Rodney V. Earle's Blog, page 3

Book Blog: Antolick (Day 14)

Continued From Days 1 – 13…

Chapter Two

 

King’s birth had quite an impact on Jeff.  Of all of the foals born over the years at Big Sky Ranch, King’s was special.  It was to Jeff anyway.  Big Sky had grown quickly since then, and so had Jeff.  This year was different, though.  Since Christine’s diagnosis, many plans at the ranch had put on hold, and some had been abandoned altogether.

Beyond Big Sky’s fences, people were going through some tough times as well.  Those in town who had thought about boarding more horses at Big Sky not only couldn’t afford it, but they had a hard time affording the meager rates for the horses they had.

Many were unable to pay anything at all, and Parker’s Feed and Seed on the edge of town was at their limit as well.   They extended credit as far as they could to their customers without going out of business themselves.  Big Sky was holding its own as far as finances go, thanks largely to John and Christine’s planning and saving.

John was firm and fair as a businessman, and Christine did well with the accounting and finances.  Over the summer, John had traded farrier work for accounting services with the Hansen family on the other side of town.  Early in the summer, Christine was able to help with the transition of the accounting duties to Mrs. Hansen, who was a very good bookkeeper.

The Hansen’s were in the same boat financially with everyone else, and “bartering” was common throughout the surrounding counties.  Trading services like farrier work for accounting services was much the same as paying for them.  The Hansen’s did the same with Parker’s Feed and Seed.

Parker’s traded feed and supplies to the Hansen’s for the same value in accounting work done by Mrs. Hansen, and it worked out well.  With harvest coming over the next couple of months, most farmers were banking on a fair crop yield at a fair price to sell their grain to get them through the winter months.

To be Continued…

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Book Blog: Antolick (Days 1 – 13)

Howdy, Friends!  It has been a week or two since the last Book Blog post, and it’s ALL someone else’s fault!  I SWEAR!  Actually, I had to re-install my WordPress blog, so I lost all of my previous posts.  Long, boring story.  But THIS story is the one I have been working on in the meantime!  Here are Days 1 – 13, so you remember what we’re writing about.  [image error]

 

Chapter One

 

Jeff McCoy had a long day ahead of him.  What he really wanted to do was go fishing with the guys.  He spent two whole months growing his worm farm in the barn, and the night crawlers were fat and ready for the big fish, but they would have to wait another day.  Summer was coming to an end, and eighth grade was just around the corner.  Summer breaks in Kansas were far too short for Jeff’s taste, especially when there was so much work to be done on his father’s ranch.

“It’s just not fair,” Jeff said aloud to any animal that would listen.  “The guys get to go to the lake whenever they want, but I’m stuck here doing chores.  On a Saturday, too!”

The eight-year-old buckskin gelding nickered a low response and searched the ground for the last bits of alfalfa hay Jeff had fed him earlier.

“Aww, King,” Jeff said.  “I knew you would understand,” he said as he gave the buckskin a quick pat on the withers, and then bent over to whisper in King’s ear.  “Let’s get out of here.  I could leave the gate open and say I forgot, and you could slip out and wait for me on the other side of the grove.”

King responded by blowing bits of alfalfa chaff across the dirt with his big nostrils.

“Traitor,” Jeff said with a smile.

“Hey, Sport!” Jeff’s dad called from inside the barn.  “Let’s get busy, young man!  You can waste time with King some other day!”

“Shoot!” Jeff whispered.  “Gotta go, King,” he said, and then ducked between the aging log rails of the corral fence.  “Coming, Dad!”

Jeff shot through the barn door, nearly fell over his own two feet, and skidded to a halt behind the big mare his dad was working on.

“Hey, sport.” Mr. McCoy narrowed his eyes.  “You know better than to come rushing up to a back of a horse like that.”

“Yes, sir.”  Jeff turned a deep shade of red.  “I mean no, sir,” he stuttered.  “I mean… sorry, sir.”

John McCoy looked up at his son’s apologetic face.  “How many times do I have to tell you, son.  I know it was an accident, but you know what can happen.  Old Tea Biscuit here won’t do anything, but any of the others will give you a kick to remember for a lifetime if you rush up on ‘em like that.”

