the LoneDogs of Scrabble (eBook)
400 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
979-8-3509-5170-7 (ISBN)
Erick Redwood (M.Ed., Counseling Psychology) demonstrates considerable versatility in his writing style and experience. Additional to being commissioned to write numerous computer software reviews for two nationally distributed magazines (PC Novice /PC Today), he has authored multiple articles on teaching dogs through trust, freedom of movement and voice tones (The Shuttle). As a ghost writer, he penned numerous letters ranging from personally gridlocked relationships to business and consumer advocacy. In Education, he has worked as a secondary school teacher of English and computer literacy. Also, he has done relationship counseling and facilitated numerous growth/sensitivity groups. Currently he is retired with his three-pack of dogs.
The LoneDogs of Scrabble (A Canine TreeLeg Chorus) flaunts a kaleidoscopic diversity of style that immediately captivates its reader through. Early on in the book it becomes clear that dogs are sentient beings and protagonists whose narrative is threaded and woven throughout the book, intersecting with the human narrative seamlessly. There is a curious balance between complex human relationships and a clever levity that allures us into the canine world. Dogs marvel at humans' capacity to bring them food without hunting for it, to fly in their "e;shells"e; (cars) together, and to continue removing all their good smells with their "e;Scent stealers."e; (vacuum cleaners). The canine voice interprets human realities entirely through the dogs' eyes (and nose), absent of all human constructs. This is further evidenced by usage of the word "e;TreeLeg"e; in the subtitle, one of several words used to characterize a human, foretelling the unique canine voice. Included in the rear of the book is a Dog Dictionary to define the dogs' voice and their perspective on life with humans, although words become mostly understandable in context. The dog narrative begins with Jonas and his aunt Jonas and his aunt looking to rescue a dog from a kill shelter. One stray in the pound smells the "e;footskins"e; (shoes) of one young male, and conjectures whether the new humans, will give him a name and refuge, hunt his food, and in the best of worlds, become his Alpha protector. The human story begins with Jonas, a highly creative thirteen-year-old, who aspires to be a writer and overtly asserts his own style. In school he meets Roy, a sharp-tongued teen from Oklahoma with an acerbic disdain for the immaturity of his classmates, in quick-paced dialogue. Redwood deftly incorporates a "e;shifting viewpoint narrative,"e; where the voice of the human and canine narratives change with the character in focus. Themes are neatly referenced by folksy sayings at the beginning of each chapter and ending with a pithy tie-up. The LoneDogs of Scrabble has already reached a wide appreciative audience of young adults, seniors, and dog /animal lovers. Indeed, it is a tour de force of creativity, and decidedly an upbeat and adventurous novel for multi-generational audiences. And the likeable characters course readers through a gamut of emotions, keeping the pages turning!
Chapter 9
The Bonding
Toothless dogs can’t chew hard bones.
Fall would be ushering a new school year and a new decision by Roy. Before the close of junior high for the summer, Roy had decided that he was tired of being the tallest in his class. He pondered on why his size hadn’t been noticeable in Mexoma. It wasn’t like everybody was taller there. They were just bigger in their thinking, he concluded.
In Mexoma, age was no matter either. He’d been friendly with lots of horse people and their kids. Kids were more like adults —not like Pinetown, where the kids were as helpful as a box of bent nails.
Now it was time to move on. It was summer already, and Roy was resolute to get himself skipped a grade for the next year. His age was borderline– nearly to the day. He talked to the counselor, took some “achievement tests,” got his father’s signature, and was successfully approved to move into to the tenth grade in the coming fall. Then he’d be the youngest; but he didn’t look young and the kids were still, from his perspective, infantile anyway.
Jonas really was a kid too, but at least he had a mind of his own`, Roy thought. But it tickled him the way Jonas looked up to him. It warmed his frozen feelings, having a friend to laugh with. He hated when the only person he could crack on was his pa (Mrs. Sorrenson didn’t count). But time brought changes– and since he and Jonas would begin high school in separate grades, that was one of them. It had been well past a year since Roy’s first visit to Jonas’ house, and looking back to his first visit, it had felt like a different planet.
But Sundays with Jonas and his Aunt Syd and the two dogs stayed the routine. Syd reserved the time in her schedule and the place in her heart for the boys. And she had grown quite fond of Roy. Since the evolving friendship between the boys, she had seen Jonas open up; his Cancer crab was coming out of its shell a little, looking the world over. So Sundays were like family day, of which Roy had become a major part.
Syd chuckled to herself. The Cracker and the Hacker! They even named their friendship! They are both such a trip!.
The foremost agenda Sunday mornings revolved around Syd bringing bagels from town and listening to Lise’s gripes and concerns about Jonas. It was what they mainly talked about while her sister grumpily brewed the coffee. It was part of their Sunday routine.
They sat around the table on the porch or the breakfast room, where Lise would light her morning cigarette while Syd flagrantly fanned the air. Then Syd would initiate a new sarcastic hit on her sister’s smoking, after which they would have their cigarette-long Sunday chat. For Lise, Sundays had become like her sister’s custody visitations to Jonas.
“So, where’s Jonas?” soon became “So, wher’re the boys?” Syd usually asked the Sunday question before Lise had flicked off her last ash. Often, she followed the Sunday question with, “You know, Elissa. You smoke entirely too much. Can’t you at least cut down?” This would prompt the sarcastic invitation for Syd to go and mother the boys, and to leave her alone.
