Danny Mac's Blog, page 3
May 23, 2025
Betrayal
Hello to all,
The warm spring sun charges Ginger's orange hair as she surveys the world from her deck, overseeing the entire neighborhood. This is her balcony of royalty for her queenship to rule over all she sees. As Mom changes the birdfeeder, Ginger protects her from all the dangers of the woodland creatures. She scours our yard for killer rabbits, robbing robins, and rude chipmunks.
A yelp of alarm breaks the quiet morning as danger enters the scene from the east. Appearing between the fence and the flowering bush, a most dastardly site, our neighbor Karen and the fiendish Bentley. He has plotted to dethrone Ginger for the past three years. Only a queen can see beneath the friendly demeanor and know the devil dog hell-bent on destruction.
Another warning bark alerts Mom to the danger, and she sees the intruders standing near the property line. In an act of defiance and betrayal, Mom strolls over to greet the menace with a smile and a handshake. Fearful and tormented barks fill the vicinity with panic over Mom's disloyalty. Then, Mom makes the most egregious betrayal: She leans down to pet Bentley.
The pain and sorrow in the woeful howling cry out, “Jesibel, traitor, turncoat, defector, betrayer.” This woeful message pulls me from my latest short story to see how treachery affects our family dog. Then I spy the site that torments our self-proclaimed queen of the home, Mom, talking with the neighbor while showing affection to their dog.
I bring ginger into the house, comforting her with a cookie to soothe her broken heart. It takes two cookies to rid the picture of betrayal from her memory.
He Has Risen,
Danny Mac
The warm spring sun charges Ginger's orange hair as she surveys the world from her deck, overseeing the entire neighborhood. This is her balcony of royalty for her queenship to rule over all she sees. As Mom changes the birdfeeder, Ginger protects her from all the dangers of the woodland creatures. She scours our yard for killer rabbits, robbing robins, and rude chipmunks.
A yelp of alarm breaks the quiet morning as danger enters the scene from the east. Appearing between the fence and the flowering bush, a most dastardly site, our neighbor Karen and the fiendish Bentley. He has plotted to dethrone Ginger for the past three years. Only a queen can see beneath the friendly demeanor and know the devil dog hell-bent on destruction.
Another warning bark alerts Mom to the danger, and she sees the intruders standing near the property line. In an act of defiance and betrayal, Mom strolls over to greet the menace with a smile and a handshake. Fearful and tormented barks fill the vicinity with panic over Mom's disloyalty. Then, Mom makes the most egregious betrayal: She leans down to pet Bentley.
The pain and sorrow in the woeful howling cry out, “Jesibel, traitor, turncoat, defector, betrayer.” This woeful message pulls me from my latest short story to see how treachery affects our family dog. Then I spy the site that torments our self-proclaimed queen of the home, Mom, talking with the neighbor while showing affection to their dog.
I bring ginger into the house, comforting her with a cookie to soothe her broken heart. It takes two cookies to rid the picture of betrayal from her memory.
He Has Risen,
Danny Mac
May 16, 2025
Thunderstorm Season
Hello to all,
My wife says that how I peer through the window during a thunderstorm is weird.
If she would let me in, it wouldn’t be weird.
Spring brings warm temperatures after the cold of winter. Thunderstorms form from the heat of the day. I enjoy watching the black clouds roll across the sky. The streaks of lightning highlight the danger in the impending squall. Seconds later, the gentle rumble of thunder vibrates the house. The leading edge eventually moves overhead, making the day turn into night. There is beauty in the contrast of darkness and the flash of brightness. Hearing the rolling rumble settle into my soul soothes the savage beast in me.
Tammy becomes disheartened hearing the forecaster predict inclement weather. The mere sight of the blackened clouds sends shivers down her spine. She jumps as the room flashes with light before hunkering down for the rumble to follow. All her motherly senses are piqued by the electricity floating in the air from the impending thunderstorm. The house grows quiet with nervous anticipation from the darkness enveloping the house.
