Author Jackie Bouchard - My Cover Model’s a Dog!

 

 

Jackie and Rita, a Shephard/Beagle Mix found on Rosarito Beach

and adopted from Baja Animal Sanctuary.

 

 

One of the things I like best about being self-published is that I have total control over choices for my book - pricing, layout, covers, etc. Yes, I'm a little bit of a control freak. (A little bit? - editor's note from the hubs. **Hey, who let him in here?**)

One of my favorite things to have control over is the cover. I love my covers, and part of the reason that I love them is because of the special pups on them. If I was published by a traditional publisher, there might be a stock photo of some equally lovely pup on my books - but I wouldn't know (and love!) that dog, so it just wouldn't be the same.

Today, I thought I'd tell you a little bit about those special pups on my covers.

First up is Charley, playing the role of "Kona", for my debut novel, WHAT THE DOG ATE.

Back when I wrote WTDA, I didn't know any chocolate Labs. I had previously known Labs and Lab-mixes, so when I needed a dog for the story who would be the type to eat everything in sight, well, I knew Labs were the breed I had to go with!

A while after the book was written, I met Charley's mom online. We were both in a couple of different online support groups for dogs who'd lost a leg and who had bone cancer. My dog, Abby, and Charley had their amputations one day apart, and they were both way too young to have bone cancer (Charley was 2 1/2, Abby was a measly 15 months!), so they became "amp buddies."

When I was getting ready to publish WTDA, I asked Charley's mom if she might happen to have a picture of him licking his lips -- and she came through Big Time, with this fabulous photo! It couldn't have been any more perfect!

 

 

Charley
 

It's a great honor to have Charley on the cover of my book, since he's a bone cancer super hero! He's still going 3 1/2 years after his amputation! You can read more about Charley and his journey at: http://chocolatekisses.tripawds.com

That brings us to Abby... My beautiful angel plays the part of Maybe on the cover of RESCUE ME, MAYBE. She had to be on the cover, since I wrote the book as an homage to her. It's a fictionalized version of Abby, but dropped in to another dog-mom's life. (Cuz *my* life is way too boring for a book!)

 

 

Abby
 

The basic idea for the book came from how Abby changed me. When we had our first dog Bailey, I used to say she was a "cat in a beagle suit." She didn’t care about meeting new people or other dogs. She liked other people when she did meet them, but she didn’t go out of her way. As for dogs, she didn’t like them, so we'd steer clear on walks. And that suited me fine, because I’m shy about meeting people anyway. But when we got Abby, she LOVED everyone and wanted to go meet everyone! I was suddenly having to stop and chat with neighbors I’d never talked to before, because Abby would drag me, wiggling and happy, over to meet them. I also read an essay by a self-described “ol’ meanie” who got a super adorable dog and he wrote about how that irresistible pup forced him to interact with – and be friendly to – other people. I thought it would be interesting to write about a character who was changed by the dog she rescues.

Unfortunately, Abby didn't fair as well in the fight against bone cancer as Charley did. She may not have had a great quantity of life, but she had a great quality life! And she taught us so much about dealing with adversity. We sure miss that beautiful girl!

Now... I don't want to give anything away about my books, but I promise the endings are always going to be happy and hopeful. No Dead Dogs at the end!

Even though Abby's no longer with us, she lives on in the book - and in our hearts. I love it when reviews of the book mentioned that they loved the dog, since it's like they got to know our girl.

My books are about dog-moms and the dogs who change them. If you've ever loved a furry family member, I think you'll enjoy them!

 

About Jackie :

 

 

Jackie and Rita like to read together.

Jackie Bouchard was trapped in the hamster-wheel of corporate America for much longer than her sanity would say was good for her. She escaped and now writes humorous women's fiction. American Jackie, her Canadian hubby, and her Mexican rescue mutt, Rita, form their own little United Nations. They live happily (hopefully ever after) in San Diego.

 

 

The Books:

 

 

Buy On Amazon and Kindle

The vet handed Maggie Baxter a plastic specimen bag containing a pair of size-tiny lavender thong panties extracted from her dog; but they were not hers. Or rather, they were hers now since she'd just paid $734 to have Dr. Carter surgically remove them from Kona's gut. This is how Maggie Baxter, a practical, rule-following accountant, discovers that her husband of seventeen years is cheating on her.  A  funny, tender story of mending a broken heart and finding love and a new life right under your nose, with woman's best friend at your side.
 

