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Rebecca E. Neely, Author ~ Romance. Paranormal. Suspense.

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romance

Hard Work: It’s All It’s Cracked Up To Be

Recently, I was seeking inspiration for dinner, and in leafing through one of my Cooks Illustrated magazines (April 2015), came across an editorial written by the amazing Christopher Kimball. In it he pays homage to his home state of Vermont and its colorful and varied denizens, and sums up by admiring how many of them ‘stand for something.’

In short, it got me thinking about what I stand for. In the course of my life, I’ve assumed many roles. I’m a daughter, sister, friend, girlfriend and aunt. I’m also a single mother and a business woman. I grew up working in my family’s restaurant business. I earned a degree in Accounting and, after quite a few zigs and zags, I’ve been with the same company (well, at least the same location) for twenty years. And I’ve been writing in one form or another for about the same length of time.

One common denominator in all of that, I realized, is good old fashioned hard work. As far as standing for something, I’d be honored to lay claim to that.

My parents passed that on, in DNA, as well as in word and deed. And I believe I’m passing that ethic onto my teenaged daughter, who, at this very moment is washing dishes at a local restaurant.

Hard work is satisfying, comforting. It’s basic, reliable, a cornerstone of my life. It’s sustained, soothed, saved me. I need hard work to feed my soul, survive, and thrive in every way. I want to use everything I’ve been given, physically, intellectually, spiritually. And the experiences, the people I’ve met along my journey of hard work have shaped me, made me who I am. And tell my story.

Interestingly, the people in my life are also hard workers. My cousin, the dedicated social worker with 20+ years of experience. My friend, a court reporter who runs her own business. My boyfriend, the contractor with mad skills. And his father, who, even at 89 and after a recent fall, insists on planting his own flowers. And is upset he can’t mow his own lawn. They do me proud.

At the age of 12, I would go with my father to our family’s diner style restaurant, doing ‘heavy prep’ – mixing stuffing in Rubbermaid size containers, stirring cauldrons of spaghetti sauce with a wooden paddle long, heavy and wide enough to be considered a weapon. By the time I was 16, I’d done it all–waitressed, washed dishes, bussed tables, mopped, ran the register, assisted with payroll. And I did it alongside my father, mother, brother, aunt, uncle and cousins, and a cast of employee characters that live on, large, in my hallowed memory home.

Sadly, when a downturn in the economy pretty much forced my parents’ hand to sell, I looked for work elsewhere and found myself at a local shoe store. I think my favorite part was unpacking all the new inventory. That, and the 30% discount the employees received.

When the shoe store closed after about a year, I odd jobbed, holding both the title of magazine telemarketer and fast food cashier. Alas, neither took for more than a week. I then started working as a grocery store cashier, and it turned out that would be something I’d do for the next 8 years, during summers, breaks from college and post college when I needed extra money.

There, amongst the aisles of HBA (Health & Beauty Aids), the dairy and produce, you truly do see it all, as everyone has to eat. Rich, poor, mundane, bizarre, friendly, rude—the employees and the customers covered the spectrum. It was there I witnessed store employees chase down a thief, saw a Gypsy for the first time, and rang up more frozen turkeys than I could shake a stick at. I learned the names of myriad vegetables, fruits and herbs, and their codes in the system, some of which I still remember to this day. (Bananas were 242, watermelons 393). I was introduced to the art and science of couponing. And became a master in making change.

While attending college, I took part in the work-study program in the school’s computer center. It was there I had a fellow employee stab me in the back, repeating what I’d said about the boss to her. Oh yeah, I remember him. But I learned the value of keeping my mouth shut. And about who to trust. And not to trust.

When I transferred to finish my four year degree, it was back to food for me, working in the dining hall. And on the weekends, I made omelettes to order on a flat top, honing my egg skills to perfection.

After I graduated from college, I began working as an accounting clerk. The three ladies I worked with took me under their wing, and Linda, my favorite, taught me about more than receivables and payables. One of the smartest and wisest women I had the privilege to know, Linda worked part time, choosing to give up her career to raise her daughter. When I left there to move up the corporate ladder, she made me Jello letters spelling out ‘GOOD LUCK’. Yeah, she rocked.

As a junior accountant, I found myself in the unenviable position of working for a difficult boss. Still young, still green in the ways of Corporate America, I went against the grain, and we parted ways several years later. Feeling beat up, disillusioned, I quit my job without having another one. I didn’t work for a month. And I never regretted it. I still believe, years later, leaving there, and taking time off, was one of the best things I ever did, because it was then I truly learned how to stand up for myself.

From there, I worked on and off in accounting as a temp, did a year long stint as a real estate agent, part timed at a house wares store (still fold my towels the way they taught us) and worked as a customer service rep for a national hardware wholesale company. It was there I applied for, and got the job of working as a computer operator in the company’s data center. For the first time in my life, I worked shifts, and with an all male staff. A singular experience, I have fond memories of that crew. They were kind, but they treated me like one of them. Suffice to say, no one worried about filtering their conversation. My skin thickened – but in a good way.

Fast forward a few years. I was once again working as an accountant, married, had a baby on the way, and was unhappy with my work. It was then I really started to think about what kind of work I wanted to do. Not for the next year. But for a lifetime. And accounting wasn’t it. Oh, I was good at it. But going to school for business, I realized, had been a knee jerk reaction to my parents’ sale of the business and the resulting financial difficulties, when I’d been at a crossroads in my life. Don’t get me wrong – that degree served me well. But it was never my passion.

But writing was, and is.

Being a woman of action, I read, I researched, and discovered a small magazine accepting submissions. Though I wouldn’t get paid for the articles, I could build my clips, gain experience. I wrote three articles for them, and one of them I know I’m blessed to have written – I interviewed my father about hunting deer, one of his lifelong loves. From there, I went on to write for other local magazines, bid on jobs at a freelancing website, and had the privilege of working with people all over the country.

I discovered I really enjoyed the vagabond nature of freelancing work. Never knowing what I might work on next. No responsibility except to my client and myself for a short period of time. And it was my choice. What I wanted to work on. Who I wanted to work with. LOL – there’s little doubt, in hindsight, that that ‘vagabond nature’ is reflected in my travels through the job market.
And I liked being my own boss. I got a high from creating something from a mere idea on paper, or in my head, for readers to enjoy. And that ultimately earned me payment. And my name in print. But more than that, much more than that, was the bone deep feeling I was coming into my own. This is what I was meant to do. Write.

One of my favorite things to do as a freelancer is to interview people who are passionate about what they do. There’s a fire that comes into their eyes, their voice, their body language. An intensity that ignites interest in me. I’ve written articles on subjects, at the outset, I didn’t think I wanted to know anything about. And certainly didn’t know anything about. (Harvesting cedar, insurance, soccer, to name a few.) Yet, after talking to the expert, they got me excited about it. And I wrote an article showcasing that.

I’ve interviewed dozens of people over the years, including a vintner, a team of paranormal investigators, and a tattoo artist. I’ve interviewed the CEO of a casino, and the sole proprietor of a local book store. Those people, their stories, have become part of my story. I’m blessed to have the opportunity to have known these people, if only for a short time. They’ve enriched me, broadened my horizons and excited me with their passion. And incidentally, they all had something in common—they worked hard at what they did.