“Yes, sir.” Jeff lowered his eyes to his feet.

John let him think for a moment and smiled.  “All right, chin up, son.  Give me my rasp there, will you please?”

Jeff handed his father the rasp and felt instantly better.  He knew when his father said “please,” he was teaching a lesson rather than scolding.  John McCoy wasn’t just Jeff’s father, he was Jeff’s hero.  John was firm but fair, and never asked his son to do anything he wouldn’t do himself.  A farrier by trade, John hoped that one day he could teach Jeff how to trim and shoe horses.  He often said that as long as a man can learn a decent trade he will never go hungry.  “Even if you can learn to cook, son.  People will always eat, and they will always pay for it.”

At the tender age of twelve, Jeffrey McCoy could grill a steak to perfection, make his mother’s award-winning meatloaf and even make lasagna by himself.  His mother taught him how to make a pie crust, and he learned that you needed to cut three slits in the top of an apple pie.

“One to let the air out, the second one so the first one doesn’t get lonely, and the third one just because Grandma always did it that way,” his mother always said with a smile.

Jeff had learned to cook more and more that summer.  Not only because he enjoyed learning to create new yummy things to eat, but also because his mother wasn’t well enough to do much cooking.  Lately she could do very little at all.

John felt a kind of guilt for the extra burden his son had to take on at such a young age.  He regretted that Jeff had to grow up faster in some ways than other boys his same age.  John knew his son well.  He saw much of himself in the boy.  “Two parts John, and one part Christine,” he used to say when he introduced him to clients.  They chuckled and usually said something like, “He looks like you, but has his mother’s eyes,” and then they would ask how Christine was getting along.

Christine McCoy was a healthy little thing in her younger years.  She was a sprinter in High School, as well as a volleyball player.  She was even invited to the University of Kansas on a basketball scholarship, but she passed it up to marry her High School sweetheart and raise her son.  When Jeff was born, Christine and John brought him home to “Big Sky Ranch,” the forty-acre spread they had purchased six months earlier.

They had plans for a large family with lots of brothers and sisters for little Jeffrey, but their plans changed the following year.  Christine’s doctor told her that she would be unable to have more children.  Christine was devastated with the news.  She had a difficult time telling John, because she knew he would take the news even harder than she did.  She said, “Doc says that Jeffrey is just as healthy as can be and he’ll grow to be big and strong, just like his father.”

John knew that she had more to say, and he knew that it wasn’t going to be good.  He could tell by the tears welling in the corners of her eyes.  When she told him she was unable to have more children, he fought off tears of his own, wrapped his wife and son in his strong arms, and said, “God gave us this wonderful boy, and I couldn’t be happier.”

Christine knew that deep down John was hurting, and hurting quite badly at that.  She struggled with a kind of guilt for a time, as if she had done something wrong or that somehow it was her fault that she could not have more children.  John did everything he could to put her at ease, but sometimes there are no words that can heal a broken heart completely.

For most of Jeffrey’s life, John and Christine did well with what they had, which was little more than each other.  Once Jeffrey was old enough to help with the work, life for the McCoy’s got easier.  Jeff was a strong boy compared to most his age, and had far more responsibility than his friends, most of whom lived in town.  Many times over the years, John would come to the house long about sundown, and he and Christine would stand on the porch and watch their boy still working hard at one project or another.  “He’s one in a million,” John would say as he slipped his arm around Christine’s waist.

Christine would always say, “No, John.  He’s one of a kind.  There’s no other like him anywhere.”  That always made John smile even wider and his heart swell with pride for his son.  Christine had not been well enough the last few months to make it as far as the porch, but she was able to see everything from her second-story bedroom window.  John made a rocking chair for her that was high enough to see out the window, and comfortable enough to sleep in when she needed rest, which was quite often.  As the Kansas summer drew to a close, what little strength Christine had, diminished to nearly nothing.

Christine’s disease was the kind that was named after a legendary baseball player from 1939.  His name was Lou Gehrig.  The scientific name for the disease is a long one, but it is commonly called “Lou Gehrig’s Disease,” or ALS, for which there is no cure.  The McCoy’s refused to talk about just how much time on earth Christine had left.  Instead they made a pact to enjoy the time they did have together, to the fullest extent that Christine’s affliction would allow.

