It’s Saturday, which means I have a bunch of blog posts to write, errands to run, laundry to do…all that fun stuff. I hope you have a few minutes to stop by Books Books The Magical Fruit today, where I’m wearing my Susannah Sandlin hat and answering a bunch of fun (and hard) questions. Really hard questions!
First, links to the contests that are still open, and then I’ll tell a story that I make reference to in the above interview.
To enter the giveaway for both Ministry of Peculiar Occurences steampunk books by Pip Ballantine and Tee Morris, click HERE.
To enter the monstrous TBR giveaway (sixteen books in four giveaways), click HERE.
To enter the contest for Amy Kathleen Ryan’s GLOW and SPARK, click HERE.
To enter this week’s Reader’s Choice contest, click HERE.
Okay, here’s my story.
I have two dogs. They’re my babies. Absolutely spoiled rotten. You’d never know they both came out of bad circumstances.
Shane, a seriously hyperactive and devious Irish terrier/Westie mix, had been stolen from her original owners and was living in a backyard next to one of my coworkers. He got tired of seeing this cute terrier being neglected and living on a soggy mattress in an overgrown backyard and playing with beer cans, so he staged a
theft rescue, and talked me into taking her. She was about a year old when I got her, seriously underweight, and had no social skills whatsoever. She’s now 13.
Tanker is a Chow/Rottweiler/Golden Retriever hybrid (or so says the vet) who was a street stray. He showed up outside my fence in New Orleans, made friends with Shane, and wouldn’t leave. I took him in and then realized how starved he was at 35 pounds. His normal weight is 80-90. He was about nine months old and had heartworms and I fell in love with him. He’s now 12.
So, Shane and Tanker and I became a little family. One day a few years later, I was in the house and the dogs were outside in the fenced yard. There was a knock on the door and it was a neighbor–he said some neighborhood
thugs kids had opened the gate and let the dogs out. The neighbor had tried to catch the dogs, but they ran off.
Frantic, I looked and looked all over my New Orleans neighborhood. After an hour with no sign of them, I went home, made some signs, and grabbed my cell phone. About fifteen minutes later, the phone rings, and it’s the manager of the Columns Hotel on St. Charles Avenue, wanting to know if I’m missing two dogs. “Well, they’re here enjoying happy hour,” the woman says. Uh-oh.
Now, you have to understand: The Columns is in an antebellum mansion and is quite upscale. Gorgeous hotel. But it’s also a pet-friendly hotel, so the manager didn’t realize for a while that the two dogs enjoying happy hour in the Columns bar weren’t actually WITH anyone. So she chased Tanker down (good luck catching Shane) and got my number off his tag.
Off I go to the Columns, which is about four blocks from my house. I walk into the posh lobby, and the first thing I see is my huge black beast stretched out on a velvet sofa. O.M.G. He’s very pleased with himself, too, but at least seems happy to see me.
Shane, on the other hand, is in the bar, filling up on h’ors-d’oeuvres courtesy of her new best friends, a couple of tourists from Texas. She is quite put out when I slip a noose around her neck and drag her to the car.
Her friends came on the porch of the hotel and waved goodbye.
And that’s my “Shane and Tanker Go to the Columns” story!