 

 

Buy On Amazon and Kindle

 

If you lost both your spouse and your dog to cancer within weeks of each other, but you were sadder about the dog, would you tell anyone? Maybe your closest friends. Unfortunately, Jane Bailey's closest friends are on the other side of the country. That's where Jane plans to go now that she's free to leave Philadelphia, the too cold, beachless, street taco-deficient city her husband dragged her to six years ago. But with no job prospects in her hometown of San Diego, Jane is roped into helping out temporarily at her uncle's southwestern small-town B&B. En route to her new role as innkeeper and breakfast chef, she finds a stray at a rest stop. With her heart in pieces from the loss of her dog, she's determined not to let this mutt worm its way into her affections. She's also determined to have next-to-no interaction with the B&B's irritating guests, and the even more annoying handyman who lives next door. Can Jane keep her sanity--and her secret that she's not really a grieving widow--while trying to achieve her dream of getting back to the place she thinks is home?
 

 

Links:

 

Web

 

Blog Pooch Smooches

 

Facebook

 

Twitter @JackieBouchard  

 

Goodreads 

 

What The Dog Ate:  Amazon ,  Barnes&Noble

 

Rescue Me, Maybe:  Amazon,  Barnes&Noble

 

 

 

 

Author Michael W. Paul Remembers "Rowser" in "The Bridge Over Cedar Creek"

    

 

Rowser after I had given him a summer 'do' with a pair of scissors.  If you read my book, the photo is of the baggage scooter that Frank helped fix that resulted in a trip to Colorado and a life changing event.

 

Excerpt from "The Bridge Over Cedar Creek"

My two closest personal friends were Buster and Jimmy.  We were thrown together more by circumstance than choice.  My best friend was a clear choice. I first met him one late afternoon, when my Mother pulled a box out from under a bed in a stranger’s house somewhere in the city of Miami.  A close friend of my Mother's, who I lovingly referred to as "Aunt Lyda", though not related to me, thought that a small boy with no siblings should at the very least have a dog.  When I first looked into the darkened and not-very-good-smelling box, I saw five or six tiny rodent-like animals squirreling around in a mass of dampened cut newspaper and soggy cardboard, squeaking like mice.  Several I was told were taken, but there were a few remaining to claim. 
 
     I had a dog briefly while living with my stepfather, but without permission while he was working in the backyard on a gate, I took my friend for a walk without a leash and soon ran home to inform my Mother and her several party guests that he had been "run over" by a speeding car. The last I saw of him was his tiny little blond corpse in a trash can by the street.

     Of the three remaining pups, two lay quietly together while the third, which I was told was the runt of the litter, attacked me with his tiny pink-and- purple tongue, as if radar homing in on a target.  He shook all over, and his little rat like tail vibrated with the frequency of a radio signal.  He seemed to wink at me (as if to say), "I'm your guy!  Chose me, and I will never let you down".

    The choice was clear, although he was half the size of the others and looked like a dirty mop and smelled worse.  His nose was black. His eyes, although barely open, were the deepest liquid brown I had ever seen, almost as deep as my own.  His coloring was black, interspersed with dark brown fading to a rust color, and his tail, though almost bare, curled over his tiny back.  He was truly a mongrel. My Mother referred to him as a Heinz fifty-seven varieties.  As I gently picked him up my Mother said, “No, not that one Son. I don't think he will even survive.  He is the runt.  You will be disappointed if you chose him.  What about this little girl curled up here, or maybe her sister?  They are precious."

      It was settled.  I knew instantly which pup I wanted.  I was just six, but if you wanted to know my opinion, all you had to do was ask.  The runt would be coming home with me; no other would do.  All I needed was a name.  What will I name this potential champion? I thought. As I looked over and saw my Aunt Lyda's huge smile I knew I had selected the right one.  My Mother commented, "Don't worry about a name yet, Son, he cannot come home today.  He is too young to leave his Mother, because he has not been weaned.”

     That was the first time I had ever heard that word, and it became a word I forever associated with disappointment.  The tiny, almost helpless little critter was warm and soft in my hands.  He wet all over my hand and wiggled like a newly dug night crawler.  He was the puppy I wanted, and nothing would do but that I have him.  I don't think I had ever wanted something so badly.  I put him back in the box gently as the breeder slid it back under the bed.  I could see him clearly in my mind and knew we would be friends forever and ever and ever.