One of the things Christine enjoyed the most was when her son read to her, which was every night before he went to bed.  Sometimes it was late at night, and she knew Jeff was exhausted after a long day, but every night, without fail, he read her favorite books to her.  She encouraged him to read things that were beyond the reading level of a soon-to-be eighth grader, and he did very well.  Jeff didn’t fully understand the old English of Shakespeare’s plays, but he knew that his mother really enjoyed them, so he read them to the best of his ability.

Christine smiled constantly as her son changed his voice with the different characters and “acted” out the parts.  Her favorite was A Midsummer Night’s Dream.  She reeled with laughter at the way Jeffrey portrayed the different characters, especially Robin Goodfellow, otherwise known as “Puck.”  How she laughed as her son intentionally “overacted” some of Puck’s lines!  Jeffrey was getting quite good at actually remembering the lines.  He would often bookmark his place, set the book on the nightstand, and act out the different parts.

It was getting harder and harder to bring a smile to Christine’s face as the summer went on, but Jeffrey put everything he had into trying.  He continued to read aloud to her, even if she fell asleep.  “I can hear you while I rest with my eyes closed,” she said, so Jeffrey continued until he could barely keep his eyes open himself.  Many times John found his son asleep in his mother’s rocking chair with an open book still in his lap.  John would carefully set the book on the nightstand and cover Jeff with a quilt that Christine had made years ago.

Saturdays were supposed to be “free days” for Jeff during the summer, but ever since Christine was diagnosed with her affliction, the work of three people had to be completed by two.  Of all of the work that needed to be done on a working ranch, Jeff hated painting most of all.  Something on the ranch always needed painting, and the barn was his current project.  “That barn can’t paint itself, boy,” John would say with a wink and a smile.

Jeff gathered his brushes and sighed heavily as two cans of red paint shook noisily on the mixer.  Daisy, Jeff’s faithful Vizsla puppy suddenly rushed through the open door of the machine shed, wagging her tail as violently as the paint mixer.  “Where you been, girl?” Jeff said as Daisy sat excitedly in front of him with a dirty tennis ball her mouth.  Jeff smiled and said, “I can’t play today.  Too much to do.”  Daisy dropped the saliva-soaked tennis ball at Jeff’s feet and let out a muffled bark that sounded more like “moof!”  She raised her floppy ears in anticipation, waiting impatiently.  “Awww,” Jeff said.  “I’m sorry girl.  Maybe later.”

Daisy understood Jeff, perhaps even better than any of the guys.  She lowered her ears and raised her paw as if to say, “That’s okay, buddy!”  Jeff shook Daisy’s paw and then turned his attention back to his paint cans.

John finished up his work on Biscuit and stepped out into the warm Kansas summer sun.  “Gonna be a dusty one today,” he said aloud as he removed his hat and wiped his brow.  He heard the paint mixer in the machine shed and knew that, as usual, Jeff would work his heart out all day without much in the way of complaint.  “That boy,” he said under his breath.  “Gotta do something special for him one of these days.”

In the distance, a long, slow plume of dust rose from the gravel road leading up to the entrance of Big Sky Ranch.  John glanced at his watch.  “Right on time,” he said.  The old Chevy pickup belonging to long-time family friend and home health care nurse Callie Woodruff turned up the drive and headed for the house.  Callie waved hello out the window as the Chevy’s power steering pump whined in protest to her sharp turn toward the house.  John returned the greeting by waving his hat in the air before he replaced it atop his head.  He began humming a chorus of Blue Shadows on the Trail to himself as he returned to his tools and began organizing them in anticipation of the first of many clients scheduled for the day.

Jeff emerged from the machine shed holding his two buckets of paint, Daisy at his heels.  King gave up looking for more alfalfa scraps and nickered at Jeff as he passed by her stall.  “Traitor,” Jeff whispered again as he passed.  He spotted Callie’s orange Chevy in front of the house and glanced at his watch.  “Right on time,” he said aloud, just as his father had done a few minutes before.  Jeff was the spitting image of his father from head to toe, and people never hesitated to say so.  “It’s what’s on the inside that counts, Son,” John always said.  “You’re smarter than I was at your age, though.”

