Honestly! It Was the Dog by Adrienne Wilder #Pets #BookGiveaway #SouthernAuthors
I have a service dog named Pello. He’s a rottie and an absolutely amazing animal. He’s smarter than any dog I’ve ever owned, even my golden retrievers. People who meet him swear he can understand whole sentences because when I talk to him I usually do so in sentences and he seems to know exactly what I’m saying.
He was not an easy service dog to train. In my experience with dog training (I’ve had dogs compete in hunt tests in the past) smart dogs rarely are. They try and out think you or look for a better way to accomplish the task in their own way.
As annoying as this can be, it has allowed Pello to exceed in his job as my service dog. And I can rely on him to keep an eye on me.
However, Pello does have a dark side.
Or I should say, an odorous side.
From the time Pello was very young, he could fart. I’ve had dogs, and yeah I know dogs are really good at passing gas and can put most people to shame, but Pello is THE fart dog of fart dogs. And I’m always amazed at how LOUD he could fart because he has no butt cheeks.
His nickname is kazoo butt…for a reason.
Nothing like a dog who scratches and toots at the same time. Or lies down and deflates.
LOUDLY. Or just all out rips a fart so loud you’d swear someone blew a trumpet.
Anyhow, on to the epic fart of farts for fart dog.
I went to Myrtle Beach with a friend where we rented a condo for seven days of fun on the beach. This was the first time my friend met Pello in person, but I talked about him all the time, especially his farts. Not because it was a subject of great conversation but because on more than one occasion I’d be in mid-sentence and suddenly strangle on his biological weaponry. Or, if it were really bad, I’d make an escape to another room.
So here we are in the condo. I walked out of the kitchen, and a moment later Pello follows me. My friend at that same instance came out of the hall right in Pello’s path.
My friend stopped dead in her tracks and got the most horrid expression on her face.
“What the hell is that smell.”
I looked at Pello and of course, he neither confirmed or denied the event.
My poor friend had to vacate the hall because the noxious cloud wafted down the corridor and refused to dissipate.
And my friend who thought I exaggerated about the extent of his farts, became a believer. Now everyone who’s lived through the apocalyptic event flees the room when Pello farts.
I swear Pello is bent on killing me with embarrassment because he always chooses moments like that to rip the worst of them. His other preferred killing zones are the doctor’s office, the grocery store, and anytime I go somewhere quiet to write.
He saves the loudest ones for then. ESPECIALLY if it’s the library and the building is extra sound reflective, and his farts can be heard all the way on the other side of the room.
Way too many times I have been sitting somewhere, and he is under my chair or table and out of sight from the people around me and rips the loudest most noxious fart he can muster, and everyone looks at me.
I tell them the dog did it. But I know they don’t believe me until I get up to leave with said dog. He’s so quiet and inconspicuous (except for his farts) that he often goes undetected even when someone sits down right next to him.
I’m sure quite a few still don’t believe me. I mean, cause, come on. Everyone blames the dog.
He’s still a great dog, great at his job, but I am seriously considering getting a toxic waste patch to add to his vest. You know, just to warn everybody.
August Vallory had it all. A modeling career, a man he loved, and the extended family he’d acquired in the business. Then the world he knew was torn away when the plane he was on crashed en route to a photo shoot.
Lost in the Alaskan wilderness, August doesn’t stand a chance.
No sane man would choose to live in the Alaskan bush unless he had something to hide. And Keegan Brooks has secrets darker than night, more dangerous than wolves, more brutal than an Alaskan winter.
Every day was a fight for his life until he stumbled upon a downed plane with a lone survivor. Now it’s no longer just Keegan’s life teetering on the edge of survival.
It’s his heart.
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Georgia born and bred, I am an artist, a writer, and a general pain in the ass.
I spend most of my days working on my next book or designing cover art for other writers. For stress relief I do Olympic lifting and occasionally run (but hate it). I have been in love with writing since I was very young but it wasn't until recently that I decided to pursue it as a profession.
I have experimented in several genres and found that since I identify as male, male romance has been the most comfortable for me to write. I don't discriminate in my books. All characters are fair game. I do however, prefer a happy ending at some level.
I don't write the standard romance book. Some might even argue that what I write isn't romance at all. Personally, I think of them as love stories, where even in a fantastical world, there are realistic outcomes to the obstacles the characters face.
Many of my books have dark turns and twists where the characters fight for the light at the end of the tunnel. I write action, fist fights, gun fights, downright dirty evil people who have to be stopped, things catch fire, blow up, and fall in. My characters come in a unique range. They are not all good guys, but the majority of them have very good hearts. Many of them have been through hell in their lives, and many of them have a laundry list of faults. But hopefully they manage to surprise you with their tenacity and loyalty.
If all goes well, there will be a myriad of different kinds of books available this year. If I am really lucky, you will enjoy them.