I’d been freelancing for some years when I became interested in writing novels. I love to read, and romantic suspense is my groove. Once again, being a woman of action, I read, I researched, I joined writing groups, I took online classes. I wrote two really, really bad novels that never saw the light of day. Eventually, after trial and error, I penned my first book. And sold it. Then another. And another. Each one, I felt, was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. And I can’t wait to do it again.

As I said before, the path to get here hasn’t been straight by any means. But I believe everything happens for a reason. And I’m pretty damn happy about the way things turned out. Because right now, here, today, I get to write this for you. It’s hard work. And I’m loving every minute of it.

Rebecca E. Neely is a blogger, storyteller, writer & author. Visit her at www.rebeccaneely.com

Romance. Paranormal. Suspense.
All books available on Amazon

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Featured post

Epic and 80s – Love Stories That Speak to My Heart

The year? 1984. On the silver screen, all Samantha Baker wanted for her sixteenth birthday was for Jake Ryan to notice she was alive, and Sarah Connor and Kyle Reese were running for their lives from a lethal cyborg who promised he’d ‘be back.’ Fast forward five years to 1989. Sally Albright and Harry Burns had just begun a decade old argument about whether or not men and women could ever really be friends.

What do they all have in common? Sixteen Candles, The Terminator and When Harry Met Sally are all love stories that’ve become a part of me and my imagination, and continue to speak to my heart, years later.

And they’re all stories that convey the lasting, soul deep, quirky, crazy and desperate facets of romance, passion and love that I’m keen to put on the page for my readers.

I was an awkward, impressionable fourteen year old in 1984. I got Samantha Baker. In a lot of ways, she was me. And I wanted to be Molly Ringwald in Sixteen Candles. She gave me hope, along with thousands of other girls who didn’t have the perfect hair, body, outfit or friends, that love would find a way. And she did it by staying true to herself, and by being kind to Farmer Ted, a.k.a the geek. Lots of laughs to be sure, but the tender dreams in her young girl’s heart echoed my own—and that’s what permanently etched this flick across my heart.

Every time I watch Terminator, I hope Kyle Reese will somehow escape the clutches of the Terminator and have a happily ever after with Sarah Connor. How can I not? He crossed time to find and save the woman he loved. Is there anything more romantic? Or more thrilling than watching the pair run for their lives? From the safety of my seat in the theater, I still remember watching the eighteen wheeler almost run them over. The fleeting amount of time that Kyle and Sarah share is, to me, the indescribable essence of true love in many ways. And this flick captured it, beautifully. The End. As Sarah says, ‘they loved a lifetime.’ And so they did. Time, in and of itself, is meaningless, a paradox in a story about the future. And then, not at all. The special effects might be simple by today’s standards, but the music has me hiding under my pillow every time. This one’s a keeper!

Every time I watch When Harry Met Sally, I think I love it more. Kudos to the incomparable Nora Ephron. The stories within the story cover the gamut, from like to love, from marriage to divorce, from friendship to courtship. And the struggles and triumphs are just as relevant today. I love that Harry and Sally are the complete opposite of love at first sight. How fascinating in our world of instant gratification. Too, the couple interviews throughout not only endear, but echo their journey. Love wins. It works. It’s strange, sometimes unexpected. But young or old, we’ve all got a story to tell. Of how we’ve lost. And won. Too many reasons to count, but this one’s on my permanent HEA list, because I walk away with the message, loud and clear: love endures.

Stories don’t change. But we, the readers, the viewers, do. Not only because of life experiences. But because of the story itself, I like to think. I’ve revisited these epic faves as I’ve moved through the seasons in my own life. From the comical to the confused, the passionate to the paranormal, every time, I think I find a little bit of myself.

To bring us full circle, my daughter (who, interestingly enough is sixteen) was watching an episode of The Vampire Diaries recently on Netflix. As I was making dinner, I caught the tune playing at the end. A cover of The Thompson Twins song, “If You Were Here”, by the Cary Brothers.

Red Porsche. Bridesmaid’s dress. “This is the guy!” Need I say more?

Fun fact: Molly Ringwald actually played Sally Albright in a stage production of When Harry Met Sally, circa 2004.

This post originally appeared on USA Today’s HEA blog.

Rebecca E. Neely is a blogger, storyteller, writer & author. Visit her at www.rebeccaneely.com 

Romance. Paranormal. Suspense.

All books available on Amazon

The Stone Soup of My Soul

At 47, I’m hovering somewhere between early onset of menopause and the rest of my life, spending more time at funeral homes than I’d like as of late, and realizing that retirement is nary two decades away. And realizing that two decades ain’t such a long time.

Bringing that into sharp, and downright painful focus is the passing of my favorite uncle earlier this year to damnable cancer. As his niece, as a writer, and I think, as a human being, I find myself suddenly and predictably desperate to hold onto the stories that are so much a part of my clan’s history, and that rich, intricate and convoluted fabric of family.

For precious moments, those stories of yore bring my loved ones a little closer, and give me the singular opportunity to revel in the undiluted, childish joy they’ve brought me time and again throughout my life. But I also feel a need to honor, in my humble way, the great line of storytellers from which I hail. To remember the gatherings where they were told and retold, by whom, and the embellishments, versions and tweaks that have been added along the way because these stories—something to which everyone has contributed—have become the stone soup of my soul.

Both my uncle and my father (brothers) played off one another at family gatherings like stage professionals, flawless in their timing, their delivery of tales making us all laugh until we cried and our stomachs ached. Where do I begin? Gems such as the time my father and his boyhood friends’ attempt at becoming trappers went sideways comes easily to mind. On one ill-fated day, they snared a skunk, and upon arriving at home with their spoils (which, at this point my uncle would chime in and relate the progression of the smell, in direct correlation with his ride home from work), my grandfather proclaimed with conviction that the only way the skunk hide would be worth the fifty cents my father had visions of earning from it would be to stick two quarters up its ass.

Indeed. Words of wisdom from a man (who I never had the pleasure of meeting), who, if he felt his daughters’ beaus were cozying up in the parlor too late or too long, wouldn’t think twice about strolling through the house in his underwear.

Ah, it’s gems like these that warm me all the way through, and come to mind at odd times, or precisely the right moment – I’m not sure which, for me to regale my daughter with when she needs a lift, or insight.

The storytelling in my family isn’t without its more serious side. In an attempt to record some more of that history, I recently asked my mother to tell me all she could remember about her grandparents, while I recorded it on my phone. Here’s one of my favorites:

In search of a better life, my great grandmother, Susan Jevin (pronounced with a ‘Y’, not a ‘J’, left Czechoslovakia, making the trip to America by herself at the age of sixteen, never to return, and never to see her family again, save for her sister who’d moved to Michigan, years later. Wow. True grit at its grittiest. It honors and humbles me to know that kind of blood runs through my veins. Susan would meet and marry Paul Semes, a skinny but wiry man who, after coming home from working at the local steel mill—he worked in the store room, managing all of the parts, and my grandfather (my dad’s dad) remembered him, said he was your man if you needed to find something, anything)–could, and often did, eat a whole pie, and remained as skinny as the string beans they grew in their garden.