Jeff knew there were other differences as well.  His sense of adventure sometimes led him to places young boys had no business being, and he earned a scar or two in his travels.  When he was eight and Daisy was just a pup, Jeff was playing “mountain man” down by the lazy creek that skirted the grove.  He was honing his skills as a marksman, pretending that the whittled stick in his hands was a musket.  The box turtles that lazily sunned themselves on the logs doubled as savage Indians that were planning to steal his whole remuda at sundown.  He was not allowed to take his Red Rider BB gun out by himself yet, so he was forced to make do with his whittled stick until then.

“Pow!” Jeff would shout over and over as he pretended to defend his horses.  Daisy perked her floppy ears and tilted her head at Jeff unsure of what to do.  She was, after all, just a puppy, and she was new to the game.

As luck would have it, a herd of buffalo rarely seen on the plains – actually they were baby raccoons – scared the Indians and sent them into the creek in all directions with a succession of belly flops.  Jeff, every bit as curious as the baby raccoons, jumped up to investigate.  The raccoons chased each other along the bank and dipped their tiny paws in the water, searching for crawdads or anything else that would move.  They paid no attention to Jeff or Daisy as they leapfrogged each other on the muddy bank.  Daisy barked excitedly and rushed to the creek.

One by one, the raccoons hopped into the water and began crossing.  “They’re coming right for us, girl!” Jeff shouted.  “Take cover!”

Jeff dove back behind his fallen tree, but Daisy ignored her orders and barked anxiously at the pretend buffalo as they approached.  Further up the bank, an adult raccoon made her way toward her babies.  Jeff saw her, but Daisy did not.  She was too busy dealing with the coming stampede.  “Daisy!” Jeff shouted.  “Get out of there!”  Jeff felt helpless as the mother raccoon picked up speed and headed straight for Daisy.

Jeff took a flying leap over the fallen tree, catching the knee of his jeans on a broken nub that jutted from the trunk.  The splintered nub tore through Jeff’s pants and gashed his knee, nearly to the bone.  Jeff cradled his knee as blood gushed from his wound.  Momma raccoon leaped at Daisy and caught her by surprise.  She sent Daisy flying into the muddy bank in a flurry of flying fur and snarling teeth.  Daisy yelped loudly over and over, and before she could even shake the water from her fur, she high-tailed it through the grove.

Luckily the mother raccoon was only interested in protecting her babies, and did not pursue Daisy, nor did she pay any attention to Jeff.  She went about the business of gathering her young and herding them in the right direction.  Jeff clutched his torn knee and held pressure on it to slow the bleeding.  Seconds later, John came rushing through the grove.  He had heard Daisy’s yelps and saw that she was bleeding profusely as she rushed by and crawled under the old Farmall tractor, whimpering.  John knew that Daisy was with Jeff down by the creek, but Jeff was nowhere in sight.

John dropped everything and headed for the creek.  A trail of blood from Daisy’s wound led him right to where Jeff was.  He scooped up his son and carried him all the way back through the grove.  Christine heard the commotion from where she was working in the garden and rushed to join them.  “Grab Daisy!” John shouted.  “She’s under the Farmall!”  The four of them jumped into the truck and rushed to the hospital in town.  Jeff received ten stitches in his knee and a tetanus shot.

Daisy, however, looked worse than she actually was.  After she was cleaned up from the mud and a healthy coating of grease from the underside of the old tractor, it turned out that her wound was simple, and she didn’t need stitches.  John worried about the possibility of Daisy getting rabies from the raccoon’s bite, but it turned out that Momma raccoon wasn’t rabid after all.  Christine said many times after that they were all lucky.  She always had a way of seeing the bright side of things.  It took Jeff a while for his knee to heal, but he earned a scar that looked like a smiley face to remember his adventure.

Jeff constantly craved adventure, especially on a beautiful Saturday late-summer morning like this one, but he knew the barn was his biggest priority at the moment.  Up the ladder he went, high above Daisy, who was lounging in the shade nearby, chewing on a stick.  Daisy’s deep copper coat was speckled with red paint from above.  Jeff gave up trying to make Daisy move somewhere else, but she always ended up right back where superstitious people call a very unlucky place; under the ladder.  Daisy didn’t seem to mind the paint, and John said there was no use cleaning her up until the barn was completed.  Daisy was an obedient dog, but she was stubborn when it came to her choice of places to lounge around.