    Weeks passed and I asked every day, "Is this the day?  Is this the day? Can we go get him?  Can we?"  I wrote my Father and asked his thoughts on an appropriate name.  When the day finally arrived, my Mother was sure I would be disappointed in the name I had chosen, because she was certain that one of the remaining females would be the only live puppy, and the name I had chosen certainly did not sound very feminine.  The breeder had promised her that she would save a puppy for me.  When the woman pulled the box out from under the bed, there was only one pup remaining.  Rowser was four times his original size, had a bushy tail and a long nose, and looked every bit the part of the shepherd-chow mix that he was.  He had to be the most beautiful dog I had ever seen.  Sergeant Preston's dog, King, paled in comparison. 

     We took him home, and over the years he became the neighborhood dog and love of the entire community.  If anyone wanted to find me, they only had to find my "shadow".  He followed me to school and slept under the portable classroom all day for years until some "do-gooder" threatened to call the dog pound. 

     Rowser slept outside the Circle Theater Saturday mornings and often had to endure a double feature.  He would raise his head off his paws every time a child opened the door, and the ticket taker always had a large bowl of water for him. 

     One time he was left in front of a drug store while I thoughtlessly exited the back door, not thinking of him until well after dark.  When my Mother and I drove up, we watched briefly from a distance as he raised and lowered his head every time the door opened in the dark.

     Since my Mother was working from home at the time, he was banished from the school yard, much to the chagrin of many of the teachers and my classmates, she was able to restrain him until after I left for school.   She would keep him locked on the back porch.  Somehow he had the good sense to wait until three o'clock, but when his internal clock told him to go fetch me and "carry me home", off he went.  He would meet me at the school gate, his bushy tail going a mile a minute.  His entire body would shake and then he would roll over to have his tummy scratched.

    When we slept together in a tent, appropriately called a "pup tent", I would come home smelling like the underside of a car and wet dog.  He would allow me to use him as a pillow until he sensed I was asleep and breathing deeply.  He would follow me the fifteen miles I rode my bicycle to reach my horse Smokey, until his paws were bloody and raw.  He would dive in the many barrow ditches along the roadside and keep coming with his pink- and-purple tongue waving like a tattered red-and-purple Confederate battle flag in the wind.  He would slide down the school slide and swim with me at Bare Ass beach.  He had his picture published in the local newspaper riding in the front of my Truckster scooter with his ears blown straight back and pinned against his head.  He was hit by two cars, a school bus, and a pickup truck, but was never seriously injured.  Once he was smacked so hard that his intestinal sac broke somewhere in his bowels, causing him to smell like flatulence for days, but he didn't even whimper.  He finally learned to cross at the crossing lights and would always look both ways before he scampered across the street.  There were no leash laws in the fifties, so he ran free all of the time except when sleeping on the screen porch, where he created a long black line six inches off the floor from wall to wall from his seldom- washed body.  On hot days Mrs. Ramsay chased him lovingly out of her cool, wet flower bed hundreds of times, only to have him return and start digging before she closed the back door.  The Headmaster of the Catholic Church School across the street allowed his two Doberman Pinchers to attack him and soon learned that the vocabulary of a preteen boy could be quite colorful, and that the Doberman was not nearly the dog a determined runt chow was in an honest fight....one ran, and the other whimpered and jumped back in the car.

     Rowser was my dearest friend, my closest confident, and the most loyal little brother a small boy could ever have had.  I knew he would always be waiting for me.  He would always be at the back door with his head resting on his paws, looking forward to the next adventure....

 

 

Available on Amazon and Kindle

 

   The Bridge (Over Cedar Creek), constructed during a distant summer over a small Colorado stream by a boy and two curmudgeonly old men, serves as a metaphor for timeless life lessons learned and the beginning of the boys coming of age. Although fiction, the book is taken from real events and some real people. Others are composites taken solely from the imagination of the writer and distant memories. Written in the vernacular of the time, the characters come to life with the help of the authors vivid description. The reader can feel the cool breeze off the river, smell the scent of pine and see the brilliance of the sequined mountain night sky.

 

Meet the Author:

 

Michael W. Paul and Katie

 

 

Katie loves the beach. She was adopted about seven years ago when she was thought to be about three years old.