See what I just did? Gave you a story within a story. It seems the stories I hold so dear are more often than not, just that. And to my way of thinking, a gift.

In this same vein of laughter, storytelling and friendship, I’m blessed to have a group of friends, the majority of whom I’ve known over half my life, some all my life. These friends are my family. My people. While we don’t see each other all the time, when we do, we don’t miss a beat, picking up where we left off, telling new stories, recounting old ones, and catching up on all the beginnings, middles and ends we might have missed.

Speaking of beginnings, it occurred to me on a recent trip to the Heinz History Center there are always new stories emerging, all around us. I see this blessed phenomena every day in my daughter, as she prepares for college and embraces her passions, one of which is photography. I found it serendipitous she wanted to see the ‘Eyes of Pittsburgh’ exhibit, featuring the Post Gazette’s photo archives spanning 100 years of the city’s history, while I was working on this blog. Coincidence? Kizmet? Either way, I’ll take it.

As long as man has gathered around fire, stories have been told—to educate and entertain, sustain and soothe, amuse and fascinate. As the self appointed scribe of my clan, I will always treasure the stories of the past. But I’ve also a sneaking suspicion that the best stories are the ones yet to unfold. And often, there’s joy, and a delicious wonder to be had in the not knowing.

For example, to this day, I have no idea how two of my father’s and my uncle’s boyhood friends came to be eloquently, and lovingly referred to as Stump and Pickle. I like to think it might have had something to do with their late night sampling, shall we say, of a neighbor’s apple cider stash.

But that’s a story for another day.

Rebecca E. Neely is a blogger, storyteller, writer & author. Visit her at www.rebeccaneely.com 

Romance. Paranormal. Suspense.

All books available on Amazon

Featured post

Not Your Run-of-the-Mill Werewolf

Today, it’s my pleasure to welcome paranormal romance authors C.D. Hersh. Today, this husband and wife team is sharing more about their Turning Stone Chronicles stories. Specifically, ‘Five Things You’ve Always Wanted to Know About the Shifter World of The Turning Stone Chronicles’. As for the shifters? They’re not your typical werewolves…

The Turning Stone Chronicles – Three ancient Celtic families. A magical Bloodstone that enables the wearers to shape shift. A charge to use the stone’s power to benefit mankind, and a battle, that is going on even today, to control the world. Can the Secret Society of shape shifters called the Turning Stone Society heal itself and bring peace to our world? Find out in The Series The Turning Stone Chronicles.

The Turning Stone Chronicles is a paranormal romance series that is different than any other paranormal series you have probably read. We have shifters in our books, but they are not the run-of-mill werewolves you might be used to reading about. Our were creatures are based on the psychology of human Id, ego and ???

Here are five interesting tidbits about our unique world. We hope they will pique your curiosity enough that you’ll want to know more about the Secret Society of the Turning Stones.

1.Shifting abilities in The Turning Stone Chronicles series are not based on being bitten or drained of blood, or turned like the run of the mill vamps or werewolves, but on the concept that mankind has three distinct aspects to their beings: male, female, and animal. Accomplished, powerful shifters in our world can reach their tri-status. Less powerful  shifters—not so much.

2. To be part of our shifter world, one must have a magic Turning Stone ring in his, or her, possession and read the inscription inside the ring. But watch out! The initial Celtic recitation is a heart-stopper.

3. Have you ever wondered what happens to a shifter’s clothes? In the earliest introductions of shifters those cursed with lycanthropy would shed and hide his, or her, clothes before shifting. When they were ready to convert back to humans, they went back to the hiding place, changed, and put on their clothing. The bad thing was if someone moved their clothing, they were stuck being an animal. Our shifters are not like the tales of werewolves or selkies (seals who become people) who have to shed their clothes or coats to change and cannot get back without them. The ring’s magic absorbs the wearer’s clothing when he shifts to his animal ego.

4. So, you ask, where did this magic ring come from? Many eons ago, when magic existed side by side with man, an ancient magic Celtic bloodstone was given to three young Scottish men, along with the task of using the magic for the good of mankind. The three families cut rings cut from the heart of the stone, the power of each piece varying as it moved away from the heart of the stone.

5. The most powerful piece of the stone was kept by the Keeper of the Stone. But power corrupts, and over time power corrupted some of the factions of the Turning Stone Society. Now the members of this secret society, many living among us in positions of power, are locked in a battle to collect the rings, control the world, and thereby bring peace once again. But whose peace will reign? The peace of the good side or of the rogue, evil side?

To find the answer to that question you’ll have to read the books.

The Promised One (Book One of The Turning Stone Chronicles)
Blood Brothers (Book Two of The Turning Stone Chronicles)
Son of the Moonless Night (Book Three of The Turning Stone Chronicles)
The Mercenary and the Shifters (Book Four of The Turning Stone Chronicles)

Here’s an excerpt from The Promised One (The Turning Stone Chronicles) available from Amazon in e-book and print.

THE PROMISED ONE
By C.D. Hersh

Shaw’s heart stopped racing as she relaxed in his grip, then amped back up, pounding against his ribs. Shit. Assault, battery, and now . . . murder. Quick and easy money to pay for the wedding. That’s all he’d been after. They’ll put me away for life if I get caught. Lulu’s gonna be pissed if I screw up her wedding plans.

Pushing into a squat, he stared at the dark stain spreading across the dress front. He removed the ring from the woman’s finger. She should have just given it to him.

The woman stared at him, blood seeping from the corner of her mouth. “Return the ring, or you’ll be sorry.”

With a short laugh he stood. “Big words for someone bleeding to death.” After dropping the ring into his pocket, he gathered the scattered contents of her purse, and started to leave.

“Wait.” The words sounded thick and slurred . . . two octaves deeper . . . with a Scottish lilt.

Shaw frowned and spun back toward her. The pounding in his chest increased. On the ground, where the woman had fallen, lay a man.

He wore the same slinky blue dress she had—the seams ripped, the dress top collapsed over hard chest muscles, instead of smoothed over soft, rounded curves. The hem skimmed across a pair of hairy, thick thighs. Muscled male thighs. Spiked heels hung at an odd angle, toes jutting through the shoe straps. The same shoes she’d been wearing.

The alley tipped. Shaw leaned against the dumpster to steady himself. He shook his head to clear the vision, then slowly moved his gaze over the body.

A pair of steel-blue eyes stared out of a chiseled face edged with a trim salt-and-pepper beard.

Shaw whirled around scanning the alley.

Where was the woman? And who the hell was this guy?

Terrified, Shaw fled.

The dying man called out, “You’re cursed. Forever.”

We hope you’ve enjoyed the excerpt and peek into the magical world of The Turning Stone Chronicles.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

C.D. Hersh–Two hearts creating everlasting love stories.

C. D. Hersh is a husband and wife writing team (Catherine and Donald) who are high school sweethearts who know the meaning of true love.

