The Accident I FAILED to Watch Out For

 

Now that our children are grown, our fur-babies are the family members who live with my husband and me. Mac is the grumpy old man of the bunch, a black, thirteen-year old Cairn terrier/Schipperke cross who takes his job as Watchdog seriously. Mac raised Petey from a tiny furball into his sweet, smart and funny twelve-pound Shih-Tzu sidekick. Neko is their feline brother-from-another-species. He alternates between playmate and doggy nemesis.

 Because Petey’s hair grows constantly, he has to visit Miss Dana every other month for a bath, haircut and nail trim. Mac goes with him for a bath and nail trim. Neko spends many hours every day taking care of his own grooming needs, thank goodness!

 Bath Day is very exciting for the pups. They love visiting Miss Dana. Her home is in the country only a five-minute drive from ours. Her Grooming Salon is in what was originally her garage.

 The short drive to Miss Dana’s in January was uneventful. I dropped the pups off at three-thirty in the afternoon and went home to vacuum while they were away. Mac HATES the vacuum with a passion. A few hours later Miss Dana texted they would be done at six o’clock. We drove over to pick them up in the rain.

 Chuck parked in the driveway to the side of the house. I used my phone’s flashlight to light our way around to the back where the salon door was located. The boys were happy to see us and ready to go home. After paying and chatting with Dana, we put on their harnesses and leashes and carried them back to the car.

Chuck loaded Mac in the driver’s side back door. I loaded Petey in on the passenger side. I made sure to toss in the end of his leash before shutting the door.

We climbed into the front seats and headed for the grocery store in Molalla to pick up some eggs and milk. A few minutes later as we came into town, Chuck had to swerve to avoid hitting a guy on a bicycle. The bike had no lights or reflectors, and the guy was dressed in dark clothes. Although Chuck was driving the speed limit, he slowed down because visibility was so bad.

 Out of nowhere, three things happened at once: the car seemed to hit a pothole, a sound like metal snapping made me jump, and screams filled the air.

“What happened? Did we hit someone?” Chuck yelled over the screams.

“I don’t know! I don’t think so!” I craned my neck to look into the back seat where the screams seemed to be coming from. “We hit a bump or something. I think one of the dogs got hurt.” Although I’d never imagined a dog could scream like that.

“I need to pull over!” Chuck sounded as shaky as I felt.

He turned into a parking lot at the end of the block and stopped the car. I opened my door and jumped out as he twisted around and peered behind my seat.

“It’s Petey!” he said. “He’s upside down between the seat and the door. Be careful opening the door! He may fall out.”

I was so scared he’d get hurt if I couldn’t keep him from falling, but I had to get him out. I crouched down and eased the door open a little. As soon as he had a little wiggle room, Petey twisted over and managed to get a paw hold on the edge of the floor and pull himself up. Blessed silence fell like a comforting blanket.

I opened the door the rest of the way and looked Petey over in the dim light from the dome. No obvious injuries, but he was shivering. So was I. We were both in shock.

“There’s no bleeding,” I told Chuck. “He’s standing and moving.”

 “Good. Why don’t you let me have a look at him while you check Mac?”

 “His leash is missing and his harness is coming off,” I said. “I’m going to hand him to you.”

 Very carefully, I picked him up and handed him to Chuck. Mac came to me, wagging his tail. I checked him over, but he seemed fine. No shivering.

 “Petey seems okay,” Chuck said. “We need to drive around the block. I’m still worried we hit someone on a bike.”

I moved up to the front seat and took Petey onto my lap. His shivering seemed to have slowed. We drove around the block twice, but saw no one. I remembered I’d found Petey’s steel leash clip still attached to his harness and told Chuck about it.

“I think his leash fell out the door and I didn’t see it in the dark. It must have caught on something and jerked him so hard as it pulled through the door crack that it flipped him onto his back and wedged him in. Luckily, the leash clip couldn’t get through the crack so the leash broke off. And his harness distributed the force over the strongest part of his body before it broke.”

“When I slowed down,” Chuck said, “his leash got caught on the rear tire and wrapped around until the clip couldn’t get through the crack. That was the dip we felt and the metallic snap. Thank God we weren’t going faster when it happened!”

Petey was a very lucky dog. He was sore and bruised, had a swollen ear and a broken blood vessel in his eye, but suffered no major injuries.

What I watch out for now is dog leashes in the dark.

The end of a life

Hi everyone!
I am YA author B A Binns , writer of contemporary and realistic fiction for teens. My tagline says it all - Stories of Real Boys Growing Into Real Men - and the people who love them. This month I join the other Genre-Istas in talking about a more sombre subject.

