From Hisses to Kisses by Victoria Chatham

 

AVAILABLE HERE

 

Retirement from day-to-day formal employment in 2013 was a dream come true, but as many retirees have found, the dream can fade. My dream was to concentrate on my writing, which I did for a while, and then I started getting restless.

But then a writer colleague asked if I knew anyone who might house-sit for them and look after their animals so they could have a family vacation. Who better than moi? With years of property management experience, I thought I was well qualified to look after a house. I’ve had a couple of cats and dogs for most of my life. I've been around horses since age five. In addition, I have several more qualifications, including being a mature, non-smoking individual. So now it’s have laptop, will travel. I have clients in different places, from almost on the doorstep to within a few hour’s drive from home. I enjoy very different scenery, from watching glorious sunrises on an acreage to spotting hummingbirds in an urban garden, all while I  get my pet fix.

My house and pet-sitting career started with two horses, a dog, four cats, and a bearded dragon lizard. Since then, I’ve cared for chickens, turkeys, rabbits, pigs, fish, sheep, calves, birds and goats in the ten years since then. Now I’m more mature (IE: older, but I dislike that word), I’m pickier about caring for the larger animals, goats especially. They may be adorable as kids, but in my book, they are evil beasts as adults and their horns hurt.

My mandate is to maintain as much of the pets’ routine as possible. Are pets allowed on the furniture or beds? What is their feeding routine? Are they afraid of anything? And then there are the practicalities such as where is the electrical box and main water shut-off? I always ask for emergency contacts, especially a vet. Before accepting a new client, I like to meet them and their pets. It’s a two-way street, giving the pet owner a chance to know me and see how their pets interact with me. I’m not offended if they are uncomfortable and prefer to make other arrangements, as for me, it is all about the pet(s) and their comfort.

The hardest part of my client interviews, especially where senior pets are concerned, is the ‘what if’ discussion. However much we love our pets, the sad part of being a pet parent is that they are likely to pass on before we do. Of all the seven dogs I’ve had over the years, I’ve had to make end-of-life decisions for every one of them. My first was the hardest as I had not had him long, and he wasn’t much more than a pup. The others were between twelve and nineteen, all living happy, healthy lives until they were no longer happy or healthy.

Animals give us so much joy, and I often think humans are undeserving of their love and loyalty. I’ve spent hours in the paddock with the horses, watching and talking to them. There is nothing as willing as a horse's ear. Chickens can be charmers, and many enjoy being cuddled. I've had them go to sleep in my arms. I ran a lukewarm bath for the lizard to help her slough her skin and made a mud wallow for the pigs, laughing at their antics as they splashed in and out like children playing. I had a panic attack at the house with six cats when I could only find five. It turned out that the sixth cat was very shy, and I didn’t see her until the fourth day.

My current charge hissed at me every time he saw me for the first couple of days, but now we’re joined at the hip, and I get kisses. I go to the kitchen, and he comes too. I go upstairs, and he follows. I go to the bathroom—you get the picture. I flatter myself that he really likes me, but being a cat, it could just be his way of ensuring the person who feeds him and cleans his litter tray doesn’t stray. He snuggles up to me in bed, although I draw the line at having my ear washed, and sits beside me on the sofa when I’m done writing for the day.

I consider myself fortunate to have such a variety of furry friends. Once I know their routines, I can settle into writing when they curl up in their beds and sleep. Do I have favourites? That would be telling. Life being what it is, I’ve lost some four-legged clients and gained new ones. Retirement? One day I might find out what it’s like, but until then, I’ll continue writing and house and pet sitting. 

VICTORIA CHATHAM

AT BOOKS WE LOVE

NB: images from the author's collection.

A loyal Friend—Tricia McGill

Find all information on my books here on my Author page at BWL

In these uncertain times, it is our family and our friends who see us through. For those of us who live alone, most of the time it is our pets, be it dog, cat, rabbit or horse, who help us to cope. In my case it is my remaining dog, Candy, who you can he sure is always there at my side. She follows me from room to room, and although now completely deaf knows the moment I move. Don’t ask me how she does it for she most definitely cannot hear me but her sensory organ or whatever alerts her to my movements, can bring her from a deep sleep, head tucked down, to a wide-awake watch-dog, ready for anything.