Putting words and stories on paper is second nature to the couple. They’ve done it separately since they were teenagers, although neither one will probably let you read those ancient manuscripts for fear you’d die laughing. They’ve come a long way since those days. But, hey, we all start somewhere.

When they aren’t collaborating on a book, they enjoy reading; singing; theatre and drama; traveling; remodeling houses (Donald has remodeled something in every home they’ve owned); and antiquing. Catherine, who loves gardening, has recently drawn Donald into her world as a day laborer. Catherine is an award-winning gardener — you can see some of her garden on their website.

They are looking forward to many years of co-authoring and book sales, and a lifetime of happily-ever-after endings on the page and in real life.

Connect with C.D. HERSH:

Website: https://cdhersh.wordpress.com/
Blog: https://cdhersh.wordpress.com/blog-2/
Soul Mate Publishing: http://smpauthors.wordpress.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/cdhershauthor
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/author/cdhersh
Twitter: https://twitter.com/AuthorCDHersh
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/CDHersh

The ‘Dream World’ of Author Rayanne Haines

Please welcome paranormal romance author Rayanne Haines. Today, she’s sharing more about her latest book, FIRE BORN, Book 1 in the Guardian Series, and the ‘dream world’ that inspired it….

I started writing Fire Born – Book 1 of the Guardian Series about four years ago. I think it has been simmering below the surface for two decades at least. I have always felt in tune with the earths energy and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t believe in magic and other worlds. I often catch glimpses of things in the shadow. Or hear whispers below the surface of everyday conversation.

Often, playing make believe has felt more real to me than real life. Maybe that’s what makes a good author; the ability to step into other worlds, to hear the voices of others and bring them through.

In 2007 I went through a messy divorce and found myself losing all sense of who I was. A friend and I went to see a psychic. Perhaps it was more about searching for “the other” again than trying to find myself, but I asked my questions and the physic gave me her answers. All quite standard stuff. Until the end. She looked at me and informed me that I had two caregivers that stood in the shadows behind me. The truth of the statement hit me so hard I began to cry immediately. She reminded me that if I ever had any questions about my life, all I had to do was ask my question before sleep took me and my answers would come to me in my dreams.

What is strange about that is that I am imminently aware that I have voracious dreams but I’ve never been able to clearly remember them for more than a minute after waking. DreamWalking became a focal point in this story because it is something that I consistently question.

So why do I write Paranormal and why these characters and this story? Because I believe in the earth elements, in the dream world, in that which we cannot see. And I believe these characters have been asking me to tell their story for quite some time. I hope I got it right.

FIRE BORN – Book One of the Guardian Series

Independent, tough as nails, and fierce to her core, Alex Taleisin can’t quite believe it when she has to fight for her life against something not-quite-human in the YMCA parking lot.

That’s when her aunt lets her in on the family secret. They’re immortal—Elementals to be precise, and Alex is the long-lost daughter of the strongest female warrior of their time.

Her guardian (a freaking Dragon!) and the sexiest man Alex has ever seen gives her a choice. Go with him, learn how to control her fire, and find her father’s people, or try to survive on her own. It’s an easy choice considering she’s only twenty-six. And the Elders may already be on her trail thanks to the fight with the nut job in the parking lot kick-starting her dormant DNA.

Enter an insane grandfather, a shifter with a hidden agenda, and a witch with a shoe addiction, and suddenly loner Alex is wishing for a quiet house in the hills with the dragon she’s falling for.

But a fight is coming and Alex knows the only way to find her answers is to trust her powers and become the warrior she was destined to be.

Connect with Rayanne

www.rayannehaines.com

Twitter @inkrayanne

Facebookwww.facebook.com/rayannehaines

Instagram – @rayanne_haines

This is Why It’s Back to School for this Writer

Recently I had the opportunity to speak to my daughter’s creative writing classes. What an amazing experience. I was truly honored and delighted to speak with these ninth and tenth graders, many of whom I saw myself in at that age—full of promise, creative, shy, hopeful, a bit awkward.

After writing professionally for 15+ years, it’s a privilege for me to give back, and share my experience whenever I can. What motivated me further to wrangle an invitation from the teacher was that as a teenager, I really wanted to be a writer but didn’t know anything about it. I didn’t know any writers. The internet hadn’t been invented yet. I had no concept of career possibilities in writing beyond journalism. Nor was the kindly high school guidance counselor a help, whose counseling amounted to informing me late in my senior year that I had enough credits to graduate. So much for guidance. But that’s a story for another blog. Long story short, I ended up getting a degree in Accounting. But again, that’s a story for another blog.

With all this in mind, I set out to create a brief presentation for the classes. Certainly, I wanted to tell them about my experience, about having come at writing sideways, from an accounting career. And about how I began freelancing, and eventually writing romance novels.

But much more important to me was to get them talking. Because guess what? It’s not all about me. I even asked the teacher to have the students put together some questions ahead of time so I could be prepared, and not waste any of the 42 minute period.

I also plied the students with chocolate, knowing they would be hesitant to participate. But once I got them going, they really opened up. I asked them their names, why they were taking the class, what their favorite books and movies were. Interestingly, they much prefer a real book to an e-reader.

I asked them to do a short writing exercise, involving show versus tell (I told them how us writers struggle with that too. That impressed them. Yeah, us writers aren’t so big and bad.) I asked them to read what they’d written aloud, which is a big deal, especially at that age. I know adults who get tongue tied if asked to share their work.

What a win/win. These teenagers inspired me with their courage and their creativity, renewed my zeal with their uncomplicated, unbiased opinions and ideas. How precious and wonderful to know they have their whole lives ahead of them. I truly feel if I helped one person that day, or gave someone an idea, a possibility, or direction, then I’d succeeded.

Of course, I was thrilled when my daughter came home and told me that her friends thought I was cool. Especially after she said something like, “You? Coming to talk to my friends? That’s so embarrassing! OMG,” when she first found out I was coming.

In short, these up and coming writers made my day. And the teenage writer in me felt pretty warm and fuzzy too.

Rebecca E. Neely is a blogger, storyteller, writer & author. Visit her at www.rebeccaneely.com 

Romance. Paranormal. Suspense.

All books available on Amazon

Book Blitz for Sweet Sacrifice by L.D. Rose!

Title: Sweet Sacrifice
Author: L.D. Rose
Genre: Paranormal Romance

Release Date: September 13, 2017
Cover Designer: Wren Taylor

Hosted by: Buoni Amici Press, LLC.

Former Navy SEAL Sebastian “Bash” Lockard died in Afghanistan after leaping on a grenade to save his comrades. Little did he know his act of heroism would grant him a ticket into Heaven’s elite army as one of the few and powerful Archangels. Struggling with his new existence, Bash still retains his human memories, leaving behind a wife he loves with all of his heart. Although he is forbidden to see her, he cannot resist her lure, or the mortal desires he harbors for her.

As a young widow and nurse, Irene Lockard still mourns her husband two years after his untimely death. His absence is everywhere, and when her best friend weds, she hits an emotional rock bottom. As if summoned from the skies above, Sebastian appears before her, and they share an unforgettable night. But when he once again vanishes, she wonders if she’s truly gone mad with grief.