Ginger does not watch TV, nor does she listen to weather forecasters. She senses the impending thunderstorm from the change in the electric field surrounding the house. She starts pacing at the distant sound of rumble before the first dark cloud is visible. When the gloom pours over our home, she searches for relief in the corners, under the beds, or beside Mom. Calming cookies help ease the anxiety but not alleviate it.
While I see the glory of God in a majestic thunderstorm, Tammy sees the danger in the power and devastation that accompanies it. Ginger does not know God, nor does she understand the meaning behind the tempest. She only feels the stress of impending doom from one of nature's most intriguing experiences.
He Has Risen,
Danny Mac
My wife says that how I peer through the window during a thunderstorm is weird.
If she would let me in, it wouldn’t be weird.
Spring brings warm temperatures after the cold of winter. Thunderstorms form from the heat of the day. I enjoy watching the black clouds roll across the sky. The streaks of lightning highlight the danger in the impending squall. Seconds later, the gentle rumble of thunder vibrates the house. The leading edge eventually moves overhead, making the day turn into night. There is beauty in the contrast of darkness and the flash of brightness. Hearing the rolling rumble settle into my soul soothes the savage beast in me.
Tammy becomes disheartened hearing the forecaster predict inclement weather. The mere sight of the blackened clouds sends shivers down her spine. She jumps as the room flashes with light before hunkering down for the rumble to follow. All her motherly senses are piqued by the electricity floating in the air from the impending thunderstorm. The house grows quiet with nervous anticipation from the darkness enveloping the house.
Ginger does not watch TV, nor does she listen to weather forecasters. She senses the impending thunderstorm from the change in the electric field surrounding the house. She starts pacing at the distant sound of rumble before the first dark cloud is visible. When the gloom pours over our home, she searches for relief in the corners, under the beds, or beside Mom. Calming cookies help ease the anxiety but not alleviate it.
While I see the glory of God in a majestic thunderstorm, Tammy sees the danger in the power and devastation that accompanies it. Ginger does not know God, nor does she understand the meaning behind the tempest. She only feels the stress of impending doom from one of nature's most intriguing experiences.
He Has Risen,
Danny Mac
May 9, 2025
Gaining Permission
Hello to all,
I write in the mornings while drinking green tea, which I buy in bulk. My tea is more robust than the bags I buy at the store. The ideas pour out of me as I peck at the keys. Inevitably, the picture in my head becomes distorted, and the tea makes me want to pee.
The quick trip to the bathroom gives my cache of thoughts to alien in my head as I release the last mug of tea. Upon reaching the top step, I hear, “What’s up,” or “Whatcha doin?” from my loving wife in her craft room. It is like needing her permission to come upstairs during the daylight hours. After several years of doing this, I have run out of snarky responses.
Turning into the bedroom, Ginger, the queen of the house, wants me to acknowledge her to gain permission to pass. This includes a pet tax. If the proper scratch, rub, or attention is not paid, I hear moans of discontent until I pass through to go back to my writing.
I suppose Tammy’s need to know where I am in the house stems from our early years of marriage, when I would scare her. She would be sitting in her world, allowing me to sneak up on her and scare the bejeebers out of her. I found more joy in catching her in the showers with a hand around the curtain. Thirty-one years later, her internal proximity meter always tracks my whereabouts, seeking for me to gain permission to pass.
Then again, it might be that she has been a mom for twenty-two years and needs to control everything in the house. Nobody is allowed to do anything without her prior approval and permission. Everything evolves around mom and is done on mom time. Therefore, everyone needs mom’s permission to continue with life.
He Has Risen,
Danny Mac
I write in the mornings while drinking green tea, which I buy in bulk. My tea is more robust than the bags I buy at the store. The ideas pour out of me as I peck at the keys. Inevitably, the picture in my head becomes distorted, and the tea makes me want to pee.
The quick trip to the bathroom gives my cache of thoughts to alien in my head as I release the last mug of tea. Upon reaching the top step, I hear, “What’s up,” or “Whatcha doin?” from my loving wife in her craft room. It is like needing her permission to come upstairs during the daylight hours. After several years of doing this, I have run out of snarky responses.