I have had many pets in my lifetime and although of varying breeds and colours they had one thing in common—their loyalty. Nothing equals the welcome we receive no matter how long we have been away. There they will be at the window waiting patiently for your return. My love of animals is common knowledge—you only need to look at my Pinterest page to understand my infatuation with all creatures great and small. A dog, cat or horse or at times all three appear in most of my books. I recently realised that I do not have one in my current work in progress so that inconsistency will need to be taken care of very soon.

A few of my favourite doggie quotes:

We give dogs time we can spare, space we can spare and love we can spare, and in return dogs give us their all. It is the best deal man has ever made. M Facklam

I have found that when you are deeply troubled, there are things you get from the silent devoted companionship of a dog that you can get from no other source. Doris Day

Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole. Roger Caras

My goal in life is to be as good a person as my dog already thinks I am. Anon

If there are no dogs in heaven, then I when I die I want to go where they went. Will Rogers.

For me a house becomes a home when you add one set of four legs, a happy tail, and that indescribable measure of love that we call a dog. Roger Caras.

Some of our greatest historical and artistic treasures we place with curators in museums; others we take for walks. Roger Caras.

My Pinterest page if you are an animal lover: 

https://www.pinterest.com/authortriciamcg/

My Web Page

  

Dog Show Addiction and the Suburban Writer by Connie Vines

When did I realize that I had a ‘dog show’ addiction?

My first inkling, was when I kept searching through the cable channels and ‘available shows to watch’ section of my service provider for the Westminster Dog Show or the Beverly Hills Dog Show. 

Mind you this was after I’d watched both shows and knew the results.

I like dogs.

I own a dog.

I belong to the Poodle group on FB and the Poodle Rescue group too.

That is fairly normal, right?

However, when your husband walks through the living room (this is the man who wouldn’t notice if I was wearing mismatched shoes and sporting a tiara) and says, “You and Chanel are watching the dog show again?” It gives one pause. So, I’m back to viewing the History Channel and PBS--cold turkey, so to speak.

This morning I had my hairdressing appointment. (Hi, Dani).

Pumi

Dani, my hair stylist, has two dogs. We share general information, family stuff, and you guessed it—we start talking about our dogs while my hair is being foil-wrapped so the highlights set. I brought up the topic of dog shows, and the new AKC breeds accepted this year and last. Excited, Dani pounces on this new topic.

Oh dear, I’ve really done it now—I’m converting (or corrupting) my friend into becoming a dog show addict, too. 

We couldn’t stop!


Dani Googled “Pumi” (my favorite new breed).  The Pumi is a medium-small breed of sheep dog from Hungary. They have a whimsical expression, with a tail that forms a circle over the back. We scrolled though the pictures (me squinting because I've removed my glasses) until we located the six-toed “Norwegian Lundehund," a small, rectangular Spitz type dog.  This progressed to a quest to find breeder information.

During the drive home, I wondered  if dogs could become addicted to television shows. Chanel seemed to enjoy watching the dog show with me.

I did a bit of research on the subject. 

It seems many dog owners (I am not among them) turn on the TV before he/she leaves for work. The station of choice for the dog seems to be Animal Planet.

Lassie has their full attention!

Former London Zoo veterinarian Malcolm Welshman addressed canine TV addiction in his research,
“A dog's eyes perceive movement and color differently than humans. In the times before HD television, watching the TV through a dog's eyes was akin to flipping through a scrapbook. Dogs require 70 images a second in order to view something as continuously in motion. Humans, on the other hand, only need up to 20. TVs were made for human eyes, not canine.”

Until high-def entertainment. 

(You can skip the next 2 scientific paragraphs, if you like 😊).

Now, dogs perceive continuous motion in film. However, dogs only have two cones in their eyes--blue and yellow--limiting their color field. In contrast, humans have three cones. Combined, much like an artist's color palette, we can see a prism of the rainbow. Dog vision is similar to what humans refer to as being color blind.

"Animal Cognition Journal" published a study to see if dogs could recognize real characters from cartoon characters as well as their own breed. They concluded that dogs really do know the difference. Scientists believe canines can detect that animated movements are not as life-like as living creatures.