 

Michael Paul is a lifelong dreamer, a lover of learning and new experiences. In this, his first book, he tells of a boy awakening and beginning his ascent into manhood with the guidance of a wise and thoughtful adult. He lives in Buford, Georgia with his wife of forty seven years, his faithful rescue dog Katie and a Cat.                                                      

Links: Goodreads,    Buy The Book Amazon and Kindle,  Author Facebook Page

Author Jayne Martin and Dixie

Dixie

 

Small Packages

 

Her name is Dixie.   She is a seven-year-old, 5.08-pound Chihuahua and yes, I’m one of those goofy owners who, on occasion, have been known to dress up their dog.   What can I say?   I was denied a Barbie as a child.  
 

Unlike me, she does not need an IV of coffee to wake up in the morning.   Her eyes spring open and she’s ready for the day.   It’s usually about 7:00 a.m.   I hear her stir and try to stay still as I can.   I do not want her to know I’m awake yet, hoping to get a few more minutes of respite from an increasingly crazy world.  I can feel her staring at me from her perch on my pillow, her breath at my ear, then her tiny tongue ever so lightly on the tip of my nose – and I’m screwed.   Just a one miniscule twitch, but that’s all it takes.   She pounces:  “I know you’re in there!”  I roll over and duck my head under the covers, but to know avail.  When the Chihuahua is awake, everyone is awake.  
 

Finally, I give in and out we go for her morning potty.   Dixie was very easy to potty-train because every time she peed or pooped I would always clap and shout “Yay, Dixie!”  I sometimes wonder what my self-esteem level would be if every time I peed someone would clap and shout, “Yay, Jayne!” but I’ve yet to find that kind of devotion.  
 

Into the kitchen we go to get her breakfast, Dixie prancing at my feet.   I get the can from the refrigerator, scoop out a large tablespoon onto a saucer, and stick it in the microwave for nine seconds -- no more, no less -- so that it is just the right temperature for the princess.   The sound of the timer going off sends her into a dizzying twirl of anticipation and joy known as the “Happy Dance.”   Dixie is the very definition of joy.   She’s exploding with the stuff.   This can be hard to take when you’re a natural born curmudgeon like I am, but damned if she isn’t winning me over.  Still no coffee and yet here I am smiling.  
 

As a puppy, Dixie was highly influenced by my elderly cat, Chelsea, who slept most of the day.  So Dixie eats her breakfast, then back to bed she goes leaving me to meander into my office to begin my day’s work.   For most of my life I was known as a “cat person.”   I preferred cats over dogs for the same reasons many do not – their complete indifference to what you think of them:  Feed me, clean my sand box and maybe, when and if I’m in the mood, I’ll let you pet me.  That’s something I can relate to, and yet another possible reason why I’m single.  But, somehow, this tiny creature has totally stolen my heart and I live to do her bidding.   
 

My work day ends promptly at six.   I know this not because I have a clock, but because every day, at just that moment, Dixie will bring her toys, one-by-one, into my office.  First, the purple bear.   She looks up at me with it in her mouth, her big brown eyes telling me it’s time to play now.   If I fail to respond, this will go on until her toy basket is empty -- the pink flamingo with one foot chewed off, the little yellow chicken with the broken squeaker, the “Grrrrrona” beer bottle complete with stuffed lime in the top – until finally I shut off the computer and engage in a rousing game of fetch.  
 

“Goooooooo get it!” I shout, followed by a shrill and rapid “C’mere, c’mere, c’mere, c’mere, c’mere…”  She never tires of this.  I will collapse before she does.  

 

Dixie also enjoys watching TV, mostly reality shows, “Underdog to Wunderdog” being her favorite.  I pick her up and she crawls up my chest, comfortably settling onto “the boob shelf.”  There is something about loving a little dog that is so visceral, especially when she is sitting right on top of my heart, her breath rising and falling with mine.   I cannot begin to describe how calming it is.   Okay, not a few glasses of Chardonnay or a couple of Xanax calm, but pretty damn near.   And you can still drive if need be.   

 Jayne Martin

 

Jayne Martin’s book of humor essays, “Suitable for Giving: A Collection of Wit with a Side of Wry,” is available in paperback and digital formats.  Her short story “The Heart of the Town,” won the Fall 2013 WOW-Women On Writing Flash Fiction Competition.  Previously, she wrote for television.  Credits include “Big Spender,” written for Animal Planet and available on Netflix and Amazon.  You can find her daily at injaynesworld.blogspot.com.