Turning into the bedroom, Ginger, the queen of the house, wants me to acknowledge her to gain permission to pass. This includes a pet tax. If the proper scratch, rub, or attention is not paid, I hear moans of discontent until I pass through to go back to my writing.
I suppose Tammy’s need to know where I am in the house stems from our early years of marriage, when I would scare her. She would be sitting in her world, allowing me to sneak up on her and scare the bejeebers out of her. I found more joy in catching her in the showers with a hand around the curtain. Thirty-one years later, her internal proximity meter always tracks my whereabouts, seeking for me to gain permission to pass.
Then again, it might be that she has been a mom for twenty-two years and needs to control everything in the house. Nobody is allowed to do anything without her prior approval and permission. Everything evolves around mom and is done on mom time. Therefore, everyone needs mom’s permission to continue with life.
He Has Risen,
Danny Mac
May 2, 2025
Fellow Author?
Hello to all,
I opened Facebook and saw a new comment below a recent post. The statement reads, “Greetings, fellow author. It is a pleasure to see your marvelous book, which touched my heart. I would love to connect with you to discuss the future for your book.”
This simple statement implies that the person read my book, they are also an author, and they can help with my book moving forward. I click on their author page to see that it was created within the past month, it has no links other than to Amazon, and the About is empty. The photo file only contains two images and two more edited versions of them. Half their friends work for Fiverr or another freelance site. The other half consists of authors following them, some of whom tried to defraud me in the past.
I make comments on other authors’ posts and have never mentioned being an author in the mention. Actual authors comment on my post and never start with, “As a fellow author.” Whenever I see in the comments, “My fellow author,” the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight out, screaming scammer.
Most pseudo-authors do not wish to talk openly and want you to DM them. Like Dracula, the light of day burns their message. They scurry back into the darkness before going up in flames. One took the moniker of F. Scott Fitzgerald and listed two of his books on the page. I told him his comment is intriguing, given that he has been dead for eighty years. I did not have to block him. The page disappeared.
I would never start a conversation with, “Fellow author?” It seems pretentious at best, condescending at worst. Please be careful when diving through social media. A plethora of so-called “Fellow Authors’ looking to take advantage of you roam the internet.
He Has Risen,
Danny Mac
I opened Facebook and saw a new comment below a recent post. The statement reads, “Greetings, fellow author. It is a pleasure to see your marvelous book, which touched my heart. I would love to connect with you to discuss the future for your book.”
This simple statement implies that the person read my book, they are also an author, and they can help with my book moving forward. I click on their author page to see that it was created within the past month, it has no links other than to Amazon, and the About is empty. The photo file only contains two images and two more edited versions of them. Half their friends work for Fiverr or another freelance site. The other half consists of authors following them, some of whom tried to defraud me in the past.
I make comments on other authors’ posts and have never mentioned being an author in the mention. Actual authors comment on my post and never start with, “As a fellow author.” Whenever I see in the comments, “My fellow author,” the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight out, screaming scammer.
Most pseudo-authors do not wish to talk openly and want you to DM them. Like Dracula, the light of day burns their message. They scurry back into the darkness before going up in flames. One took the moniker of F. Scott Fitzgerald and listed two of his books on the page. I told him his comment is intriguing, given that he has been dead for eighty years. I did not have to block him. The page disappeared.
I would never start a conversation with, “Fellow author?” It seems pretentious at best, condescending at worst. Please be careful when diving through social media. A plethora of so-called “Fellow Authors’ looking to take advantage of you roam the internet.
He Has Risen,
Danny Mac
April 25, 2025
Traitorous Mom
Hello to all,
The weather started cooperating this week. Sunshine blanketed the yard and dried the soaking rain from the past month. Each day became a little warmer than the previous until Thursday, when the mercury surpassed the eighty-degree mark as light, fluffy clouds occasionally wafted overhead.
