Want to start reading my novel now? Here are some excerpts!

My copies of the novel arrived!!!

Away To Me is a story of a woman who risks everything to save a dog. Really, that’s all you need to know. But I thought you might enjoy reading a few excerpts from the book, just to tickle your fancy.

Here’s from Chapter One, page 3, when protagonist Maddie McGowan is at a sheepdog trial:

What is more beautiful than watching a dog, all muscle and mind and heart, run free across a field of green to gather a flock of sheep? My heart swells up every time I see it. Every time. And I see it a lot. Being an applied animal behaviorist is my career, but working sheepdogs is my passion. It’s an addictive sport—imagine playing chess with all the pieces alive and full of their own opinions, moving at twenty miles an hour. It’s like Through the Looking Glass, except for real.

Jess turned in behind the sheep at exactly the right point, her body low to the ground. She crept toward the sheep like a lion on the hunt, easing the sheep forward with controlled determination. She moved the sheep quietly but with authority toward George, pushing them forward as if she’d put them into a shopping cart. But then, the lead ewe turned and put her hoof down. Literally. A big wooly thing with black legs and a speckled face, she turned to face Jess, stomping her hoof and ducking her head, presenting an anvil-like forehead that threatened to send Jess flying. She stomped again. Jess didn’t flinch.

We spectators took a collective breath, riveted by the stand-off between a thirty-five pound dog and a hundred-and-thirty-pound ewe. Many a dog, especially a young one, would give in to the pressure by backing away, or by panicking and biting, an automatic disqualification. What happened next would make or break the run and let us know if Jess had the chops to be a top competitor.

It was silent, every spectator caught up in the drama. Jess leaned forward, just an inch. The ewe bent her head down farther and made a mock charge. Jess crept forward another inch,looking directly into the ewe’s eyes. Finally, the sheep lifted her chin and turned her head. She began trotting away, Jess behind her, leading her flock in the right direction.

I exhaled, not realizing until then I had been holding my breath. I looked down at Jack.

“See that? That’s how you do it, bud.”

As I did, an audible crack split the air, so loud I felt it in my chest. I startled, not expecting anyone to be hunting this time of year. Gunshots are common in the country, but we rarely hear them in spring. They’re usually the boom of shotguns, not the air-splitting sound of a rifle. I started to shake it off, but suddenly heard Stephanie, a fierce competitor in her own right, yell, “Oh God. George!”

I looked up to see George sprawled on the grass where he had stood moments ago, a pool of blood expanding in the grass beneath him. He lay on his back, his blue eyes wide open, as if surprised. His left leg was bent at an unnatural angle underneath him. For a moment we were all frozen in place. Even the birds went still.

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Here’s from Chapter Six, page 49-50, when Maddie is called in to help the local shelter.

The dog I came to see was being held in quarantine, well away from the public areas where potential adopters chose between the dogs with pleading eyes, desperate to belong to someone, anyone. The shepherd was in an attached building, curled up in the far corner of a kennel, his head on his back legs. His black eyes were open but flat. The skin on his face was hollowed out, as if someone had inserted a straw between his skin and skull and sucked out everything in between. His ears, the semaphore flags of a healthy shepherd, flopped to the side, like soggy, black tissues. A sign on his kennel door said CISCO. DO NOT ENTER.

The dog growled, a soft smudge of a noise, when I said “Hey, bud.” Catherine filled me in as we stood looking into his kennel. “We have no idea about an owner, no tag, no microchip. Once we’d revived him with an IV of fluids, no one has been able to get near him, not with chicken or toys. We can’t get him to eat or drink. We are all afraid he is just going to waste away.”

Poor guy.

“Okay,” I said. “How about I just hang out with him for a while? I’ve cleared the afternoon, and we can’t force anything here.”

“You’re a life saver, Maddie, thanks so much.” Catherine turned to go back to her office, and said over her shoulder, “Just let me know if you need anything.”

I sat down in front of Cisco’s kennel and got out a book that had sat on my nightstand for months. Forcing anything with Cisco would just cause harm, and by sitting quietly beside his kennel I hoped that he would at least habituate to my presence.

A few hours later my butt was sore from sitting on the concrete floor, my eyes were tired from reading in bad light, and my ears were exhausted from the buzz of a fluorescent light about to die. Cisco was sound asleep, at least relaxed enough to shut his eyes. Could I count that as a victory? It had been quiet, since this area was reserved for convalescing animals, but suddenly the door down the hall opened and Chris, a volunteer I’d worked with before, entered and said, “Hey, Dr. McGowan! Good to see you!” Chris was six foot two, with tattoos of dogs and cats on his arms. He wasn’t rom-com handsome, but he had tousled, flaxen hair, and a quiet kindness to him that relaxed even the shyest of dogs.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Cisco’s head rise a few inches and his ears twitch as Chris spoke. I motioned for Chris to stop, moving my hand in such a way that Cisco couldn’t see it. I didn’t want anything to set him off, but wanted to see how he would react to someone standing further away. Chris stood still in the dimly lit hallway, the building’s exhaust fans whirring quietly above us.

Cisco stood up slowly, rising without moving his head or his feet, as if his torso had been lifted up by a puppeteer’s strings. He stared at Chris for several seconds, his hindquarters wobbling, while he attempted to stay standing. His head turned so slowly toward me it was riveting. This time his eyes had a spark of light in them. And then, again ever so slowly, he sank his hindquarters into a sit while turning his head back toward Chris. Still sitting, still in slow motion, he turned his head back toward me and looked straight into my eyes.

I knew, I just knew, that he was trying to tell me something.

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You can read more about the book here. It releases soon, on February 24th, so if you pre-ordered your book it should go into the mail next week! And don’t forget to say hi if you can come to one of my talks!

MEANWHILE, back on the farm:

I’m just indulging myself here. I just love this photo of me and Skip.

Their eyes were closed shut, both sound asleep on the couch until I tried to creep up and get a photo. But still . . . awwwwwwwww.

Wanna play another find the dog in the woods game? I think this one is easy, but, of course, I know where he is.

The woods don’t look like that any more–no more snow except in little patches. We’ve basically gone from brutal cold in the depth of winter to “is it April already?” No, Dorothy, it’s not, but you indeed have every reason to be confused.

Currently the woods are a study in brown (and mud), and I am starved for color. But I have one more amaryllis about to bloom:

Here’s hoping there is a lot of color in your life too, because color is a wonderful thing. In so many ways.