 

 

 

Available on Amazon and Kindle

 

 

 

Screenplay written by Jayne Martin

Buy on Amazon

 

Links:

 

Author's Blog

 

Amazon "Suitable For Giving"

 

Author's Amazon Page

 

 

 

Cary Robinson and The Dudley Files

 

 

 

 

Award Winning Dog Comedy Mystery Novels:
The Dudley Files: Sold Out Without The Holdout
 Burp Gun Bandit: Book II of The Dudley Files
Midwest Book Award Winner
Readers Favorite International Award Finalist

Available on Amazon and the author's website.

 

 

 

Book Plots:

 

The Dudley Files: Sold Out Without The Holdout -  Available on Amazon

 

A young man nicknamed Careless by his friends (although he claims to have no friends) is coerced, then seduced, into a life partnership with a big golden-colored hound dog named Dudley (not that there's anything wrong with that). Once Dudley is rescued from the SPCA, their man/dog bromance brings together one's peculiar appreciation for seemingly obscure details with the other's supremely talented schnoz. Their warehouse loft neighbors-a sharp-tongued beautiful blonde named E.D. (who has no interest in Careless, but not for a lack of trying on his part) and Sarge (a stammering throwback from the '60s)-join the pair when road-raged, redneck friend, Birk, learns of a mystery involving their favorite country western singer.

 

Against the backdrop of the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo, Careless continues to be thoroughly slobbered on by day and spooned every night by the large hound dog (not that there's anything wrong with that either). Careless is a fictional character concocted by Dudley, the hound dog, who swears the story is true… well, mostly true.

Burp Gun Bandit: Book II of The Dudley Files -  Available on Amazon

Book II of The Dudley Files, an award winning Dog Comedy Mystery Novel, brings back Dudley, the golden-colored hound dog, with his life partner, Careless, E.D., a blonde beautiful, sassy upstairs neighbor, Sarge, an idiot savant throwback from the '60's, and Birk, their redneck friend with road rage, as they solve the disappearance of a pet miniature donkey named Eddie in The Texas Hill Country and a diabloical mystery surrounding an old World War II rifle that some may say takes on a supernatural flair.

Golden Hound Press Logo

 

 

The real story on Dudley: 

We were at the end of the aisle next to a window with light streaming in. We were about to leave. As Birk and I turned to leave I suddenly felt a warm feeling come over me and felt like I was being watched. This was very strange and when I looked around, I saw in the very last dog run a large, skinny, fawn colored dog. He had a big head and the most beautiful brown, expressive eyes I had ever seen. He was a large dog but he was quite skinny and I wondered if the SPCA volunteers were feeding him properly. It hadn’t hit me yet but we were going to meet each other and fall in love. I kept walking with Birk and we were going to leave but something made me look back at that last cage with the sunlight just beaming into it. It was almost as if the sunlight was glowing. Then I noticed that the dog had pressed himself very tightly up against the dog run chain link gate. His coat was shimmering in the sunlight. He wasn’t carrying on like the other hooligan dogs that were making all kind of noises. He just pressed himself up against the chain link gate, stayed silent, and stared me right in the eyes with his big, brown, beautiful eyes. At that point I had not noticed it but my feet had stopped moving and something was pulling me back to him. Birk walked on ahead and kept our conversation lively but some kind of force or power starting pulling me back to this dog and I was compelled to follow it. I don’t really know if there is such a thing as divine intervention but this was probably as close as I would ever come to noticing it. 

            Instinctively, I reached down with both hands and starting rubbing the dogs back as I stuck my fingers though the chain link gate. He had very short, fawn colored hair. It was somewhat coarse and yet soft to the touch. It was also very shiny, almost like gold. I could tell that it made him feel good and I realized that all he wanted was for me to come over and pet him. He just wanted to be touched by me and was acting beautifully. I could also tell that once I started rubbing him that his whole body began to relax almost as if a big sigh was coming out of him. No barking or jumping. It didn’t take but ten seconds for me to fall in love with him. I looked at the manila card that was fastened to his chain link gate. It read, Name:  Dudley, Breed:  Boxer, Great Dane mix. Eats dry food and is good with children and other dogs. Primarily kept outside and loves people, likes to play, and ride in car. Loves to snuggle and is very friendly. On the card it was also written that he was between six and eight months old.

Well, Birk was still walking ahead chatting with me even though I hadn’t been there for the last several minutes. I wondered just how long it would take him to figure out that I wasn’t walking right along side of him. Apparently it didn’t take that long because I saw him starting to walk back towards me with a perplexed look on his face. While rubbing Dudley through the chain link gate I looked at Birk and then shifted my gaze back down to Dudley who hadn’t broken eye contact with me since the moment I laid eyes on him.