Sarah, the human sister of our entitled dog, started turning the garden over for the seedlings maturing in her nursery. Mom took a chair to supervise and keep her company. Sometime later, our neighbor started tending to her garden with her faithful companion, Bentley. Yes, the same Bentley, renowned for sticking his tongue out at Ginger, staring menacingly at our house, and overall being a threat to our safety.
Ginger grumbled at the sight of her foe just feet from the property line. Then, catastrophe settled into our happy home. Mom strode over to the neighbor’s, petted Bentley, and began talking to Karen. The shouts, cries, and screeches rang throughout the house of her Traitorous Mom, petting another dog.
Ginger screamed at me like I was the manager in charge of correcting her Traitorous Mom from this dastardly deed. When I did nothing, she took it upon herself and ran to our bedroom window to call out and correct her Traitorous Mom. When her mother failed to correct her blatant disregard for Ginger’s rules, Ginger sprinted through the house screaming her discontent.
Ginger gave her Traitorous Mom the cold, furry shoulder well into the afternoon. Anytime Mom walked by our napping dog, we could hear the moan of dissatisfaction. Finally, when it became dinner time, the memory of the Traitorous Mom left her mind, and she remembered the loving mom who fed her.
I am looking for ARC readers for my unpublished book. If you want to read my latest story, The Antidimension, please contact me at dannymac@dannymacauthor.com. I can send you the story in PDF, ePUB, or MOBI format.
He Has Risen,
Danny Mac
The weather started cooperating this week. Sunshine blanketed the yard and dried the soaking rain from the past month. Each day became a little warmer than the previous until Thursday, when the mercury surpassed the eighty-degree mark as light, fluffy clouds occasionally wafted overhead.
Sarah, the human sister of our entitled dog, started turning the garden over for the seedlings maturing in her nursery. Mom took a chair to supervise and keep her company. Sometime later, our neighbor started tending to her garden with her faithful companion, Bentley. Yes, the same Bentley, renowned for sticking his tongue out at Ginger, staring menacingly at our house, and overall being a threat to our safety.
Ginger grumbled at the sight of her foe just feet from the property line. Then, catastrophe settled into our happy home. Mom strode over to the neighbor’s, petted Bentley, and began talking to Karen. The shouts, cries, and screeches rang throughout the house of her Traitorous Mom, petting another dog.
Ginger screamed at me like I was the manager in charge of correcting her Traitorous Mom from this dastardly deed. When I did nothing, she took it upon herself and ran to our bedroom window to call out and correct her Traitorous Mom. When her mother failed to correct her blatant disregard for Ginger’s rules, Ginger sprinted through the house screaming her discontent.
Ginger gave her Traitorous Mom the cold, furry shoulder well into the afternoon. Anytime Mom walked by our napping dog, we could hear the moan of dissatisfaction. Finally, when it became dinner time, the memory of the Traitorous Mom left her mind, and she remembered the loving mom who fed her.
I am looking for ARC readers for my unpublished book. If you want to read my latest story, The Antidimension, please contact me at dannymac@dannymacauthor.com. I can send you the story in PDF, ePUB, or MOBI format.
He Has Risen,
Danny Mac
April 18, 2025
Killer Rabbits
Hello to all,
In my misguided youth, a movie called Monty Python and the Holy Grail entered theatres worldwide. It was a farce of a comedy featuring everything from slapstick to irony. In a more famous scene, the heroes had to pass through a cave, but it was guarded by a most gruesome monster that kills every person who dares cross its path.
The men of King Arthur’s court peered down to the entrance and asked, “Where is the monster?”
The guide replied, “There,” pointing at a little white rabbit.
“Where?” Arthur protested in one voice. “All I see is a bunny!”
The guide sneered, “That is the monster. The killer rabbit has teeth,” as he held his fingers up to his mouth like fangs sticking out. The heroes use a holy hand grenade to vanquish the killer rabbit.
