Below is a sample reading from the book that has a Copyright. No portion of the reading can be used without written permission from the author!!!

       As I sit here on the couch with laptop in my lap, hunting and pecking the letters and numbers out, I am slightly distracted by the surrounding events passing me by that one simply cannot ignore. Kipper or “The Chocolate Child”, as he is sometimes called, has claimed the doggy bed for a well-deserved nap. He is obviously running or chasing a rabbit or a ball in his sleep; his dark brown doggy legs move every now and then as does his tail wag ever so slightly while making half hearted woof sounds in his sleep.  He is such an elegant looking Chocolate Lab for a six-year-old dog. He is the perfect dog most of the time, and he is called “the good one” because he really is the best behaved dog by human standards. His dark brown silky fur is as dark as a piece of semi-sweet chocolate that seems faded during day light and is often taken for a black Lab because of the deep, dark chocolate color he is.  Beauregard, the Yellow Lab has claimed the blue recliner with the doggy dad scent and his upside stature, (lying upside down) is the perfect position for camouflaging the almost lethal flatulence he expels today while he dreams away. I hope he is dreaming and not plotting something to pull on us! He is laying upside down on his back while his long legs hang over the edge of the arm of the chair for a reason; he likes to. What better way to squeeze out those silent-but-deadly doggy farts in hopes the others might get the blame. He has acquired, the nicknames of “Blonde Baby” and sometime “The Golden Child”, but he isn’t so sweet at the moment. He raises and lowers his tail slowly as he sleeps, allowing a silent-but-deadly aroma into the room air, and I now know for sure which dog stole my other half of the toasted raisin and cream cheese bagel this morning from the counter. Counter surfing by the dogs is not allowed in our house. The dogs have been trained not to touch anything on the counters, table, or sink, but every now and then, and it is a rare moment when a piece of toast or bagel takes a disappearing act. I half-heartedly expect the living room wallpaper to come peeling down at any moment as it is in the middle of January and 11 below zero outside, and I cannot open any windows. I suddenly realize now why Trouble, Samantha, and Runte, our three cats have taken refuge napping on the couch in the adjacent living room with their paws covering their faces as they nap. And some folks think they lay on that couch to soak up the sun streaming in from the bay window. I look around the room and half chuckle to myself thinking what non-animal owners are missing in their lifetimes. Yep, there is definitely going to be more yellow fur deposited in the nooks and crannies of that chair when Beau arises. Great contrast with the brown and red furs from the other two dogs that could be hidden in the corners of the stuffing. Might even be some grey, white, and black furry deposits down deep when the cats get their turns to the chair, dogs allowing this of course.

       Tracker the Bloodhound is curled up next to me with his coppery head full of wrinkles and his long ears flopped across my arms. His head weighs heavy on my arm, but it is most comforting as he snuggles and snores in rhythmic song, and Bloodhounds really can snore. I casually glance over at him and ponder when did that nose got so big? I swear it is always working! Even as he naps you can see the black edges moving and twitching with each inspiration and expiration of air he breathes. His silky cooper fur has lost all traces of the black he had blended with the red fur when he was born, and his coppery coat has taken on a soft curl going down his back whiles he is silently growing each day and slipping out of his puppyhood state. And I have noticed his white spot on his chest that resembles a clover, is as white as a new fallen snow has not changed shape, but has grown as he has grown. His long legs are gracefully tucked under his long body as he rests. He has rightfully acquired the nickname of “The Dude” along with “The Carmel Kid.” Such is the life of these great hunters who have never had to work a day in their lives, and probably never will.