Many owners notice their dog barking at animals on the TV or even scooting closer. They are actively engaging their other senses in an effort to define more about the animal, much like they would at a doggy meet-and-greet. When the on-screen animal doesn't respond to the barking, the dog can infer that it's likely not the real deal--though sometimes it takes a few more attempts to learn.

What do you think? Does your dog or cat enjoy watching TV?

Do you watch TV with your pet?


Happy Reading,

Connie

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A Dog's Life by Gail Roughton (as told to her by Max Branan)

I used to be an only dog. I remember those days. Life was good. Mine was the only food bowl on the floor. All the toys in the toy box were mine. No other belly vied for attention when I rolled over on my back. The last bite rule applied only to me. (The last bite of food any of my humans were eating, I mean. You know, that last bite of anything that tastes so good? The rule that it belongs to the dog, no matter how hungry the human is?  Wanted to clarify that, didn’t want y’all to think I was the one doing any biting. I would never!) At least, I think I remember those days. It was so long ago.

I’m Max, by the way. Max Branan. There’re eight humans in my family, Mama and Daddy of course—y’all know her as Gail Roughton ‘cause she writes under her maiden name, says it’s her love song to her daddy or some such—my human sister, Becca, my human brothers Lee and Patrick, Becca’s husband Jason, and Becca and Jason’s puppies, Austin and Kinsley. See, my birth Mom lived with Becca and Jason and got herself in the family way. Becca didn’t believe it at first because she said her dog didn’t do things like that. As if. What’d she think my Mom was? A doggy saint?  Anyway, all my puppy brothers and sisters got new homes but I’m the one who lucked out, ‘cause Patrick picked me out of all ‘em to bring back to Home Central.

Patrick did a search and told Mama that Max was the most popular name for male dogs and Maya the most popular name for female dogs, but that’s not why my name’s Max, un-uh. My name’s Max because about three days after Patrick got me vaccinated up with all the puppy shot prelims at the vet’s office and brought me home from Becca and Jason’s house I got sick. Real sick. So back to the vet I went and they said I had that parvo thing. With a fifty-fifty shot of making it out of the vet hospital alive. But I’m tough. I made it through with flying colors. And when I went back home, Mama (that’s Gail Roughton to y’all) said I looked as pitiful as the Grinch’s dog Max on the cartoon version of The Grinch That Stole Christmas. So that’s why I’m Max. No popularity contest or anything involved. And boy, did they spoil me rotten or what?

So there I am. Dog heaven. I was about three, I guess. And then Jason found this stray on the side of the road. He thought she was a German Shepherd and probably a couple of months old. So he took her home. At first Becca thought it’d be great to have a German Shepherd for their baby – Austin wasn’t born yet, he came about two weeks after that – since my humans used to have a big white German Shepherd they still talked about. Only problem was, this gal liked to eat furniture. And she was scared of her own shadow and didn’t know the meaning of the words “house-broke”. Well, Mama’s such a soft touch. She took one look at her and then sent Patrick over to collect her. He named her Maya. To go with Max. Not so much because it’s the most popular female dog name as for the “M” thing.

And uh – by the way – German Shepherd, my wagging tail. As near full Doberman as makes no never mind. Mama and Patrick knew it first time they looked at her. The undocked tail and ears made everybody else hard to convince, until they saw a Dobie with undocked tail and ears on Animal Planet. Then they all yelled in amazement, “Hey! Maya’s a Dobie?!” Mama and Patrick just rolled their eyes. She was already as tall as my stomach when she first walked in the door and I ain’t no shrinking violet, I’m a fifty-five pounder myself. The vet really blew it, too. Told my folks she’d be about fifty pounds full grown. Try 110 pounds last weigh-in. Maya’s Mama’s shadow. And I got to confess, yeah, I fell in love too. Eventually. Oh, no hanky-panky or anything, both Maya and I have made that trip to the vet, but yeah, I love the girl. Mainly because Austin was born two weeks after Maya got to Home Central. And I liked the little bundle of screams and wet diapers, don’t get me wrong, but Maya? Oh, man, she fell in love. Took all my share of the eye pokes and pulled tail. All I had to do was walk up and lick his face every now and then. That kid grew up laying on her, sitting on her, standing on her. She loved it all. We got him grown to darn near human size and what did Becca do? She brought in a brand-new one and the whole thing started all over again. Though I got to admit, that Kinsley’s a pistol. Her “Hiya!’ makes my tail wag, I just can’t stop myself.

