Monday, May 12, 2014

From GoodReads: Barbara Barth's Blog: Dogs, Books, Antiques, Roses - Oh My

I've added a blog to my GoodReads page. Dogs, Books, Antiques, Roses - Oh My.
My first post was added this evening. Just silly ramblings, but that is what I love to do best! Click above and come join me!

From my GoodReads blog:

My dogs are behaving badly this week. I think they are reacting to how preoccupied I've been. Two events are taking place that have me either writing or scratching. I think the scratching is what has the dogs puzzled most. They are used to me sitting for hours at the computer. They are not used to seeing me wiggle about, scratch, and yelp.

1. My blog tour for "Danger In Her Words" with WOW! Women On Writing started May 5th. I've been writing posts for the blog tour and doing a bit of media blitz. So my concentration is focused more than usual. It is amazing how the dogs sit and watch to see when/if I will get up to go to the kitchen and bring them bones. If I move in my chair, six heads jerk up, look around, then sigh and go back to home base. With all the itching going on, I am shuffling more than normal in my chair, which doubly confuses the hounds.

2. I've been working in the garden, planting roses, digging in the dirt. I pulled a few long, three leaf vines off a tall pine tree too. I was quite proud of myself. Until three days later I started to break out on my arms. Poison Ivy. It didn't spread far, but it has a terrible slow burn. The meds make me irritable and a little on edge. The dogs noticed that too. I think I heard little Chloe whisper behind my back to the others . . . perhaps she has fleas.

Seriously, I like to kid about life! My dogs are my best friends. Rescue dogs who rescued me! I'll bet you have dog stories of your own.

It is a great week in spite of the scratching. I am excited about my tour. Women On Writing is the best site to learn and grow. My David Austin rose, planted over a decade ago, is finally blooming its lush delicate pink blossoms, and I'm still planting knock-out roses by my picket-fence. This time cautious about what evil lurks close-by.

My fantasy life is coming true! Dogs, roses, writing, antiques, art, and the best of friends. I am blessed.

Book Talk With Barbara Barth is a blog where I post about other authors dreams, books, and fantasies. Would love to have you join me there.

Write me!

Friday, May 2, 2014

Driving Miss Bertha

Bertha Look-A-Like from the web.
What no dog bones? Six long faces stared at me last night. Midnight to be exact. And the six faces belonged to the six-pack.  I forgot one of the house rules . . . never, ever, ever, forget dog bones. We ran out. I didn't have a back-up plan. If I'd been a perfect dog mom, well, I'd have gotten in the car and driven to the 24-hour Kroger, but I was fat and sassy, having eaten out earlier in the evening with my boomer girl-friends at a Greek Pizza place. My tummy was full. I didn't need any more treats myself. It wasn't as if the dogs hadn't eaten supper. They did not have treats for bed.
If this was a children's story, I'd toss the keys to Bertha and send her out shopping with my debit card. But this is real life, so I did my best. I reached in the huge bag of kibble and pulled out a heaping handful of Iams mini-chunks, and, cleverly disguised as treats, handed a tiny little morsel to each dog as they stood there trying to see what I was dishing out.
Chloe was excited. Her tiny mouth was just the right size to make a mini-chunk seem maxi. Rascal, her roly-poly self, wiggled until I thought she would pop from excitement. I plopped a mini chunk in her mouth and she had no idea she'd gotten anything. She swallowed it as it hit her big pink tongue. She stared me down, one blue eye and one brown eye looking at me in disbelief. Bray, barked, and pranced about, his black hair flowing out as he raced up to me and then slipped backwards, not sure what he was staring at between my fingers. Being the skittish one, he wasn't sure if that morsel was friend or foe, or there at all. Perhaps I was trying to trick him. I could see he was worried. Being of good spirit, I offered him two mini-chunks, and his tiny pinkish black tongue darted out and grabbed them, so quickly, but gently. Then he turned and dashed out of the room. Miss April In Paris was game for anything. She grabbed her mini-chunk with gusto and ran into the sunroom with the tiny treasure wedged between her teeth. Annabelle, her lazy old self, was already asleep in the bed and had no idea she was being short-boned.
Bertha was not to be so easily convinced. She lives for bones. She behaves for bones. She expects bones at night when she is crated. She is the only dog that sleeps in a crate by the bed, the other dogs sleep with me. Bertha has a bit of a history . . . and at night she is best in her bed in her crate. She doesn't mind at all . . . because there are bones to reward her for being the odd dog out of the nest. There were no rewards tonight. Bertha went to her crate and curled up, one eye looking suspiciously at me, the one who forgot the bones. I tossed her twelve mini-chunks, which she picked at with her huge mouth until, one by one, she found them, and delicately ate them. It is amazing to watch her wide mouth so tenderly nuzzle a mini-chunk. She could lop off an arm with that over-sized jaw. She flung one last glance at me and turned her back to go to sleep.
I was exhausted worrying that I'd failed the dogs. They were happy to be in my bed and the bone incident was long forgotten. I could hear them snoring as I tip-toed down the hallway. Suddenly I was hungry. Starved in fact. It had been five hours since dinner, perhaps I should get a snack.
What goes around, comes around. I opened the fridge and stared at its well lit empty shelves. I pulled open the cupboards and all that greeted me was a can of tomato sauce, an odd assortment of spices, and several boxes of Barilla pasta.
No chips, no dip, no salsa . . .  oh yes, and no dog bones.
That was last night. Today I've been writing all day at my computer, getting ready for my blog tour with Women On Writing (WOW) that starts on Monday. I haven't left the house and it's almost seven pm.
Excuse me. I must run. . . Kroger is calling and I'm heading to get groceries. There will not be a repeat performance of last night. And since I am the only one with a license . . . just saying . . .