This morning, two local hasenpfeffers filled their bellies on our front lawn. Our ever-vigilant guard dog, the great protector of the home, spied the woodland creatures chowing down on the clover blooming in my grass. Her low, menacing bark declared a monster viler than the killer rabbits of the famous movie. She ran upstairs with urgency oozing from her growl, alarming Mom to the danger just outside our front window.
Where Mom saw the two bunnies leisurely enjoying breakfast, only Ginger could see the real life-threatening peril besetting our house. These killer rabbits had already planned the demise of our household. Their guise of harmless rodents dining on grass could not fool the expert guard dog.
In years gone by, Ginger protected us from a killer robin with beady eyes and a razor-sharp beak. Today, she granted us life from the two killer rabbits with piercing fangs and claws of death.
I am looking for ARC readers for my unpublished book. If you want to read my latest story, The Antidimension, please contact me at dannymac@dannymacauthor.com. I can send you the story in PDF, ePUB, or MOBI format.
He Has Risen,
Danny Mac
In my misguided youth, a movie called Monty Python and the Holy Grail entered theatres worldwide. It was a farce of a comedy featuring everything from slapstick to irony. In a more famous scene, the heroes had to pass through a cave, but it was guarded by a most gruesome monster that kills every person who dares cross its path.
The men of King Arthur’s court peered down to the entrance and asked, “Where is the monster?”
The guide replied, “There,” pointing at a little white rabbit.
“Where?” Arthur protested in one voice. “All I see is a bunny!”
The guide sneered, “That is the monster. The killer rabbit has teeth,” as he held his fingers up to his mouth like fangs sticking out. The heroes use a holy hand grenade to vanquish the killer rabbit.
This morning, two local hasenpfeffers filled their bellies on our front lawn. Our ever-vigilant guard dog, the great protector of the home, spied the woodland creatures chowing down on the clover blooming in my grass. Her low, menacing bark declared a monster viler than the killer rabbits of the famous movie. She ran upstairs with urgency oozing from her growl, alarming Mom to the danger just outside our front window.
Where Mom saw the two bunnies leisurely enjoying breakfast, only Ginger could see the real life-threatening peril besetting our house. These killer rabbits had already planned the demise of our household. Their guise of harmless rodents dining on grass could not fool the expert guard dog.
In years gone by, Ginger protected us from a killer robin with beady eyes and a razor-sharp beak. Today, she granted us life from the two killer rabbits with piercing fangs and claws of death.
I am looking for ARC readers for my unpublished book. If you want to read my latest story, The Antidimension, please contact me at dannymac@dannymacauthor.com. I can send you the story in PDF, ePUB, or MOBI format.
He Has Risen,
Danny Mac
April 11, 2025
Mr. Romance
Hello to all,
I jokingly call myself Mr. Romance to Tammy. She either rolls her eyes or laughs outright at this description of me.
Recently, Tammy and I were discussing high school reading assignments. The story of a young couple came to mind. She had long, luxurious hair, and he had his grandfather’s pocket watch. One Christmas, he sold his watch for an ornamental hair clip for the hair she treasured. Meanwhile, she sold her hair to buy him a gold chain for his family watch. (If you know this story, please tell me the title.)
The teacher asked the class what they thought of the story. One girl answered that it was romantic how they both gave up their most treasured attribute for the other’s sake. Even the other boys in the class confirmed the grand gesture of the two lovebirds. The teacher’s eyes finally landed on me, Mr. Romance, sitting in the back row. “Dan, what do you think?” she asked with a certain regret in her question.
“They were stupid,” I blurted. Before I could defend my position, the whole room erupted in righteous indignation over my thought. The most vocal was the girl who answered first. She objected like I mortally wounded her. The class extolled the virtue of the two young lovers while I contemplated my response for future reference.
If the two young lovers had talked to each other, they could have both the gold chain and the fancy hair tie. Instead, they acted unilaterally while ignoring the other’s presence in the relationship, and in the end, their gifts were worthless with no meaning. It might have taken them longer to get the prized presents, but the significance of the gift would have remained.