This month we're blogging about near death experiences.

I could blog about the book I'm just finishing. It's a romantic suspense, my first adult novel since taking three years off to work exclusively on Young Adult novels and short stories. The Last Logan will be out in 2015. Writing that novel meant creating -- and killing -- a lot of people in a lot of unhealthy ways.  One of my critique partners cried when Elizabeth had to go. I did too, I really liked the woman.

I could blog about my first YA novel, PULL, where the hero's mother is murdered just before the story begins. Although that loss happens off the pages, it propels the hero on through his emotional arc as he learns to deal with the loss an help the new girl in his life who is dealing with her own losses

Or I could write about my most recent YA release, Minority of One, where I had to kill off a character I truly cared about. She didn't deserve to die, but the story was all about her end from the moment I got the idea.  She dies on the pages and my hero and heroine have to cope with what her loss means to them and to their future.

Instead I'm going to write about something personal. Its not about near death.

It's about Death.

I have...that is I had a dog named Dakari. She escaped death once when I agreed to give her a chance and take her in. I think she tried to be a good dog. It wasn't her fault her original owners moved to a place stamped No Dogs Allowed. It wasn't her fault she had epilepsy.

It certainly wasn't her fault she got me as her new owner.

She was always a bit stand-offish. I think she liked me, especially when I fed and walked her. But she liked running free more.

Most of all, she hated other dogs.

In the beginning it was just typical dominatrix things. Seriously, I thought her plans for doggie dominion were cute. But I never took into account the effect that long-lasting seizures could have on a brain. her domination turned into a desire to destroy.

She attacked a small dog last year while I was walking her. It was over quickly, and she didn't even puncture the other dog's skin. But that was only the first sign.

Earlier this year she jerked free of the leash, raced across the street and jumped a dog being walked by a neighbor. That dog needed treatment and cost me almost $300. I sought out doggie tranquilizers and talked about behavior modification treatment. I resolved tokeep a closer watch over her.

Until two weeks ago. I was having work done on the house. I locked her in the garage, let the  man in the front door, went through the house with him, and then let him out the back door and closed it. Then, is a moment of absent mindedness, I forgot I had never closed the front door.

Dakarai didn't forget. The second I let her back in the house from the garage she booked it out the still-open door.

I guess I'm lucky she only found one other dog to attack.

The vet and I discussed about her escalating behavior issues. Tranqs were not going to work. Work with a dog specialist might, but the truth was how could she ever be trusted around other dogs again? And how could I ever guarantee I would never make another mistake, or lose control if she lunged at the end of her leash. her seizures were growing more frequent and longer-lasting, sometimes ten or fifteen minutes.  That, the vet says, had probably caused brain damage. And because there was no way to stop her seizures, there could be more behavior changes in the future. She would attack again. The question was when, not if.

So I signed the papers and had her euthanized. On paper, I have taken the lives of men, women and children. In reality, I took the life of my best friend, so she would never injure another animal or human, or God-forbid, cause a death herself. As hard as it was for me to let her go, it would have been harder for me to someday have to turn to someone else and say "sorry for your loss." Especially since I could have done something to keep that from happening.


Authors are told to write what they know.  Today I know a lot more about emotional depth. I know about having someone else's future in my hands. Feeling like a murderer, and like a victim's loved one all at the same time.

It's no longer a cliche to me, a house really can feel empty when you walk in the door.

Cat People/Dog People

Hi everyone!
I am YA author B. A. Binns out here on the snowy tundra of the land that was once called Chicago but has now been renamed Chi-beria. In the words of one of my favorite songs, There must be dome kind of way out of here!!! 


I have always wondered if my antipathy towards cats springs from an incident in my childhood. I was in second or maybe third grade and I found a kitten left alone out in the cold (at least it wasn't as cold as these last few days or I would have had frozen kitty) I took it home, but I already knew what my parents would say, so I tried to keep it hidden. I think I had two days before I was caught.

The cat had to go, and no questions would change anything. No tears either.

I remember bundling the kitty inside my coat and taking it to school with me. That wasn't a real solution, but I was young and the only thing I really knew was that I would not just toss it out int he cold again. Instead I left her in a stairwell inside the school.

I never heard any commotion. There were no announcements on the intercom, no gossip about the stray cat. I went home and made myself believe someone with more understanding parents than I had found her and she was happy.

That's probably true.