Even though this was much different, I didn’t want a repeat of what happened with Bubba. Bubba was okay but he was definitely no Dudley and he was now in the past. I looked back at Birk as he nodded his approval, then looked back at Dudley as he nodded his approval so I snatched his manila card off of the cage so that no one would be able to take him away from me. It was a weird feeling because I had cared for other animals before but this was different. It was as if the acceptance of the forces of the universe were flowing through us or I guess it could have just been a bad case of gas but either way I wasn’t letting Dudley out of my sight. I was exhilarated, anxious, and downright scared but I knew it was the right thing to do. I felt really good about it and I could tell by the look on Birk’s face that he was in agreement but still, he would test me.

Birk said, “I’m sure he’s a fine animal and if you really want to adopt him then that’s fine Careless but the SPCA receives tons of dogs in here every day and this isn’t something that you should rush into. Maybe we should think about it and come back tomorrow.” At that point I was clutching Dudley’s manila card so tightly in my hand that no one except perhaps God would be able to pry it from my kung fu grip. I firmly told Birk, “Dudley’s not an animal, he’s my friend and I’m not leaving here without him!” With one hand on Dudley’s back and the other squeezing the manila card I stood there and stared Birk down in defiance. He finally shook his head up and down and acknowledged that Dudley was the one. A young couple walked by and stopped to look at Dudley. They looked nice enough and I’m sure they were very deserving of a great pet. Dudley then growled somewhat under his breath and I said to them, “He’s taken, move along, nothing to see here!” I said it in the nicest way possible but forcefully enough so that they got the point. They just frowned a little bit and Dudley helped them along their way with a series of low growls which they seemed to not appreciate at all. I must admit that I was laughing a bit inside along with my new best friend, Dudley. Once they had completely passed by he became passive again and looked at me as if I were the only person or thing in the room. I’m pretty certain that he only had eyes for me and wouldn’t be happy until I brought him home with me.

 
This is the beginning of Chapter 8 of Book I of The Dudley Files. Other than a few small embellishments, it’ exactly how I met Dudley. 

Fast forward ten years and his lifetime of great times and being a cherished member of the family, I lost him to cancer. Needless to say, I was devastated. I’ve had plenty of dogs and still do, but this one hit me hard. As my therapy, I decided to jot down all the funny things he used to do (and there were quite a few, as he was a real character). Later, I was in the shower and it hit me:  I would try to write a dog comedy mystery novel about Dudley, so everyone could get to know him. I had no formal training but did it anyway.  

One thousand hardback copies and ebooks later, it turned out Dudley had a following and they wanted more Dudley Files books. Book II drew 170 well wishers at the signing and now I’m writing Book III.  

Now I donate all my proceeds to local animal shelters because I think Dudley would have liked that. It’s given me a new purpose. A quote from Book II:  It was a natural progression to my obsession. 

And so it is.

About the Author and The Dudley Files:

 

Author Cary Robinson

 

Cary Robinson is an author and dog rescue advocate.

 

Cary Robinson typed up this funny dog mystery novel for Dudley because much like his driving, Dudley's typing stinks. Dudley started off with very little in life. After an extended stay in the executive suite at The SPCA, he found his life partner, not that there's anything wrong with that. He became famous after solving a mystery during The Houston Livestock Show & Rodeo but still goes to work every day and even takes phone calls. Please be warned, his phone skills are lacking. This is a classic American tail of wags to riches. Dudley is a great Texan!

 

"Here's my favorite picture of my boy, Dudley. I think of myself as his Dr. Watson. I write stories about his exploits."

 

 

The late Dudley. His exploits live on.

 

 

 

"The new dogs: Medina & L.E. I rescued Medina from the Kerrville City pound eight years ago. I had to get her away from all those Kerrverts. She was slated for death that morning. I found L.E. on the street two years ago. She was almost dead. They get along really well together."

 

 

Links:

 

Author's Website Golden Hound Press 

 

Buy The Books: Author's Web

 

Amazon Books for Sale and Author's Page

 

Author's Blog

 

Animal Adoption

 

Facebook

 

Contact The Author

 

Twitter @DudleyFiles

 

 

 

 

Every Dog Has A Soul. Every Soul Has A Purpose. Purpose Is What Defines Us. 

Golden Hound Press