Jeff’s hair was nearly the same color of Daisy’s, complete with flecks of red barn paint as well.  Christine often amusingly remarked that he got more paint on himself than he did on the barn.  As Jeff dipped his paintbrush for the first time that morning, he began daydreaming of big catfish and the rope swing that his father set up on the steep banks of the fishin’ hole.  The guys referred to it as “Nelsen’s Pond,” but the small, spring-fed pool was owned by the county.  Nobody seemed to know why it was called Nelsen’s Pond, other than that’s what it had been called since any of them could remember.

Jeff painted a catfish and a crawdad on the faded boards in front of him.  As he surveyed his work, he chuckled at the thought that the crawdad looked more like a giant lobster.  He knew he would be painting over his artwork in a matter of minutes, but he tried to make work fun any way he knew how.  What Jeff loved to paint the most while he worked were horses.  Horses of all sizes and shapes and sizes, but he had no choice but to paint them all red, of course.  He loved everything horses, and when the guys weren’t available and his morning chores were all finished, he found himself always around the horses.  He never considered grooming or cleaning horse stalls work, especially when it meant he could be around them in one way or another.

King was by far his favorite.  Jeff witnessed King’s birth, and as soon as his father said it was okay to do so, he spent as much time as he could with him.  His distinctive buckskin markings, which meant a tan body and a shiny black mane and tail, gave him a look that John considered “regal.”  When Jeff asked what the word meant, his father said, “It means royalty.  Like a queen.”  Jeff thought for a minute and said, “Since he’s a boy, I am gonna call him King,” and the name stuck.    For hours he would watch King.  It didn’t matter whether he was sleeping, nursing, or playing in the sun.  Jeff considered King his best friend, next to Daisy, of course.

Of the many different breeds, sizes, and colors of horses at Big Sky Ranch, King had Jeff’s heart from the very beginning.  Jeff treated every horse with respect, and he cared for them all equally, but King was his soul mate.  His mother often said, “It’s impossible to look into a horse’s eyes and claim that they have no soul.  A horse is capable of so many things, the most wonderful of which is love.”

King took to Jeff immediately, and was just as curious about the little red-haired boy as he was about King.  The first time the tiny colt poked his head from between the stall planks, he found Jeff napping on a nearby bale of hay.  King stretched his thin neck as far as he could, but couldn’t quite reach him.  He nipped at the air and blew hot air from his nostrils.  Jeff swatted at the air in front of his face, thinking a fly was bothering him while he dozed.  King did all he could do to reach Jeff and smell his breath.  When horses blow air into each other’s nostrils, it’s how they say hello, and they can tell many things about each other that way.  But Jeff was not cooperating.  Instead, he was dozing away the morning.

Tea Biscuit nickered loudly, and Jeff opened his eyes.  The sight of King’s nose so close to his face startled him, and he bolted upright.  The sudden movement would have scared most horses, but King did not move.  Jeff slowly reached out his hand and touched King’s nose.  The velvety softness was like nothing he had ever felt before.  King responded by blowing more hot air at him.  Biscuit nickered again, and King pulled his head back through the planks.  He stumbled happily over to where his mother was waiting to nurse him.  Jeff was excited beyond words!  He got to touch the new colt!  “Hot dog!” Jeff exclaimed.

To be Continued…

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Remembering August FREE for Kindle Today!

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Back Up and Running!

After sort of FIGHTING with wordpress and my domain hosts, I am now back up!  The BAD news is that all of my previous posts are gone.  It’s okay, I’ll just make MORE!  [image error]   See you soon!

Book Blog: Antolick (Day 12)

Continued From Day 11…

Jeff painted a catfish and a crawdad on the faded boards in front of him. As he surveyed his work, he chuckled at the thought that the crawdad looked more like a giant lobster. He knew he would be painting over his artwork in a matter of minutes, but he tried to make work fun any way he knew how.