But I never had or even wanted another cat. Never even wanted to be around them. I hate the purring, the staring, the obnoxious way they walk. I don't want to see another cat, not ever.

I'm now a dog person, through and through.

That's why the main character of my work-in-progress, tentatively titled Duet owns a cat. Her pet has to die and I won't kill a dog. Not even an imaginary one. I had to put my dog down over twenty years ago. She was an American Eskimo and she knew me better than I knew me.

I named her Melinda B. When I bought her she was just a few months old and could fit in my hands. She grew up to be about twenty pounds, the perfect pet (except for the shedding issue). I called her my mini-Samoyed. Smarter than me, she could be left alone and handled herself well. After one aborted bout with a great dane she decided friendship was the way to go with people and dogs. And especially with kids. I was warned the breed could be a little snippy with small children, but she loved them, even when they pulled her tail or her ears. She was my companion through college and my "New Adult" years, and then my real adult years.

But all good things come to an end, even really great dogs.  She lived for 17 years, unusual even for a small dog. But her legs got wobbly and she developed cancer. The vet said I needed to let go.

I couldn't. I took her home. And I watched struggle to keep being a good dog. I could tell walking was painful. She had lost control of her kidneys, but she kept trying to walk with me, to play ball. She was relieved when I sat down and just let her lay in my lap.

We went back to the vet. I chose to sit with her while we waited for the drugs to end her suffering. I stoked her and talked to her and I hope she didn't get that I was unhappy because she always wanted to cheer me up when I was sad. I didn't want her to feel she had to do anything except relax and fall sleep. And then stop breathing.

I managed to get all the way home before I burst into tears. And even though it has been almost thirty years, I have to push back tears to write this.

So I guess I'll stop.

But I hope you won't. Instead enter my Goodreads Give Away for an autographed copy of my new release, Minority of One. I promise you, no pets die in this story.

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Minority Of One

by B.A. Binns

Giveaway ends March 01, 2014.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

Enter to win

P. S. You can also win a copy by liking All The Colors Of Love.
Five additional winners will be chosen from Facebook.

Dominatrix

I acquired this dog in December.  It's a long story, and I hate backstory, so I'm going to skip over the part about my inability to say "No" to my relatives.

Althought my problems with saying no and enforcing control is probably a large part of what went wrong.


Forty-five pounds of DOM

I named her Dakarai which means "bringer of joy" after one of the characters in the book I am writing, Minority of One.

Dakari was born to be a dominatrix.

Seriously. Her control issues were apparent from the start of our relationship.

Don't get me wrong. I grabbed the top spot on the pyramid right away. She accepts that, but with reservations. Every now and then she issues a challenge, just to see how I will react. She can be very vocal about her desires. And while she refuses to retrieve a ball or a stick, she loves to play you-can't-catch-me if I release her leash. It's not a fun game.

She also accepts that other humans belong right below me in the hierarchy. Unless they are jogging of riding bikes, then she seems to call their humanity into question. She feels free to lunge or give chase. Bad dog. I had to splurge on a training collar to teach her to control that urge. I have learned to anticipate, and rein her in before she issues a serious challenge.

Dakarai puts herself in the spot on the ladder right below humanity. No ifs, ands or buts.  She is the queen. Other dogs, ALL other dogs, come below her.  Other animals, cats, rabbits, squirrels, etc are vermin and belong underfoot. She issues challenges to every dog that comes within barking distance.  Big, small, indifferent or bad and burly. Even dogs in cars, or inside their master's houses get challenged. Again, I've learned to anticipate. Her body language prior to a challenge is distinct. Pricked ears, stiff myscles -- I know she looks lazy in the picture, but trust me, she can go from lazy to full alert in seconds.  So I keep watch for the signals.

Last week, her dominatrix nature took over, and there was no warning.

It was a good day. Beautiful weather. I decided to give Dakarai an extra long afternoon walk. Partly from guilt over spending so much time away from her on my current WIP. Partly because I didn't want to have to get back to work. Under normal circumstances we would have been safely inside the house, walk over. But, like I said, extra long walk, supposedly a reward for us both.

We walked for blocks without seeing any other person or dog. It was like we were alone in the world. She was enjoying herself, sniffing the ground experiencing things only she could know. There was not even a squirrel to grab her attention.

First sign of trouble came from my peripheral vision. A man walking past us. Ordinary looking, a little thin, thirties, maybe early forties.  He said "Hello," as he passed. Before I could respond in kind, I looked down.