My thinking was and is that the best romantic gift is working together to achieve mutual goals of financially, spiritually, and lovingly advancing the marriage. As Mr. Romance, I have tried to live up to this lofty goal of working together to better our lives. True romance is loving your spouse enough to sacrifice to make the marriage successful.
If I am Mr. Romance, Tammy is Mrs. Romance.
I am looking for ARC readers for my unpublished book. If you want to read my latest story, The Antidimension, please contact me at dannymac@dannymacauthor.com. I can send you the story in PDF, ePUB, or MOBI format.
Grace to you,
Danny Mac
I jokingly call myself Mr. Romance to Tammy. She either rolls her eyes or laughs outright at this description of me.
Recently, Tammy and I were discussing high school reading assignments. The story of a young couple came to mind. She had long, luxurious hair, and he had his grandfather’s pocket watch. One Christmas, he sold his watch for an ornamental hair clip for the hair she treasured. Meanwhile, she sold her hair to buy him a gold chain for his family watch. (If you know this story, please tell me the title.)
The teacher asked the class what they thought of the story. One girl answered that it was romantic how they both gave up their most treasured attribute for the other’s sake. Even the other boys in the class confirmed the grand gesture of the two lovebirds. The teacher’s eyes finally landed on me, Mr. Romance, sitting in the back row. “Dan, what do you think?” she asked with a certain regret in her question.
“They were stupid,” I blurted. Before I could defend my position, the whole room erupted in righteous indignation over my thought. The most vocal was the girl who answered first. She objected like I mortally wounded her. The class extolled the virtue of the two young lovers while I contemplated my response for future reference.
If the two young lovers had talked to each other, they could have both the gold chain and the fancy hair tie. Instead, they acted unilaterally while ignoring the other’s presence in the relationship, and in the end, their gifts were worthless with no meaning. It might have taken them longer to get the prized presents, but the significance of the gift would have remained.
My thinking was and is that the best romantic gift is working together to achieve mutual goals of financially, spiritually, and lovingly advancing the marriage. As Mr. Romance, I have tried to live up to this lofty goal of working together to better our lives. True romance is loving your spouse enough to sacrifice to make the marriage successful.
If I am Mr. Romance, Tammy is Mrs. Romance.
I am looking for ARC readers for my unpublished book. If you want to read my latest story, The Antidimension, please contact me at dannymac@dannymacauthor.com. I can send you the story in PDF, ePUB, or MOBI format.
Grace to you,
Danny Mac
April 4, 2025
A Slave to Fashion
Hello to all,
I picked up my new glasses yesterday. They are a smidge bigger than my old ones, brown versus gray, and comfortable with my style. While selecting my same ole frames, I noticed the newer ones, which featured a large frame reminiscent of the 1990s but with the thickness of the 1960s. I see videos of younger people sporting newer, bigger, and thicker frames.
I thought about the modern frames while seeing more clearly through my standard purchase. I was never a slave to fashion, but my clothes and accessories roughly followed the trends. Men’s fashions evolve over decades, while women’s change with each season. I remembered laughing at the old men back in 1975 strutting around in their plaid pants and different plaid shirts. Plaids faded out of fashion in the seventies.
The final turn onto my street made me realize that I am the old man hanging onto a fashion of days gone by. It seems that there comes a point when a man no longer cares about fashion and simply wears what he likes. He lets modern styles pass him by, remaining stagnant and not being a slave to fashion.
I am looking for ARC readers for my unpublished book. If you want to read my latest story, The Antidimension, please contact me at dannymac@dannymacauthor.com. I can send you the story in PDF, ePUB, or MOBI format.
Grace to you,
Danny Mac
I picked up my new glasses yesterday. They are a smidge bigger than my old ones, brown versus gray, and comfortable with my style. While selecting my same ole frames, I noticed the newer ones, which featured a large frame reminiscent of the 1990s but with the thickness of the 1960s. I see videos of younger people sporting newer, bigger, and thicker frames.
