No More Dog Days of Chemo

Mickey Miller

Hi I'm Mickey Miller and today was my last day of chemo!  I know...I'm not a Dime Store Novel character...I'm a real dog. I belong to the authors. But I am just so happy, I had to shout it to the world, so I stole Mom's computer and here's what I have to say.

NO MORE CHEMO!

I will say, I had a pretty good day today.  I got a grilled turkey, bacon, and cheese sandwich from Jack in the Box and the girl at the window thought I was cute. Yipppee!!! I don't get a chance to pick up girls too often. But then on the highway, two other ladies were giving me the eye and smiling at me.  I guess I'm just a lady's man after all. Mom thinks so, anyway.

Well, then we got to the vet. Kenny carried me -- I clung to Mom, but she pried me away and gave me to Kenny. I like Kenny, but for some reason he always wants to stick me with a needle. Today was no exception. And then my oncologist, Dr. Taylor, came over and felt my lymph nodes and stuck me again. She's nice -- for a vet -- plus, she saved my life. So, since today was my last chemo day I wanted to thank her. Mom helped me write this poem for her. I think she liked it because her eyes got kind of watery.

My Bark

by Mickey Miller (typed by Rachelle Reese)
Dedicated to my vet, Dr. Taylor

I was a barking kind of dog
before I got sick
and then I wouldn't bark
and wouldn't eat.

Mom and Dad brought me here

to find out what was wrong
and you did find out...
but I was so sick, you told them only maybes.
Mom prayed to hear my bark.

After that first chemo
I felt better.
I caught a mouse my first day home!
Did they tell you that?
I chomped it down
first meal in forever they didn't have to
coax
and plead

Still, you said guarded.
I can respect that.
I felt guarded too.

You were the one who discovered
why I was anemic
and prescribed a little pill
Mom and Dad hid it carefully
in bread so I'd eat it.

And now I eat everything.
Tonight I stole the bread off the dinner table.
Yay me!
And I bark too...
in the daylight and in the middle of the night.

And the best thing is,

when Mom starts to yell at me, I remind her...
in those days when I was so sick
before your medicine and their love cured me
the only thing she wished for
was my bark

Friday the 13th - Lucky or Not?

Hanover Fist

Some people call Friday the 13th unlucky. Others call it lucky. I think it's just the roll of the dice like any other day. And for me dice are lucky -- except when they come up snake-eyes, which they never do. Well...almost never...but that's a story for another day.

Today I want to talk about skill. When you're in a bind, it's skill that'll get you out of it, not luck. For example, consider the time Toledo and I investigated a haunted mansion. We found a guy sitting at the table with his face cut off. He was holding cards -- a dead man's hand. Now some might say the guy had no luck. I say it was lack of skill that cost him his life.

It was a voodoo master that killed the guy. And I killed the voodoo master. Shot him dead with the gun O'Malley left me. Now that was skill. And a little bit of being in the right place at the right time.

Toledo Cats

Hanover, you know very well that you didn't kill that zombie master by yourself. Why if it hadn't been for Voodoo tagging along, you would have found yourself holding the dead man's hand. Rushing into danger...that's what you always do. It's a good thing luck is on your side. It helps compensate for your lack of common sense.
Like the time you went after Jumbl-iya. Fortunately I was on the other side of that gateway and the nymphs were there to help you. Otherwise, it's likely you'd have joined Acongojar in the pain realm.

It was me who saved you, Toledo. Besides, even if the nymphs did help, it was still skill and not luck that defeated Jumbl-iyah. And that's my point. Friday the 13th is what you make it. Caprice has nothing to do with it.

I wouldn't tell Caprice that if I were you. You know, she can make your dice roll snake eyes if she wants to.
 

Mama Cats

Still arguing like children...and after all these years. Why not let the readers decide for themselves who defeated Jumbl-iyah? They can get The Reunion FREE for their Kindle or Kindle reader from now through Monday, 7/16.

Saving the Snake

Agatha

Before I was bound to earth, I was a creator. The animals I created are some of the most misunderstood and reviled by humans -- snakes, gators, snapping turtles, mosquitoes the size of hummingbirds. But to me, each creature is beautiful. Each one deserves a chance to thrive.