Ten pounds (maybe) of submissive

The man was walking a dog. a cute bundle of fur. Tiny, innocent. But still a dog. And for Dakarai, size, and cuteness, do not matter. A rival in her space is still a rival.

The dog was only inches away from an unsuspecting Dakarai when I noticed it.  I only had one second before Dakarai noticed too.

Not nearly enough time.

Dakarai didn't bark or stiffen.  Her ears didn't prick up. She just lunged.  Just like that, the offending pooch was halfway down her throat.

I know what the owner thought, because that's what I thought, too.  I've seen too many stories about vicious dogs. Still, the brave man rushed to the rescue, literally throwing himself on Dakarai.

Remember the hierarchy? Human trumps dog dominatric. Dakarai immediatly froze.

Little dog had done the same thing. He (or she) recognized it was in the grip of a dominant.  She understood that her role was to play submissive, to give in. No damage was done, except maybe to his/her nerves.  We should have realized, when she didn't scream and no blood marred her white fur that it had not really been a fight.  But at the time...well, there really wasn't time to think. I remember being shocked at the sight of the little thing pretty much disappearing inside my dog's mouth.  And feeling ready to assist the man when he screamed and wished for a gun to blow Dakarai's head off.

And then his dog got up and walked away. Unbloodied, no bite marks, not even even a limp. I offered to pay vet bills, but that wasn't necessary.  The owner calmed down and accepted that Dakarai wasn't a vicious, blood-thirsty killer. He may even have accepted that her reation came more because she was startled than out of cruelty. In fact, I was the only one bloodied inthe action. While trying to pull my dog away I got a cut on one finger from her overlong claws.

It has already healed.

But I am changing my relationship with the dog. I was top of the pyramid before, I am now the Über Führer.  She may never equate the changes to that day, but there is now a firmer hand, and immediate consequences when she tries barking at other dogs.  She knows when I am angry and has learned to immediatly crouch to the ground and wait for me to forgive her for whatever she did before she moves. 

Sorry, Dakarai, but your days of even pretend Dom are history.


True Confession: My Romance Writing Has Gone to the Dogs!

by Sarah Raplee

When I began to write for publication, something unexpected happened. At least, unexpected for me. I’m a cat person.

But dogs infiltrated my Romance novels!

I admit I’m an animal lover from way back. We always had a cat and a dog when I was growing up. And guppies or a parakeet or two.  One of my earliest memories is of sitting beside the parakeet cage on the kitchen floor when I was two and talking to the pretty bird. But deep down, I’ve always been a cat person.

Generally speaking, it was understood that the dog was Jack’s responsibility and the cat was mine and my sister, Diana’s. The dog stayed outside, while the cat was allowed the privilege of coming inside the house and sleeping on one of the girls’ beds. 

FRECKLES PLAYS FETCH

Diana and I were happy with our cuddly cat. Growing up, I was totally convinced I was a cat person and I’d always be a cat person.

 After I married, we always had a cat. None of the dogs we tried worked out for one reason or another. Finally, we adopted Sidrah, a four-month-old Siberian Husky/Border Collie mix who stayed with us for fifteen years. She was so smart that I swear she understood English. And she was friendly with children and adults she knew, but protective of our kids around strangers. This gorgeous, affectionate canine was a joy to have in the family. (Yes, she got to come indoors—much to the cat’s chagrin.)

We’ve had a number of dogs since Sidrah passed away, each with their own strengths, foibles and delightfully unique personalities. And now we have Penny. At two years old, she’d already been through three owners when we adopted the beautiful German Shorthair. These dogs need to get plenty of daily exercise. They are amazingly well-rounded dogs, but that need for exercise means they are not for everyone.

ME, PENNY & 2 OF HER KIDS

Like Sidrah, Penny seems to understand English. She is sweet and loves her kids (our grandkids.) She likes people, but barks at strangers. She’s my almost-nine-year-old beauty.

And darned if she didn’t show up as a character in my first book! In fact, my heroine is a dog trainer and owns a pet services business. She owns two rescue dogs, Beauty (modeled after Penny) and The Beast (whose personality is modeled after our Great Dane, Roxie.) These two dogs are secondary characters who affect the suspense plot and the romance. A half-dozen minor canine characters appear in Love Unleashed.

FRECKLES POSES

My second book introduces a blind heroine and her Guide dog, Freddy. I have four other books planned, and dogs feature prominently in all of them. 

Ironically, both Penny and our cat, Freckles, keep me company when I’m writing. Freckles has accepted the honorary position of Desk Ornament. Go figure!

 

Do you consider yourself to be a dog person or a cat person?