What Jeff loved to paint the most while he worked were horses. Horses of all sizes and shapes and sizes, but he had no choice but to paint them all red, of course. He loved everything horses, and when the guys weren’t available and his morning chores were all finished, he found himself always around the horses. He never considered grooming or cleaning horse stalls work, especially when it meant he could be around them in one way or another.

King was by far his favorite. Jeff witnessed King’s birth, and as soon as his father said it was okay to do so, he spent as much time as he could with him. His distinctive buckskin markings, which meant a tan body and a shiny black mane and tail, gave him a look that John considered “regal.”

When Jeff asked what the word meant, his father said, “It means royalty. Like a queen.” Jeff thought for a minute and said, “Since he’s a boy, I am gonna call him King,” and the name stuck. For hours he would watch King. It didn’t matter whether he was sleeping, nursing, or playing in the sun. Jeff considered King his best friend, next to Daisy, of course.

To Be Continued…

Today’s Book Blog post is brought to you by… the human KIDNEY!  Yes… the kidney.  Do you have one that works?  Maybe TWO?  Mine are pretty good, and they remind me about 2 AM.  And about 5 AM.  Yeah… I know.  I complain, but I ALSO know people who have two that don’t work worth a DARN.  We’ll see what we can do to help with that.  [image error]

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Book Blog: Antolick (Day 11)

Continued From Day 10…

Jeff constantly craved adventure, especially on a beautiful Saturday late-summer morning like this one, but he knew the barn was his biggest priority at the moment.  Up the ladder he went, high above Daisy, who was lounging in the shade nearby, chewing on a stick.  Daisy’s deep copper coat was speckled with red paint from above.

Jeff gave up trying to make Daisy move somewhere else, but she always ended up right back where superstitious people call a very unlucky place; under the ladder.  Daisy didn’t seem to mind the paint, and John said there was no use cleaning her up until the barn was completed.  Daisy was an obedient dog, but she was stubborn when it came to her choice of places to lounge around.

Jeff’s hair was nearly the same color of Daisy’s, complete with flecks of red barn paint as well.  Christine often amusingly remarked that he got more paint on himself than he did on the barn.  As Jeff dipped his paintbrush for the first time that morning, he began daydreaming of big catfish and the rope swing that his father set up on the steep banks of the fishin’ hole.

The guys referred to it as “Nelsen’s Pond,” but the small, spring-fed pool was owned by the county.  Nobody seemed to know why it was called Nelsen’s Pond, other than that’s what it had been called since any of them could remember.

To Be Continued…

Today’s Book Blog Post was brought to you by the Double Lumen Hemodialysis Catheter.  Why?  You’ll see… just hang in there with me, and you will find out in the next day or two.

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Book Blog: Antolick (Day 10)

Continued From Day 9…

Luckily the mother raccoon was only interested in protecting her babies, and did not pursue Daisy, nor did she pay any attention to Jeff.  She went about the business of gathering her young and herding them in the right direction.  Jeff clutched his torn knee and held pressure on it to slow the bleeding.  Seconds later, John came rushing through the grove.  He had heard Daisy’s yelps and saw that she was bleeding profusely as she rushed by and crawled under the old Farmall tractor, whimpering.  John knew that Daisy was with Jeff down by the creek, but Jeff was nowhere in sight.

John dropped everything and headed for the creek.  A trail of blood from Daisy’s wound led him right to where Jeff was.  He scooped up his son and carried him all the way back through the grove.  Christine heard the commotion from where she was working in the garden and rushed to join them.  “Grab Daisy!” John shouted.  “She’s under the Farmall!”  The four of them jumped into the truck and rushed to the hospital in town.  Jeff received ten stitches in his knee and a tetanus shot.

Daisy, however, looked worse than she actually was.  After she was cleaned up from the mud and a healthy coating of grease from the underside of the tractor, it turned out that her wound was simple, and she didn’t need stitches.  John worried about the possibility of Daisy getting rabies from the raccoon’s bite, but it turned out that Momma raccoon wasn’t rabid after all.

Christine said many times after that they were all lucky.  She always had a way of seeing the bright side of things.  It took Jeff a while for his knee to heal, but he earned a scar that looked like a smiley face to remember his adventure.