I thought about the modern frames while seeing more clearly through my standard purchase. I was never a slave to fashion, but my clothes and accessories roughly followed the trends. Men’s fashions evolve over decades, while women’s change with each season. I remembered laughing at the old men back in 1975 strutting around in their plaid pants and different plaid shirts. Plaids faded out of fashion in the seventies.
The final turn onto my street made me realize that I am the old man hanging onto a fashion of days gone by. It seems that there comes a point when a man no longer cares about fashion and simply wears what he likes. He lets modern styles pass him by, remaining stagnant and not being a slave to fashion.
I am looking for ARC readers for my unpublished book. If you want to read my latest story, The Antidimension, please contact me at dannymac@dannymacauthor.com. I can send you the story in PDF, ePUB, or MOBI format.
Grace to you,
Danny Mac
March 28, 2025
Doggish Delema
Hello to all,
The afternoon sun shines brightly in the sky, trying to warm the chill from the air. Sarah, on the back deck, plants seeds into containers for the garden after the last frost. Ginger whines, for it is her second most favorite thing in life to prance around the deck guarding the house. If she were in the Austrian Alps, Ginger would sing about the joy of bouncing around the porch.
At a quarter to four, I enter the kitchen to prepare the evening meal for everyone. Sarah doesn’t want the help of an over-energetic canine lacking opposable thumbs, so she leaves her dog inside, staring out the glass door. Ginger’s help usually involves tipping over the project you are working on. The moans of disgust resonate against the patio door as she begs someone to open the door for her.
Mom opens the closet door that houses the bucket of kibble for the evening meal. This creates a great dilemma for Ginger. Mom digs into her very most favorite joy in life, a scoop full of food. She runs to her food dish. I, being the devilish Dad, slide open the back door, exposing easy access to the deck. Ginger halts her race to the food dish to run out the door.
The dilemma turns doggish when Mom starts dropping kibbles into her dish. Dink resounds through the kitchen as the morsel drums off the bottom of the stainless steel dish. Her nails skid before exit. She pivots and heads to food. I increase the dilemma by opening the door wider. The sound of the wide open door makes her paws skid across the floor again as she brakes to head out the door.
Mom drops a few more kibbles into her dish and she pivots on a dime. I holler out, “Chip monk.” This sends her twirling like a drunk ballet dancer. Sarah's shoulders flex up and down with laughter over the doggish dilemma. Some of the kibbles miss the bowl because Mom’s hand is shaking with the humor pouring out of her. A doggish dilemma is the bane of an entitled dog.
I am looking for ARC readers for my unpublished book. If you want to read my latest story, The Antidimension, please contact me at dannymac@dannymacauthor.com. I can send you the story in PDF, ePUB, or MOBI format.
Grace to you,
Danny Mac
The afternoon sun shines brightly in the sky, trying to warm the chill from the air. Sarah, on the back deck, plants seeds into containers for the garden after the last frost. Ginger whines, for it is her second most favorite thing in life to prance around the deck guarding the house. If she were in the Austrian Alps, Ginger would sing about the joy of bouncing around the porch.
At a quarter to four, I enter the kitchen to prepare the evening meal for everyone. Sarah doesn’t want the help of an over-energetic canine lacking opposable thumbs, so she leaves her dog inside, staring out the glass door. Ginger’s help usually involves tipping over the project you are working on. The moans of disgust resonate against the patio door as she begs someone to open the door for her.
Mom opens the closet door that houses the bucket of kibble for the evening meal. This creates a great dilemma for Ginger. Mom digs into her very most favorite joy in life, a scoop full of food. She runs to her food dish. I, being the devilish Dad, slide open the back door, exposing easy access to the deck. Ginger halts her race to the food dish to run out the door.
The dilemma turns doggish when Mom starts dropping kibbles into her dish. Dink resounds through the kitchen as the morsel drums off the bottom of the stainless steel dish. Her nails skid before exit. She pivots and heads to food. I increase the dilemma by opening the door wider. The sound of the wide open door makes her paws skid across the floor again as she brakes to head out the door.