The only way Sebastian can remain with Irene is if he makes the ultimate sacrifice. But will she overcome her fear of losing him again to another war?

Bash’s gaze caught on a couple on the dance floor, the sight of her sinking into him like hooks and bringing him to a standstill.

With her dark curls springing over her shoulders, she spun across the hardwood, her pale gray dress flowing around her. Much like in his recent vision of her, she tipped her head back and laughed, beautiful, stunning, her smile as bright as the yellow calla lilies tucked in her hair. She swayed with a man in dress whites, a Marine, another fucking soldier she didn’t belong with. And as the rain of realization became a downpour of comprehension, he remembered the engagement, where Claude proposed to Lucille—at their wedding—right before Bash left for another tour of Afghanistan.

“Bash?” Gabriel stepped in front of him, blocking his view, pale eyes narrowed.

Bash’s hand slammed into Gabriel’s chest, pushing him away as he lurched forward. Gabriel reacted faster, though, snatching his arm and wrenching him back at least four feet. Bash lunged again and the Arc’s hand fisted in his white button-down shirt.

“Don’t,” Gabriel growled, all humor draining from his angular face and setting his expression in stone. “Do not.”

Bash’s heart punched at the angel’s fist, every fiber of his being burning with the urge to run to her, to wrap his arms around her and feel her body against his one more time. Envy, rage, longing, and sadness blasted through him in a toxic tornado of emotion ready to whip this place into oblivion.

He nearly ground his molars into pulp. “Let. Me. Go.”

“You are dead, Sebastian. You’re no longer part of this world. All you’ll do is bring her pain, bring yourself pain. Don’t do this.” Twin streams of air whistled from the Arc’s nostrils as he shook his head. “I should’ve never brought you here.”

Bring him pain? More pain than he’d already endured? No.

No.

L.D. Rose is a neurotic physician by day, crazed writer by night, and all around wannabe superhero. She writes dark paranormal romance and urban fantasy, but she’s been known to delve into horror, sci-fi, and medical suspense on occasion. L.D. Rose is a PAN member of the RWA, FF&P, NEC-RWA and CoLoNY. She currently lives in Rhode Island with her studly hubby, her hyperactive Boxer, and her two devious cats.

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Spring Time, Sewer Lines and Storytelling

It started on Mother’s Day.

Or I should say, it stopped.

My sewer line, that is.

I bought a house a few months ago, and as a proud new home owner, I was on still on the honeymoon, filled with ideas about improvements and projects I wanted to tackle.

Enter TAG. I now know him, and I bet, if you own a home, you do too. He’s an unwanted guest that will not be denied. Many years ago, my father, a wise man, as well as a home and business owner, told me about his visits from TAG. (a.k.a. Turd Above Ground)

That night, his words came back to me with haunting clarity.

After having a relaxing day at home, reading the book my daughter had given me as a gift, and eating dinner with her and my boyfriend, I told him about some water I’d found earlier that day on the floor of my basement, near one of the floor drains. Or, rather, the evidence of it – a sopping wet throw rug I keep in front of the washing machine. At the time, I’d gotten my flashlight, checked the ceiling. It was dry. Had it come from the washer? I had no idea, and I was in the middle of making dinner, so I forged ahead, figuring I’d ask my boyfriend about it later.

My boyfriend is a general contractor who possesses an uncanny ability to fix things. When I told him about it, he raised an eyebrow in his calm, knowing way, almost as if he knew something I did not. He instructed me to flush the toilet, and run water in the bath tub.

Minutes later, he yelled to me from the basement. Stop! I ran to join him, while my brain tried to process what I was seeing erupting from another floor drain. Denial is a funny thing, isn’t it? Was that rusty water, I asked, almost as if I said it aloud, I could make it so.

No. It was TAG.

Unmitigated horror filled me as the seriousness of what was happening hit me. This was bad. Running upstairs to escape the smell, I located the home warranty information I’d been given at the closing, and called the 800 number, pushed the appropriate numbers to get me to the correct menus (you didn’t think I talked to a person, did you?), and placed my service call.

At this point, I feel it necessary to clarify that I’m not squeamish; I’ve raised a child, I’ve had numerous pets, and I worked in my family’s restaurant business growing up. I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty, and I have, many times. But this situation was proving beyond my capabilities.

Over the next few days, I learned more about pipes, sewer lines and plumbing than I’d ever wanted to know. I listened to my boyfriend’s advice; however, this particular problem was beyond his fixing scope, unfortunately. He was, however, at my side every step of the way, and for that I’m eternally grateful. I Googled and You Tubed my way through the internet, reading and watching more information than I’d ever known existed on the topic. Opinions and prices varied wildly on issues such as root killers, pipes and camera videos. My mind raced. I couldn’t sleep. What if I had to replace it? I knew it could be thousands of dollars and take days to repair.

Captain’s Log, Day 1

I had to leave work to meet the plumbers the home warranty company sent. They snapped on their black nitrile gloves and went to work, their big metal snake shimmying and rattling to some unknown tune. Again, the smell was so repulsive I fled. Thirty minutes later, I was told I had tree roots growing in the line, and guess what? The home warranty doesn’t cover it. Big surprise. I was told the line was open, to get it camera scoped, and that the roots would come back, a common occurrence in the spring time. I paid the fee and they departed, leaving me to clean up a mess I’m not sure I can properly describe in mixed company. That was the low point. The substances I cleaned from the floor and the walls, along with the creatures–yes, you read that right–made my skin crawl.

Worms. Did I mention some of them were alive?

Shudder.

And the smell. An unholy, godforsaken, dehumanizing smell emanating literally, from the bowels of my home, seemed to permeate my nose, my mouth, my very skin. If I’d showered for three days, I don’t think I’d have felt clean. Suffice to say, it was Andy Dufresne escaping from Shawshank prison through the tunnel all over again.

Still can’t sleep.

Captain’s Log, Day 2

Since I was price shopping, I called a local company. The woman on the phone told me proudly that they didn’t charge by the hour, but by the job. That sounded promising. I needed a camera scope, I said. They did that? Great. See you tonight.

I came home from work, and evidence that the line still wasn’t clear greeted me from the basement floor.

Plumber No. 2 snaked the line yet again, scoped it with a camera, and announced the alleged ‘good’ news. Since the line was in pretty good condition, I would able to put in a liner – to the tune of $9,500. Did I say the low point was cleaning up the floor? I burst into tears.

Still can’t sleep.

Captain’s Log, Day 3

The drain is open. I’m taking short showers, and checking the drains constantly, creeping up on them, afraid of what I’m going to find. All is well. For now.

Enter plumber No. 3, an old hand who both my boyfriend and I had used at different points in our lives. I’d wanted to go to him in the first place, but the home warranty dictates that their contractors must be used. My boyfriend had spoken with him over the course of this ordeal, and filled him in about what was going on. Did I mention I hadn’t slept well in three days?

I called him. He chided me, telling me I should’ve called him in the first place. Plumbers apparently have egos. Who knew? Bewildered, sleep deprived, and sick with dread about what fixing this might cost, I tried to explain the events of the last few days and found myself groping for words. Phrases like, ‘raw sewage’, ‘home warranty’, and ‘digging it up’ punctuated the conversation. We agreed on a time for him to come that evening.