Sometimes, the Sunday conversation would head into a second cigarette and a second round.
“Do you really think Roy’s such a good influence? He’s so bizarre himself!”
“You don’t give him a chance, Lise. His head’s screwed on tight. Normal’s just another name for average,” Syd argued, reiterating that Jonas was fine, and that since his friendship with Roy, Jonas had noticeably more self-confidence – and a sense of humor.
And so on.
It was what it was. Elissa had resigned herself to Syd’s being the key adult in her son’s life – for better or worse. She would just have to do whatever damage control was necessary to counteract Syd’s runaway indulgence of Jonas.
It was a balmy day for May, and Syd carried a home-baked blueberry pie, along with her copy of Seven Arrows. The mother in her loved feeding them food, and the teacher in her loved feeding them new ideas. They talked about Native American folklore, and about the trickster coyote. The two boys would focus on any little thing she’d talk about and run away with it — make it big. Whether it was about how she made her pie, or how the Indians chose their animals. They were both ravenous for food and information, Syd mused appreciatively.
Then, there was her budding idea.
“It’s Golda’s heat soon − time to talk to the boys about spreading some canine cheer. Just once. One litter of puppies to make Golda less temperamental. For the experience. Then I’ll fix her. Fargus’ll be a happy camper– that’s for sure. One big family. And the pups’ll be beautiful!
“And, Jonas’s done well with Fargus. A pup would be a great experience. And Roy could probably take one. I could talk to his folks. Then there’s Lise. Ah, well. I wish I had the space to take them all myself.”
Syd had done her homework. Four puppies could have good homes with contacts from her college, if she needed that many. Two had been social friends from when she was a couple, when she and John were both teaching at the college. Syd assumed they felt guilty for not having stayed in touch with her since the tragedy, but that worked in both directions. Anyway, she felt no compunction about putting them on the spot.
Syd sat lazily by the stream with the boys and dogs, and Golda was too hot to keep running away from Fargus. Fargus looked like he was attached to Golda’s tail by an invisible wire. She’d been snapping at him all day, and she seemed to enjoy it as much as Fargus seemed to enjoy the opportunity to be snapped at.
OL-DA was being her usual snappy self. But Fargus understood gyps. He knew Golda liked pretending not to like him. Lately, she seemed to be really RedLuning, though. She wasn’t her usual snappy-with-a-SnoutSmile self. He couldn’t see any sneaking SnoutSmiles at all. OL-DA seemed serious. So was the scent she wore – the call of the gyp – ride at your own risk.
Fargus peed every tree and stump. He wanted her to know he was everywhere. They had barely left the yard and leg-lifting was purely useless. He was already running on empty – powerless to mark– not even droplets. Fargus BlueMooned for a ride on his gyp. He knew she really wanted him.
OL-DA BlueMooned. It hurt her just to move certain ways. She didn’t lune like fighting with Ar-Gis. She wanted to be left alone. He was constantly sticking his big head into her snout and her business. If she didn’t snap at him fast enough, he would have his big nose in her business before she could move.
Then his silly SnoutSmile − like he was being sorry, even though he was going to badger her anyway, which made her really RedLune. If he wasn’t lifting his leg he was nosing between hers.
Golda luned different than she had before. Fargus was an enticing Alpha, and she couldn’t shake the effects of his smell everywhere. He hadn’t missed a tree. And if she tried to relieve herself, he was there before she could finish. Constantly. She RedLuned again.
Her lunes were making her run crazy. She didn’t know what she was luning.
Ar-Gis was her Alpha, maybe her mate, but she didn’t need him to know it. She was sure of that!
A lit punk dangled comfortably from Roy’s mouth. His cowboy hat had a pencil, a fishing lure, several punks and matches on its wide leather band. Syd smiled at Roy. Roy smiled back at Jonas’ aunt, feeling a little odd for noticing how pretty she was. Sydney Kendall was the bucket that carried the cement of the boys’ friendship
Roy had a fondness for Jonas’ aunt something like he’d had for Carolanne. He still sometimes thought about Carolanne and their rides together with his mom in Oklahoma.
He had even comfortably opted for his own title of endearment for Sydney Kendall.
“Aunt jes feels a mite presumptuous,” Roy announced to the air.
“And Mrs. MISSES the mark,” Jonas punned.
“Miss Syd stands fer like a good ’ole gal,” he told Jonas, “and thet’s jes what Ah’ll call ’er.” Jonas face asked what he was talking about, but his Aunt Syd grinned in pleased acceptance of the familiarity.
The three lazy fishers watched Golda continue to snap at Fargus. A loud whimper affirmed that Golda had successfully caught a bite of Fargus’ shoulder. Fargus tightened the corners of his mouth in an amusing apology, as he continued on back for more, following the magic smell of his deepest instincts.
“Goll dern! She’s meaner then a rained-on rooster!”
“Or a nagging mother,” Jonas added grinning.
How do you guys think of things so fast?” Syd...
Erscheint lt. Verlag | 2.4.2024 |
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Sprache | englisch |
Themenwelt | Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen |
ISBN-13 | 979-8-3509-5170-7 / 9798350951707 |
Haben Sie eine Frage zum Produkt? |
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