It made me happy to see that the two humans who are writing our stories can see the beauty of my creatures and will take the time to help one survive. I want to tell you that story.

A few days ago, Rachelle went out to her garden to pick peas for dinner. She had taken some tips from Toledo and built her garden the way Sassafras Cats would have -- tomatoes intermingled with peppers, petunias, basil. She breathed in the fragrance, thinking about how lucky they were to have such a garden.

Peas climbed high on a trellis. As Rachelle reached for a clump of peas, she noticed the long black tail of a black snake. She looked around and saw the snake's bright eyes on the other side of the trellis. On closer inspection, she realized the snake was trapped in the plastic weave and went to get John to help her.

They worked together. John held the snake's head with an old mop handle. Rachelle tried to cut away the netting with pruning shears. Their dogs -- Bilbo, Max, and Hooch -- tried to help. The snake panicked and they had to take a break.

After dinner, they went back out. It was dark. John has cat-eyes and can see in the dark just fine. Rachelle cannot. Nevertheless, Rachelle snipped netting and John thought the snake was free. He let up the handle and saw its head slither off. "We did it!" He started back toward the house.

Just then, their cat Savage moved toward the snake and then jumped back. "She's still there!" Rachelle yelled for John. "Savage spooked her."

"Where's Savage now?" John asked.

"She ran off in the woods. She might have been bit. Good thing it's a black snake, not a copper head." Rachelle walked up to the house. "Well, if the snake isn't free, we'll have to wait until morning. I can't see well enough to cut any more out. Besides the snake is nervous now."

The next morning, the snake was still there, along with a smaller black snake. The small snake slithered away. The big snake remained trapped. She wasn't frightened though. The spiders must have whispered to her -- told her that Rachelle and John were trying to help her. Once again, John held her head with the mop handle. Rachelle took out manicure scissors and cut away carefully. The netting had cut into the snake's flesh -- not deep, but enough that it was difficult to slide the scissors under the plastic. Snip...snip. The snake remained calm. At last, the netting was gone. John let up the mop handle. The snake didn't move. John tapped her a little to coax her on her way. She slithered through the garden and into the woods. Free.

Rachelle tied up the trellis as well as she could to allow snakes that might pass by in the future to pass under it, instead of getting tangled. "You don't think about these things until you look at life from a snake's point of view," she told me. "Otherwise I wouldn't have used that netting."

"I made the snake pretty single minded," I told her. "Most likely she was chasing prey and didn't even see the netting until it caught her. At least you freed her. Most humans would have left her to die or smashed her skull in."

Have you helped one of my creatures? Share your story here.

Remembering Mama's Garden

Toledo Cats

My favorite part of springtime is getting down and dirty. I mean kneeling in the dirt, working compost into the soil, planting seeds, and nurturing my plants. It wouldn't be May if I didn't have dirt under my nails and mud on my knees. Mama was the same way.

I miss those days of working shoulder to shoulder with my mama, pulling weeds and listening to the fairies chatter away. Mama could hear them too, although she never let on. She just sang softly to herself, every now and then pausing to tell me the name of an herb and what it's used for.

We had every kind of herb in our garden, growing stem to stem with flowers, fruits and vegetables. Not each item in a row, but all mixed up together. A symphony of colors and fragrance. That's one of the reasons kneeling down was so much fun. As we crawled along, pulling weeds and smashing unwanted insects, the scent of basil, garlic, petunia, rosemary, chives, roses, onion, fennel, lavender wafted up around us, changing as we made our way around the courtyard.

Of course we left some weeds alone. Some weeds like the dandelion can be useful. Even stinging nettle has its place. But there's a reason people say "She's growing like a weed." Weeds grow faster than any other plant, so we had to thin them out to leave room for the other plants to grow.