Mom drops a few more kibbles into her dish and she pivots on a dime. I holler out, “Chip monk.” This sends her twirling like a drunk ballet dancer. Sarah's shoulders flex up and down with laughter over the doggish dilemma. Some of the kibbles miss the bowl because Mom’s hand is shaking with the humor pouring out of her. A doggish dilemma is the bane of an entitled dog.
I am looking for ARC readers for my unpublished book. If you want to read my latest story, The Antidimension, please contact me at dannymac@dannymacauthor.com. I can send you the story in PDF, ePUB, or MOBI format.
Grace to you,
Danny Mac
March 21, 2025
The Last Word in Any Argument
Hello to all,
We spent a lovely Wednesday meandering around our state, celebrating thirty-one years of marriage. We rushed through the back roads to a glass factory in Cambridge by eleven. Mosser Glass has specialized in decorative art pieces since 1971. Our next planned stop was Kennedy’s Bakery, which has been widening people's waistlines for 100 years. We drove back home in an erratic and evasive manner, stopping at small towns along the way.
Many marriages have failed to exist for ten years. Meanwhile, we are going strong at 31 years. My secret to a happy wedded life is keeping my mouth shut. Another bumper sticker Tammy points to on a regular basis reads: A woman shall have the last word in any argument – anything the man says after that is the beginning of a new argument. I find that keeping this in mind at all times makes for a peaceful and loving wife.
Multiple arguments marred our younger years before I discovered this secret. Well, I have always known that women get the last word in any argument. What took so long was to correct my behavior to match my knowledge. Being a bit hard-headed, it took a decade or so to master this principle.
However, through the years, I have found times that I do get the last word in any meaningful discussion. These words include “Yes dear, no problem honey, as soon as possible lovely,” and on rare occasions, “Your wish is my command, sweetheart.” These last words must be spoken with sincerity and lacking any disdain, sarcasm, and rebellion lurking in my heart.
The key to a happy marriage is the last word in any argument. Paul instructs us to submit to one another in reference to our Lord. This means God has the last word in any argument. This realization led me to understand that it is better to be loved than to be right.
I am looking for ARC readers for my unpublished book. If you want to read my latest story, The Antidimension, please contact me at dannymac@dannymacauthor.com. I can send you the story in PDF, ePUB, or MOBI format.
Grace to you,
Danny Mac
We spent a lovely Wednesday meandering around our state, celebrating thirty-one years of marriage. We rushed through the back roads to a glass factory in Cambridge by eleven. Mosser Glass has specialized in decorative art pieces since 1971. Our next planned stop was Kennedy’s Bakery, which has been widening people's waistlines for 100 years. We drove back home in an erratic and evasive manner, stopping at small towns along the way.
Many marriages have failed to exist for ten years. Meanwhile, we are going strong at 31 years. My secret to a happy wedded life is keeping my mouth shut. Another bumper sticker Tammy points to on a regular basis reads: A woman shall have the last word in any argument – anything the man says after that is the beginning of a new argument. I find that keeping this in mind at all times makes for a peaceful and loving wife.
Multiple arguments marred our younger years before I discovered this secret. Well, I have always known that women get the last word in any argument. What took so long was to correct my behavior to match my knowledge. Being a bit hard-headed, it took a decade or so to master this principle.
However, through the years, I have found times that I do get the last word in any meaningful discussion. These words include “Yes dear, no problem honey, as soon as possible lovely,” and on rare occasions, “Your wish is my command, sweetheart.” These last words must be spoken with sincerity and lacking any disdain, sarcasm, and rebellion lurking in my heart.
The key to a happy marriage is the last word in any argument. Paul instructs us to submit to one another in reference to our Lord. This means God has the last word in any argument. This realization led me to understand that it is better to be loved than to be right.
I am looking for ARC readers for my unpublished book. If you want to read my latest story, The Antidimension, please contact me at dannymac@dannymacauthor.com. I can send you the story in PDF, ePUB, or MOBI format.
Grace to you,
Danny Mac