To Be Continued…

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Book Blog: Antolick (Day 9)

Continued From Day 8…

As luck would have it, a herd of buffalo rarely seen on the plains – actually they were baby raccoons – scared the Indians and sent them into the creek in all directions with a succession of belly flops.  Jeff, every bit as curious as the baby raccoons, jumped up to investigate.  The raccoons chased each other along the bank and dipped their tiny paws in the water, searching for crawdads or anything else that would move.  They paid no attention to Jeff or Daisy as they leapfrogged each other on the muddy bank.  Daisy barked excitedly and rushed to the creek.

One by one, the raccoons hopped into the water and began crossing.  “They’re coming right for us, girl!” Jeff shouted.  “Take cover!”

Jeff dove back behind his fallen tree, but Daisy ignored her orders and barked anxiously at the pretend buffalo as they approached.  Further up the bank, an adult raccoon made her way toward her babies.  Jeff saw her, but Daisy did not.  She was too busy dealing with the coming stampede.  “Daisy!” Jeff shouted.  “Get out of there!”  Jeff felt helpless as the mother raccoon picked up speed and headed straight for Daisy.

Jeff took a flying leap over the fallen tree, catching the knee of his jeans on a broken nub that jutted from the trunk.  The splintered nub tore through Jeff’s pants and gashed his knee, nearly to the bone.  Jeff cradled his knee as blood gushed from his wound.  Momma raccoon leaped at Daisy and caught her by surprise.  She sent Daisy flying into the muddy bank in a flurry of flying fur and snarling teeth.  Daisy yelped loudly over and over, and before she could even shake the water from her fur, she high-tailed it through the grove.

To Be Continued…

Today’s Book Blog post is brought to you ONCE AGAIN by my friend MaryAnn Myers, Author of Favored to Win, Maple Dale, Call Me Lydia, The Frog, the Wizard, and the Shrew, Maple Dale Revisited, Ellie’s Crows, Hannah’s Home, and newly-released “Odds on Favorite.” Please click the photo below and take a look at her latest, NOW AVAILABLE IN PAPERBACK on Amazon.com at a FANTASTIC PRICE!

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Book Blog: Antolick (Day 8)

Continued From Day 7…

Jeff emerged from the machine shed holding his two buckets of paint, Daisy at his heels.  King gave up looking for more alfalfa scraps and nickered at Jeff as he passed by her stall.  “Traitor,” Jeff whispered again as he passed.  He spotted Callie’s orange Chevy in front of the house and glanced at his watch.  “Right on time,” he said aloud, just as his father had done a few minutes before.  Jeff was the spitting image of his father from head to toe, and people never hesitated to say so.  “It’s what’s on the inside that counts, Son,” John always said.  “You’re smarter than I was at your age, though.”

Jeff knew there were other differences as well.  His sense of adventure sometimes led him to places young boys had no business being, and he earned a scar or two in his travels.  When he was eight and Daisy was just a pup, Jeff was playing “mountain man” down by the lazy creek that skirted the grove.  He was honing his skills as a marksman, pretending that the whittled stick in his hands was a musket.

The box turtles that lazily sunned themselves on the logs doubled as savage Indians that were planning to steal his whole remuda at sundown.  He was not allowed to take his Red Rider BB gun out by himself yet, so he was forced to make do with his whittled stick until then.

“Pow!” Jeff would shout over and over as he pretended to defend his horses.  Daisy perked her floppy ears and tilted her head at Jeff unsure of what to do.  She was, after all, just a puppy, and she was new to the game.

To Be Continued…

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Self-Published Book Awards Competition

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It’s OFFICIAL!  Remembering August is OFFICIALLY entered in the Writer’s Digest 20th Annual Self-Published Book Awards Competition!  This will be my FIRST competition, and I sincerely hope to compete with the big boys.  So much hard work has gone into this, my first novel, and certainly I am hoping for the best (and preparing for the worst, which is not to win, of course).

Please send positive thoughts and wish me luck, and hopefully by Mid-October (which is when they announce the winners) we will have a positive outcome.  In the meantime, subsequent novels continue to develop (Including Book Two of this series) to this day.  With any luck, the Book Blog portion of these posts will help the newest novel gain some attention, and perhaps we’ll enter it in NEXT year’s Writer’s Digest Competition.

Thank you all in advance for your support!

Rodney