It occurred to me was living in some sort of alternate reality; office admin by day, plumber whore by night.

Plumber No. 3 came. He observed with an experienced eye, asking few questions, except for me to run water, flush the toilet, and the like. He eyeballed the drains, which mercifully, were clear at this point. And pronounced, in not so many words, ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.’

I hugged him and praised all higher powers. Truly. He gave me a few suggestions about maintenance, and we emerged from the basement, friends and comrades, our bond forged indelibly as we each of us soldiered on in the war against TAG that every home owner wages.

I’ll bear the scars from this battle proudly. I earned them. And because, at the end of the day—wait for it; you knew it was coming—shit happens.

So, what have I learned, and why am I blogging about this? Common sense, in the form of an older, experienced plumber, will win the day. I still love being a homeowner. And about TAG? My father passed about ten years ago, and in the moment of crisis, his words came back to me. He used to make us all laugh so hard, and I almost felt like he was there with me, commiserating. So, thanks Dad!

Also, this blog is for anyone who’s ever felt overwhelmed, uninformed and intimidated by repair men, not to mention short on cash for serious home repairs. You are not alone. Also, this is for anyone who wonders what writers do in their spare time. <grin> Collect experiences!

And, I am a storyteller at heart. I sincerely hope I’ve been able to entertain you with my folly. And who knows? As upsetting as the whole experience was, it’s replete with emotion and strife, perfect for me, as a writer, to tap into when I want a character to suffer, say, by finding themselves in a deep, dank hole in the Earth, clawing through dirt, and coming up with . . . worms.

“May your lines be clear, your position always upwind, and TAG never darken your door.”
–A Brand New Proverb

Rebecca E. Neely is a writer, blogger, author and storyteller. Visit her at www.rebeccaneely.com

The Crossing Realms series ~ The Keeper, Book 1 and The Watcher, Book 2 available on Amazon

This is Why She Rescues German Shepherds

If you’re part of my Mailing List or my Street Team, you know I’ve been working on a special article about German Shepherd rescues. I’ve always been an animal lover, and I was inspired to learn more about rescues when I created the character of Tan, the German Shepherd rescue in THE WATCHER, Book 2 in the Crossing Realms paranormal romance series.

One of my favorite things to do as a writer is to talk with people who are passionate about what they do. It’s contagious! I’ve talked with an expert, and heard from many of my readers, who’ve shared their amazing stories about German Shepherds. (Scroll down to the bottom of this post to read them all!) Through it all, I’ve learned, enjoyed, and discovered, sometimes shedding tears, and other times, laughing out loud. But it’s all touched my heart.

I want to thank all of these generous people, who shared their time and experience with me about these truly majestic animals, enabling me to make this article possible.

Without further adieu, this is why she rescues German Shepherds…

Linda Lamek Healy, with 2 of her rescues, Roman (L) and Saber (R)

The dogs were barking happily when Linda Lamek Healy, long time German Shepherd, and all around animal lover and Foster for Heidi’s Legacy Dog Rescue, answered the phone. She asked me to hold on a minute, and with a few simple words, calmed and quieted them. Instantly, I was impressed with her easy, yet firm manner, and I knew I would have the pleasure of talking with an old hand.

Indeed. Linda, a retired social worker, has been rescuing dogs since she was a child, bringing home strays, and she’s been around German Shepherds just as long. Linda explained why she loves the breed so much. “They’re very loyal, protective, and make people feel safe. Even the calmest one, if they sense a threat, will protect their owners if they are in trouble.”

Linda knows this firsthand, as one of her precious ‘pack’ protected her when she needed it. When she rescued him, Roman had been terribly abused, and suffered health problems from over breeding. But she was able to nurse him back to health. One night, sensing trouble, he shot through her screen door to chase a burglar who was trying to break into her Jeep. Mission accomplished! Way to go Roman!

“I’ve been in love with Shepherds forever,” Linda said. Such a special breed of dog needs just as special of an owner. “They’re bigger dogs, they require patience, and I feel, a more experienced owner,” she explained.

She’s been fostering dogs for Heidi’s for four years, and currently, she’s fostering seven. In addition, she personally has four dogs. Wow! “I really feel it’s what I was meant to do my whole life,” she said.

“The dogs are my life,” Linda said, and I have nothing but admiration and respect for the labors of love she performs daily for these amazing animals. “It’s very fulfilling. I foster a lot of senior dogs with medical conditions, such as mange, malnutrition and hip displaysia. Many have also been abused.”

Her day starts at 5am, and usually, Linda has the dogs settled for the night around 7pm. Over the course of the day, she feeds them, brushes them, provides medical care, and cleans, vacuuming and mopping floors several times a day. “Because I’ve fostered so many dogs, and with the veterinarian’s guidance, I’ve learned so much about the dogs’ medical needs. If it’s possible, we feel they’re better off at home, versus in a dog hospital.”

As one can imagine, the condition many of the dogs are in when they get to Heidi’s is heart wrenching. Many are sick, have been abandoned, abused and severely neglected. Enter the Foster – an angel in disguise, who accepts and cares for these animals at what may be the lowest point in their lives.

Saber, when Linda first rescued him
Saber, after Linda nursed him back to health

Linda feels blessed to share many success stories, which she does routinely on her Facebook page. Saber is one such success story. When he came into her life, he had no hair on him except for on his ears, and weighed a mere 49 pounds. Now, he’s a furry long hair, weighing in at 87 pounds.

Linda snuggling with her ‘pack’
Linda and friend, with Saber

A lot of love, hard work and planning goes into each and every one of successes like these. Over the last year, Linda had fostered over fifty dogs, caring for them until they’re ready to be adopted. Obviously, getting them to that point is often expensive, as veterinarian bills, medicine and food is costly. “I go through 120 pounds of food a week,” Linda explained.

To offset that cost, Linda sets up a table weekly at one of the Pet Supermarkets in St. Petersburg. Donations to Heidi’s Legacy are gratefully accepted, and customers receive a discount on their order. It also enables Linda to get some of the high quality food she so desperately needs for her fosters.

As well, Heidi’s participates in, and hosts numerous fundraising events throughout the year. One such event is the annual Gulfport’s Get Rescued event, sponsored by the Gulfport Merchant’s Association, which was just held in late February. As one of the largest animal rescue events in the state, all profits benefit participating non-profit rescue groups. “Not only is it one of the most important fundraisers for Heidi’s all year, financially, it serves to raise awareness, and it’s also a lot of fun.”

Thinking of adopting a rescue? Linda explained Heidi’s application process is rigorous. In fact, some of the organization’s volunteers devote their time exclusively to accepting applications and screening applicants. Part of the contract includes Heidi’s ‘following’ the dogs. “We want to see pictures and progress. And fortunately, some of the owners are close by, and I get to see the dogs in person,” Linda said.

“Depending on the condition they’re in, some fosters stay only days,” Linda said. “Others, I’ve had for months. I have a good instinct about the dogs, and about which one will go best with which person.”