Just like I thin them out now -- working side-by-side with Mama. Sure, we never put our hand down on the same weed like we used to long ago. But she's with me, still telling me which weeds to pull and which to leave alone, still whispering little known facts about this herb or that one, still singing softly to herself, accompanied by the fairies. This is a Blog Hop! Make sure to visit our fellow bloggers

Turtle migrations

Agatha

Spring is a time of awakening, even for an ancient gator like me. I rise from the swamp and feel the sun warm my back. I crawl onto the shore and taste the breeze. Honeysuckle, wild rose, and iris sweeten the musty air. I suck it in -- the first taste of summer.

Nearby I notice a box turtle crawling down the hill. At first, I think it's Misha, but then I see many more behind it. The first wave of their migration. They have dug themselves out from their winter cover of rotting leaves and begun their journey to the cooler swamp, where they will spend their summer. It's nice to have the visitors.

Misha, in her turtle form, will greet them as they come, listen to their harrowing tales of crushing motorized monsters, bearing down on them as they meander the path their ancestors have traveled since long before these monsters roamed the earth. Metal coffins, Swampy called them, and he was right about that. But these days, they are everywhere...even here in the swamp. Misha weeps each time she hears that a turtle friend of hers was run down on his journey. I weep too. They are my creatures, after all. I created them as a gift for Faunus because he had admired my snapping turtles. But I thought it would be nice to see them now and then, so I gave them an instinct to find home. And the swamp is their home, and so they come, they mingle, they breed. Each autumn they go to Faunus; each spring they return to me.

So be cautious in your motorized monsters. I gave my box turtles hard shells, but they are fragile and shy. If you see one in the road, stop and pick it up. Move it gently out of harms way so it can continue on its journey home.

Passage of Rites

Mama Cats

I never thought I'd see my old face on a trailer. Truth be told, there was no such thing in the days I walked this earth. But my daughter Toledo's been telling stories about her life to some writers and one of them was the story about my passage from a fairly typical life to where I am now. I won't spoil the story.

The book's called The Reunion, and it does involve one, but it is also a book about passage...the passages in someone's life, the passage of rites, the passages between realms. Anyway, The Reunion is what its called and they went and made a book trailer for it that depicts a very special walk I took with my daughter.
The artwork is by Rodger C. Francis, II. The harmonica score was composed and played by Frank Miller. John E. Miller put it all together and colorized the black and white drawing. So here it is:



What do you think? Does it make you want to read the book? I hope so, because it's a very special story about the love between a mother and daughter. Of course, there's plenty of action and some unforgettable appearances by gods, goddesses, goblins, and fairies. My dear brother Jesse even sings...Jesse Cats...I miss that man's music.

Striking Angels

Hanover Fist

I do apologize for keeping everyone waiting so long for Striking Angels. It was very hard for Mary O'Malley to read what the writers Rachelle Reese and John E. Miller have been writing about her father... a good man, Duncan O'Malley... Between him, Margaret 'Maggie' O'Malley and Alex O'Malley... and yes, of course, with Reagan's help, they have been able to tell the story of where my start as a detective began... It may seem obscure, but it started with him, Duncan O'Malley or least for me. He saw the realms from a different view... I'm sorry I'll try not to ramble *shouts* would you turn the tape off for a moment?

“Angels in Hell’s Kitchen” is where O’Malley’s life began as a cop. If you’ve read it, you know things are pretty messed up. But trust me, in “Striking Angels” his life gets worse.

I never had the pleasure to meet some of O'Malley's friends in his day, but I have met some in the realms. I wish I could say that it was the best of circumstances.

Mr.Fist you were speaking about the books.

My father was Mr. Fist. I guess you would say that O’Malley passed me his coin. You have to understand that he was a boxer and trainer before he was tossed the coin that turned out to be a coffin nail. You have to read Angels in Hell’s Kitchen for that story.

Yes... As far as 'Striking Angels' goes O'Malley not only saw, but felt the true pain of Hells Kitchen, but at that time he also got to see a bit of heaven.

For a moment, you can see a bit of heaven and hell from a man I admired…can we just end it at that?

Striking Angels is planned for release Summer of 2012. Striking Angels is the sequel to Angels in Hell's Kitchen.

Take advantage of our spring sale on Kindle edition Dime Store Novels....99 cents until 4/17/12.