Only thing about Maya is – you got to watch the sudden noises. Mama knocked a kitchen chair across the floor once when she was sweeping. And Maya – man, she moved like lightening. Next thing I know, she’s sitting on Daddy’s lap on the sofa, all hundred plus pounds of her, with her arms wrapped around his neck! She looked just like that Scooby-Doo character when he gets scared and jumps in Shaggy’s arms, you know?

And then one Saturday night when Austin was about two, Patrick came home from work and called Daddy out to his truck. Now, that was weird, right there, man, ‘cause in this family, when anything’s wrong, you call Mama first. But I figured maybe his truck engine was making a strange noise or something. Not. Daddy walked back in and announced, “Patrick’s brought home a puppy.” Mama goes “For real?!” And Daddy says, “Oh, yeah. Says he was sitting by his truck in the parking lot when he got off work. ” So Patrick walks in with this little – and I mean little – bundle of black and white fur and sits it on the couch by Austin. Austin says, “Baby!” Funny, he was only two, but he knew that was a baby. Must be some universal baby language. Lee looked at Mama and said, “Did it ever occur to you that there’s always a baby something or other in this house?” Mama looked pitiful and said, “Oh, yeah.”

Poor Mama. She got another shadow with that boy. Patrick named him Murphy. Gotta keep that “M” thing going. He weighed maybe four pounds but he thought he was a Great Dane. He didn’t bother me that much, all I had to do was growl real low and he’d back off but Maya? Guess you can’t beat the mother instinct. He was all over her. All the time. Don’t know how that gal kept her sanity, if Austin wasn’t climbing all over her, Murphy was. Sometimes both of ‘em together. And feisty? That Murphy, he gets going, you’ll swear you need to call an Exorcist from the sounds coming out of his mouth! He’s topped out at twenty-two pounds, so he’s way the smallest of us, but dang, is he annoying sometimes! You can’t even lay your head on a pillow! And he’s always all over Maya!

Now, as a side note, I heard Mama tell Daddy, “Patrick conveniently forgot about showing me a picture of a friend’s litter of puppies on FaceBook a few weeks ago. Funny, how they were all little black and white bundles of fur, just like Murphy. Found him in the parking lot, right! In a box with a friend standing guard till Patrick got there!”

So there you have it. How I went from an only dog to a trio. But it’s not so bad most times. I guess it’d be pretty boring if I just had my humans. Like at Christmas, it’s kinda nice to have the two of ‘em in the middle of things with me. Gets kinda irritating, that last bite of food having to be split into three bites all the time, but still. Keeps me young. Hey Murphy!! Wait up!! That’s my stuffed squirrel and I don’t have all the stuffing out yet!!! Oh!  And before I forget, you can check out Mama here--http://bookswelove.net/roughton.php   She's on the computer a lot, and I'm told I and the rest of the gang might make an appearance in an upcoming book she's got brewing. Which would only be fair, I mean, we put a lot of effort into distracting her when she's been working too hard.  

P-Nut and Miss Kitty are teaching me how to live in the moment By Sandy Semerad #pets

Philosopher and author Joseph Campbell was known for saying, “Follow your bliss.”

P-Nut, my little Shih Tzu, follows her bliss without being told. She sniffs a flower like she’s reading a masterpiece.

Eckhart Tolle, who wrote The Power of Now, would be proud. Even as a puppy, she seemed to know how to live in the moment and show unconditional love. When I'm traveling, she's protective of me and gets fiesty at times.

But she'd never hurt a child, and it's painful to hear about dogs who do. Personally, I think it's because people train them to fight and kill for amusement. The pit bull terrier is the breed they usually pick.

It saddens me. My daughter once had a Pit Bull named Sonja who wanted to lick you to death, but she’d never attack anyone.

I once heard about a feisty pit bull named Major who roamed the farms around Hartford, Alabama, the town near where I grew up. “Major could tear your butt for a new one,” Cody Ryles used to say.