According to statistics posted at Heidi’s, “between 6-8 million dogs and cats end up in animal shelters in the United States each year. (HSUS estimate)

HOW CAN YOU HELP?

BECOME A FOSTER – Clearly, being a Foster is a huge commitment, and Heidi’s, as well as shelters in your area, are always looking for reliable, caring Fosters.

The bottom line for Linda? “There’s always a dog I wish I had room for.”

ADOPT A RESCUE – Straight from Heidi’s website, because I can’t say it any better: “Make Adoption Your First Option! A simple solution to the national pet overpopulation problem…yet effective. If we all adopted just one, there would be very few to save. And talk to others about adopting dogs instead of buying them. Adopting instead of shopping will save thousands of dogs from being euthanized in shelters every day. Every dog bought in pet store or from breeder means another dog in the shelter dies. Sadly, a dog is put down approximately every 9 seconds in the United States.”

MAKE A DONATION – Monetary donations are always needed, of course, but many other items are needed as well. Linda explained. “We always need dog food, used linens, old bedspreads, sheets, towels, paper towels, Clorox, Laundry detergent, Pinesol, Lysol, vacuum cleaners, mops and other cleaning supplies.”

BE A RESPONSIBLE PET OWNER – Plan for the care of your pet. Who will take care of your dog if you can’t? Think beyond the immediate; don’t make an impulsive decision. Get a pet that makes sense for your circumstances and lifestyle. For example, if you’re older, getting a puppy may not be the best choice. Have your pet spayed or neutered. Training, exercise, good nutrition and keeping an ID tag on your pet at all times are also very important. Above all? Love your pet, and you’ll be loved in return.

SHARE THE LOVE – Enjoyed this post? Please share it! Follow your local rescue organization on Facebook and other social media. Share their posts! You never know where it will lead. <<Follow Heidi’s Legacy on Facebook>>

MORE ABOUT HEIDI’S LEGACY DOG RESCUE

From Heidi’s website, www.heidislegacydogrescue.comHeidi’s Legacy Dog Rescue is dedicated to rescue and placement of unwanted companion animals. Based in Florida, Heidi’s Legacy has helped thousands of companion animals find loving forever homes. These are wonderful loving animals that often only need love, compassion and training to make them an incredibly awesome family member and best friend.

Heidi’s Legacy was established in 2002 as an all breed rescue in honor of Heidi, a marvelous German Shepherd that was abandoned by her original owners and left to die in the country. Sadly Heidi died shortly after her arrival with us but we have dedicated our lives to saving others just as lovable and just as deserving as Heidi was. Read Heidi’s Story.

Founded by Lori Hoffman, Heidi’s Legacy is a nonprofit, 501(c)(3) charitable organization staffed entirely by volunteers that LOVE and RESPECT animals. If a life can be saved, we will do what needs to be done. Our goal is to save as many lives as possible so they can enrich the lives of their new adoptive families as they do ours.

STORIES FROM MY READERS ABOUT SOME AWESOME GERMAN SHEPHERDS

I want to thank each and every one of my readers who took the time to share their stories and pictures about awesome German Shepherds that have touched their lives. Some are happy, some are sad, all touched my heart. You put the cherry on top of this post 😊 Without further adieu, I invite you to read on!

HONDO – story shared by Debby
We had a German Shepherd called Hondo. He worked with my husband and was a state police canine. I am not sure what you would like to know, but Hondo had many quirks and loved his job.

He was a state police dog and was very intelligent and quite quirky. He made up games when he was bored. He would run and jump and try to catch dust from the air reflected by lights. When he was outside, he would run from one of the fence line to the other. leaving a gully in between two built up mud areas at each end. My own dog would come in with her feet wet but Hondo would be covered in mud. He was very possessive of the cruiser and hated to let anyone in. I actually think he would have helped someone rob our house though. He was an excellent tracker and found a four year old boy who had been lost for almost a day. He found many bad guys as well. In fact, he liked that so well, he had to go back to training because what he would do is go into a warehouse and find the guy and bite him and then come back to his handler. The bad guy would think he was safe and the dog would leave. They sent him back in to search and he did the same thing. He did that so many times that the guy gave up. Another time, he was set to guard a prisoner in the cruiser. The prisoner tried to escape and Hondo grabbed him and pulled him half way into the back seat. The guy was yelling for help. He promised not to move after that. He was an amazing dog. He lived with us and was very loving but not when he was in his cruiser. When my husband dressed, he would wait at the door.

DESTINY – story shared by Colleen C.
My family had a long haired German Shepard named Destiny. She was a very loving and protective member of our family. The most interesting thing about her was that she loved to play soccer! That dog would use her paws to bat the ball back and forth and run forward! I had never seen anything like it. She loved playing with that ball daily. Very talented!

BUDDY – story shared by Ryan Jo Summers

I have a bittersweet GSD story. My family had two when I was young, though they both died before I could form any strong memories of them. I knew some from the local police force and admired them as incredible, beautiful animals.

I spent many years as a veterinary technician and working in a boarding kennel, later buying my own boarding kennel. I was privileged to know several great shepherds when I could borrow them from their owners.

My bittersweet story is this, going back to late 1980’s. I was working as a vet tech at a Michigan clinic. An older couple brought in their new GSD puppy, Buddy, for his first vaccines and check up. He was a lovely black and tan pudgy bundle of fur. He was going to be an enormous dog when he matured. His owners were smaller in stature and strength. They carried Buddy in a plastic tote bag. The vet and I advised them to start training Buddy now to walk on a leash and develop manners, as he would grow quickly. Oh, they couldn’t put a leash and collar on him, they insisted, he was too small. Might I point out he was already, at six or seven weeks old, a healthy and stout fifteen pounds at least. We gave them literature about training puppies and reminded them he would grow and needed to learn manners while he was small. Oh no, they insisted.

Three weeks later, Buddy and his parents returned. This time he was in a basket, and barely staying inside. He wanted out. He was a robust 25-35 pounds now, and growing fast. He had no manners yet, fighting us over being held still for exam and vaccines. Again, we both urged the owners he was growing, and going to be a big boy. Now or never.

Three weeks later, Buddy came back on a leash, and fighting it. His owners hated it. It was horrible. Dreadful. He yanked them all over the sidewalk and waiting room and exam room. He had no clue what any commands were when the vet and I tried basic obedience words. Again, we implored the owners to enroll him in obedience classes. No, those were cruel places, can’t have that.

When Buddy was six months old, he dragged his owners in and we had him neutered. The hope was to settle the rambunctious pup down.

Two months later, Buddy returned. His owners wanted him euthanized, put to sleep. Aghast, I asked why. He was rowdy and never listened to them. They could not walk him or handle him or do anything with him.

I begged to take him, stating I could work with him. I offered to buy him, how much did they want? I implored them to reconsider.

They were firm, he was out of control and needed to be put to sleep. I begged the veterinarian to not go through with it.

Alas, the form was signed, the money paid, the owners left and the doctor and I sadly put a healthy, friendly, outgoing, rawboned, beautiful, intelligent Shepherd youngster to sleep. His only crime was having stupid owners.

