She now has to share her life with two other dogs, four cats and a five year old boy. Her eye sight is bad, her hearing suspiciously tuned to the sound of the biscuit packet and nothing else, and her legs are more than a little bit wobbly. To rob her of the last shred of dignity she has we now make her wear dog boots and socks to protect her feet. Still she bears this with remarkable good grace.
Our other animals are all rescue animals, except for one cat who showed up in our kitchen one day and demanded food - she's been with us ever since. So when Greg Smith contacted me with his latest book The Pits I felt that I had found a kindred spirit.
The Pits is a book about a man and his dog, which all dog lovers - in fact animal lovers - can get behind. And Greg is donating half of his royalties to animal charities, so if you are going to read one book this year let it be this one. Here's an extract and as we are moving up in the world a video too!
Close by, a handful of weeping men loaded a civilian pickup truck with bodies, each wrapped in blood-soaked cloth. A group of distraught women mixed with them, wailing and grasping at each bundle being handled. Overwrought by their gruesome task, they were totally oblivious of the poor bewildered individual sitting quietly among their shuffling feet.
A runty tan pup sat sorrowfully beside one particular body. Occasionally it raised a paw and tentatively touched the bloody cloth, or prodded it with its nose. Kramer observed transfixed as the pup peered at the people, then at the small bundle of cloth, then at the people again. Then the pup nuzzled the bundle as if trying to awaken the person wrapped inside.
A grief-stricken man knelt and reverently lifted the tiny body. Judging by his age, he’s likely the father. As he stood, the pup whimpered as if to say, hey, wait a moment. The wailing increased as hands passed the body up to a blood-streaked villager standing in the back of the pickup. Just as he turned to place the bundle with the others, a gust of wind flipped up a corner of the cloth, revealing a tiny hand. Instinctively, Kramer felt that it belonged to a very young girl.
With the last victim onboard, the pickup started up and pulled away. The men and women mourners followed close behind trying to comfort each other as best as they could. The procession gradually left the square, disappearing from view as a waiting throng swarmed after it as it passed into a nearby street.
A strange silence fell over the square. It seemed as if the few remaining locals and all the Marines had their attention riveted on the lonely pup still sitting in the road. It hadn’t left that spot in all this time. Now it sat there staring after the pickup and those following it.
Captain Kramer crossed the street and gently lifted the pup. An expression of pure unadulterated love met his eyes. A light sparkled behind those dark brown eyes that he couldn’t describe. He just felt it.
“Well, hello there, little guy. Looks like everyone’s gone and left you all alone. Ain’t fair, is it? What say I do something about that.”
The pup didn’t squirm or attempt to get away. It merely fixed its eyes on him as if it knew that this person would care for it, keep it safe, and maybe even feed it occasionally. As the six-foot-six Kramer cradled the puny creature in his arms, he was oblivious to the gazes directed his way from all around the square.
Read more: http://gregsmith-writer.weebly.com/
Read more: http://gregsmith-writer.weebly.com/ Don't forget 50% of proceeds go to charity!
Do you want a spot in the Limelight? If so send me your extract to firstname.lastname@example.org
And as for The Running Game - the reviews are in! Take a look Reviews for The Running Game L E Fitzpatrick