had been on edge since she fled Dallas on Friday, five days ago. If she weren’t so overwrought it would have occurred to her Greg would never stand at a distance and take potshots at her. No. Greg liked to look into her eyes when he meted out his punishments.
An icy shiver skimmed her skin. Each day that passed without his appearance should have reassured her she’d made the right decision to accept Katy’s arrangements with the Thornes. As long as Greg didn’t track her and Amanda to Denver, they were safe.
Problem is she hadn’t felt safe since Amanda was born and she discovered what kind of man she’d married. Now she couldn’t pluck enough weeds from Evelyn Thorne’s gardens by day to tear the anxiety from her heart at night. Her growing sense of trepidation kept her awake long after the morning stars dimmed above the mile-high city’s cloudless skies.
How could the justice system simply hand Greg a “get out of jail free” card? She’d always known the man had connections in high places, but how had he arranged for the evidence in his case—evidence she’d risked everything to provide—to disappear before he even went to trial? If he’d accomplished that feat while behind bars, how in the world was she and Amanda going to stay out of his clutches?
She felt like there were giant bull’s-eyes painted on their backs, that it was only a matter of time before Greg tracked them down. During their marriage the man would spend weeks, even months, laying meticulous groundwork for one of his cons. He’d had six months to plan dozens of new punishments for his betrayer.
“‘Til death us do part, darlin’.”
His words echoed over the expanse of time and distance, ringing a fresh peal of dread in Rachel’s breast. With one hand, she brushed clumps of soil off her tangerine T-shirt and whispered a small prayer. Please don’t let him find us!

***Read Killing Secrets, Karen’s first standalone book in the Thorne’s Thorns series, at a special discounted price of $2.99 for three days only, Friday, Saturday & Sunday, July 27-29. Dead Ringer, Thorne’s Thorns Book 2, COMING SOON.

Buy Links:

Amazon: http://amzn.to/2iFFWmg
B&N: http://goo.gl/wsqVxB
Kobo: http://goo.gl/KM563U
Google Play: http://goo.gl/mogQqs
iTunes: http://goo.gl/pg58wN

Bio: Bestselling Author Karen Docter writes contemporary romance. When she feels the need to feed the dark side, she writes intense suspense thrillers as K.L. Docter. She’s an award-winning author, a four-time Romance Writers of America® Golden Heart® finalist, and won the coveted Kiss of Death Romance Writers Daphne du Maurier Award Category (Series) Romantic Mystery Unpublished division.

Connect with Karen:
Website/Blog: http://www.karendocter.com
Twitter: @KarenDocter
Karen Docter FB: goo.gl/6TXc5X
K.L. Docter FB: goo.gl/uD1iGL
Goodreads: https://goo.gl/bsswDd

Thanks for stopping by! Please leave Karen a comment!