That was nearly thirty years ago and I still remember Buddy. I still see him, cute as stuffed bear, riding in that plastic orange polka dot tote bag. I remember pleading for his life to owners who had ignored six months of pleading from the vet and I. I remember the rage and helplessness I felt as I held this great animal and watched his young life slip away for no reason whatsoever.
Ever since then, in my storied career of working with dogs and people, I have retold Buddy’s tragic story, and used it as an instrument to urge others with similar breeds to train early, train consistently, and educate themselves as much as possible. I knew one gentleman, who after I suggested he research the origin of his breed, was amazed and finally understood why his Labrador Retriever was always finding balls and sticks to bring back to him. I would like Buddy’s short life and unfair death to be useful to help others avoid the same fate. Knowledge is power, and sometimes knowledge is a life-saver.

DUKE – shared by Beverly Laude

My childhood friend & neighbor had a German Shepherd named Duke (popular name back in the 1960’s for a GS). An elderly lady from a very prominent family in town came to their house to visit.

When she went to ring the doorbell, Duke decided to snap at her. When he did, his teeth got caught in the lady’s girdle. We watched the whole show from across the street & were ROFL.
Duke was notorious for things like this. Thanks for reminding me of fun times with Duke!

PRINCESS – shared by Linda
I grew up with German shepherds. Actually crawled into their den and played with the 6-9 pups (according to the year, the number was never the same) when we were “pups”, my brothers and I.

We were raised on a ranch in Montana, back in the days when a ranch was a ranch, and next to the foreman’s house, there was an old dog hutch, that used to be on the back of a pick-up, where the two guard dogs slept. Their straw bed was changed when the calves’ was, and it was always an event when the bitch bore her pups. She also accepted us toddlers as part of her pack of pups, and we would squirm in the straw bedding with those delightful puppies whenever we managed to slip Mom’s distracted surveillance. She must have had a helluva time getting all the dust and straw out of our clothes and our hair!

My little brother, always the one to taste something new, even ate dog food, the dry crunchy kind, with them to be like Princess. He showed the puppies how, I guess, and Mom would certainly had fits if she’d known! He would have been between two and three years of age, and I between four and five, since this was the time period when our youngest brother was born, keeping Mom busy…

Can remember her once recounting, also, about a time after sunset, when she was taking a quick walk along the path/road in front of the foreman’s house, and heard an almost silent thumping gallop coming at her from behind. Realizing that our German Shepherd guard dogs might not have recognized her at once, she stopped and started speaking softly, “Good boy, nice girl” to them as she turned around slowly. As soon as they realized who she was, they immediately stopped the hunt-mode and started bouncing and wagging. However, she always said that they would probably have downed her silently, no fuss or barking, just business, if she hadn’t spoken. Excellent guard dogs! So loyal to family!

JOE – shared by Pat Moore

We had a stray German Shepard that took up at our house. Our sons were about 10 & 13. They were outside playing under our oak tree. They named the dog Joe. I was washing dishes and looking out the window that looked out over the back yard. Our neighbors (lived up the street) had a German Shepard that they kept on a thick chain. When I looked I saw their dog at the back of our yard. He saw the boys and charge them. Joe jumped up and attacked the other dog (who was bigger than he was). I ran outside at the same time an insurance salesman jumped out of his car in our drive-way. He grabbed the boys baseball bat (sitting next to the garage door). He attacked the dogs to get them away from the boys. He drove off the other dog. I was so thankful (sending up prayers the whole time) that he saw what was happening as he drove down the road.

I doctored Joe and made sure there weren’t any serious injuries. He had a lot of blood on him but it was from the other dog. Needless to say, Joe had a home for life. That afternoon our neighbor came down & demanded we pay the vet bills for his dog. My husband told him there was no way. That his dog had charged our children. If it hadn’t been for Joe he would have hurt the kids. He also told the neighbor that he better be glad we weren’t filing a lawsuit against him for endangering our children when he had a vicious dog on the loose. Furthermore, if the dog had hurt our children we would be owning everything he owned. The man left in a huff, never spoke to us again. No big loss there. It wasn’t long before we noticed their dog wasn’t there anymore.

When we had to move we gave Joe to my mother’s friend. She was a widow and she wanted Joe for protection. He lived out the rest of his life as her companion and “lap dog”. He slept at the foot of her bed and no one was allowed near her unless she told him they were ok. My children are now in their 40’s and we all still love that dog and have fun feelings for his protectiveness. I thank God he was with the boys that day. The other dog only saw the boys & didn’t see Joe. He was laying about 3 feet from where the boys played.

BRAVO – shared by Natalya Khamone
I had a gorgeous German Shepherd named Bravo. We had him as a puppy when I was about 5 years old and he grew old with us. I loved that dog. My favorite memory of him was on a hot day when my dad would spray him with the water hose and he would run across the yard trying to hide but he secretly loved it. A minute later, we’d see him run across the yard to hide on the other side but held his head up in the air as the water sprayed him. One day, Bravo stepped on a nail in the garage and was limping for days. I remember laying on the floor crying because I felt so bad that he was in pain. He was such a loyal dog. When I was a teen, Bravo was getting too old and sick. My father gave him to a cousin and he told me he went to a house with a bigger yard so he would have more room. I never knew what became of him but I will always hold him in my heart. German Shepherds are the best, most loyal, honest animals on this Earth!
German Sheperds are wonderful pets. Also I found that strays are even more protective than most pets.

‘BOY’– shared by Vicki Burton
Many year ago, as a private investigator, I visited a residence out in the country. These folks had several dogs. All were happy, healthy, and well-fed except one; the shepherd. He was chained in the sun with no shade, no food, and no water. You could count his ribs. I cried. Later that day, I went back and asked these people why the dog was treated so. They just looked at me as if I’d just sprouted a third eye in my forehead. The woman told me I could have him if I wanted him. I loaded him up in my little compact car and traveled over 30 miles to my home in another city. I fed him, and fed him, and fed him. He gained weight. I bathed him almost every night in the bathtub. He had full run of the house. Unfortunately, he was a problem child. When I entered the house after a long day at work and called his name, he would cower and pee on himself and whatever piece of furniture he was on. But we managed. I can say that I gave that boy a few good years in life.

MINCA, HONEY AND OREO – shared by Steven Epstein
I went out for coffee and there was the North Shore animal league truck with all these dogs and cats on it. Since Killer died 2 days before my wife was heart broken. I went on the truck (December 9, 2015). I walked to the back of the truck and I locked eyes with this beautiful gorgeous adorable puppy named Minca who was 9 weeks old. She looked at me with her huge puppy dog eyes. Another man was debating whether to adopt her but I jumped right in and said to the assistant please give me the papers to fill out. I paid for her and brought her home to meet the wife and my other dog Oreo, who is a pointer pit bull mix age 7. They hit it off right away and 13 months later are the best of friends. We renamed Minca and call her Honey. She loves the name and responds on command! Honey is a German Shepard, Ridgeback, Dachshund mix who came from the Cayman Islands. She was born October 1,2015.

Enclosed are a couple of pictures of Honey and my other dog Oreo.

Rebecca E. Neely is a writer, blogger, author and storyteller. Visit her at www.rebeccaneely.com

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