Major became unpopular with farmers after he killed their hogs. One day he made the grave error of killing Cody Ryles’ prize pig.

Cody grabbed his shotgun and sent Major to the great pit bull heaven in the sky, Cody said.

Was Major bred for fighting for the amusement of humans? No one seemed to know. But I can’t believe he inherited his meanness.

I’ve read that pit bulls are a relative of the English bulldog. I’ve never owned an English bulldog, but I’ve heard about one named Bozo.

Bozo was trained to hunt wild hogs. He would bay the hogs and grab them by their ears until the capture was complete. Or so the story went.

He also liked to catch snakes and one day Bozo caught a poisonous rattler. It bit Bozo. He swelled up and almost died.

When Bozo recovered, he continued his pursuit of snakes with a vengeance. He’d grab every rattlesnake he saw and shake the dickens out of it. If the snake bit him, it didn’t bother him at all, because he’s developed immunity to the venom.

In my life, I’ve had the pleasure of knowing wonderful dogs, and I hate that pit bulls have gotten such a bad rap.

I’ve read they’re a cross between an English terrier and an English bulldog. I suppose many dogs are in the mixture category, not pure bred.

When I lived in Atlanta, we had a dog named Sam, an English terrier and German shepherd mix. One might think this combination would bring violence, but Sam was a sweet dog, though mischievous.

He loved to roam and collect things. Once he brought me my neighbor’s old house slippers. I took them back to her, of course, but when Sam presented them to me, he acted like he’d delivered a diamond.

I scolded him with “No, no.”

He cocked his head from side to side, not understanding my ungratefulness.

Another time, he snatched a flannel nightgown from my neighbor’s clothesline. No mistaking it was hers. The gown had red cherries embroidered all over it.

Sam must have jumped the fence to get the gown. When he brought it to me, I discovered it had a huge rip in it. I was too ashamed to return the gown. My neighbor didn’t like Sam, and I knew she wouldn’t understand.

The torn gown somehow ended up in the washing machine and then in the dryer. One morning, I was looking for something to frump around in. Lacking anything else, I slipped on the infamous gown. As my luck would have it, my neighbor—the rightful owner--came over to borrow a cup of sugar.

When she saw me in her gown, she looked shocked, as if I threatened her life. 

Time and again, I scolded Sam for his thievery, but he still pillaged.

He continued until the day he died. The pond behind our Stone Mountain home froze over. Sam fell through the ice while chasing the ducks. He froze to death before we could rescue him.

In an attempt to recover from Sam’s death, we adopted a Brittany spaniel named Prince, who’d rather play than eat. I can still see him chasing squirrels, barking at falling leaves, running and playing with the ducks.

After we lost Prince, I didn’t have the heart for another dog until I saw P-Nut’s furry face. She came into my life after I’d finished writing my second mystery Hurricane House.  In that book, one of the characters is Onyx, a black lab, who possesses superior powers.

Don’t most dogs? And perhaps you could say the same for cats.

Recently we adopted a stray cat. We call her Miss Kitty. P-Nut bonded with her from the beginning, though Miss Kitty hid from P-Nut at first.

Eventually Miss Kitty began to feel safe. Now she frequently cuddles with P-Nut and follows her on our walks to the beach.

And guess what, Miss Kitty seems to know how to live in the moment, too.

Maybe one day, they'll teach me.


     After working as a newspaper reporter, broadcaster and columnist for many years, Sandy Semerad decided to try her hand at writing novels. Her first novel, Mardi Gravestone has been republished as SEX, LOVE AND MURDER. She wrote her second mystery HURRICANE HOUSE after a hurricane ripped through her little beach community. Her third book, A MESSAGE IN THE ROSES, is loosely based on a murder trial she covered as a newspaper reporter in Atlanta. All books have garnered five star reviews. Semerad is originally from
Geneva, Alabama, but now lives in Santa Rosa Beach, Florida with husband Larry, their spoiled Shih Tzu P-Nut and wayward cat Miss Kitty. She has two daughters and a granddaughter. 

 www.sandysemerad.com

http://bookswelove.net/sandysemerad.php

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