My Highlight

You would think that the Super Bowl would be the highlight of my day yesterday, and that half time show was pretty brilliant. Loved the fun and simple aesthetic and did anyone else think that Beyonce and Bruno Mars kind of looked like modern superheroes? Yeah #ubernerd, no shame!

ANYHOW that wasn’t it. I was going to say that it was the dogs again because Oberon was SUCH a pain in the butt! My morning started off with lovemaking—or it WOULD have if a certain big baby hadn’t positioned himself right beside us and started crying for not being aloud up. Kiss. Whine. Kiss. That will be a change I’m looking forward to when we eventually move out. Doors. That in and of itself would have been enough except that later I’m reading in my armchair, my bride comes by and bends down to kiss me, and that same stupid dog shoves his face right into the mix, cold nose bumping our cheeks and his whining in our ears. And as if that wasn’t enough, when we finally settle down after homework, writing, and business, to watch the sunset over the pond from the back porch, he became so exuberant to be between us that he sent my bride’s beer bottle careening and I had to play a quick game of 52 card pickup—if those cards were unknown in quantity, transparent, and razor sharp.  

If this dog was one of Snow White’s dwarves his name would be NEEDY! Excuse me, sir, but I ordered an aloof and independent canine companion, not one incapable of surviving five minutes outside of the center of attention. This dog is spoiled rotten. SPOILED. ROTTEN. His dinner came straight from the table (or at least a huge appetizer) courtesy of my bride during the football game.

But the highlight, THE HIGHLIGHT, was my wife working on her novel. Some of her subject material is hard stuff to deal with and it makes me admire her more for all that she has done. This woman is beyond remarkable and her book is going to be far more powerful than anything I have ever written. Maybe ever will write. And for all that she has poured into it I will be beyond ecstatic. I love that my bride is so compassionate, so driven, and so intelligent and all of that is abundantly clear when she writes. That’s how we met actually, through writing.

What a great touchstone to start from, yeah?

Mournful Howl

We’ve all read the expression “mournful howl” and sort of moved on. The phrase has been used so often that we pretty much just read it as “howl” these days. This morning at 5:15 my wife and I were awoken by the saddest, most HAUNTING howl I have ever heard. Mournful came back into the picture full swing.

One of our dogs is part wolf. She’s a petite little thing who thinks very highly of herself and is both gorgeous and sweet. For reasons we’re not entirely certain of, Anya suffers from occasional bouts of separation anxiety and occasionally has bad dreams. Last night she had a bad one and woke herself up howling.

Let me clarify that we treat our dogs well. If anyone is following me on Twitter you can see the posts of the spoilage that has gone into my own dog from before marriage, Oberon. Let me further clarify something about Anya. She does not make noise. I think it’s the wolf in her. This dog does not bark, growl, or whimper—not that she’s ever had cause for any of these things but that hasn’t stopped the VERY vocal Oberon from making his opinions known or defending us from the dangerous cows and buzzards that live on the ranch with us.

This morning when she woke us up was the loudest I have ever heard her. I found her coming to under our kitchen table and brought her back to bed with us. Anya, unlike our two boy dogs, loves attention, but in small doses, and has a love-hate relationship with our bed. She’s starting to get arthritis and the bed is too tall for her to easily get up, and down on her own and if she cannot have her independence then snuggles usually aren’t worth it for her. With the exception of this morning.

 

She BURROWED in between me and my bride and proceeded to tell us all about her night, how much she loved us, and most importantly, how much she loved the attention she was getting in hushed moans and purrs. I didn’t know dogs could purr. If her head hadn’t been so close to mine (she insisted on a couple of good morning kisses to my chin) I probably wouldn’t have heard her.

After a good twenty minutes of snuggling she was ready to be done and so I lifted her from the bed and placed her in my armchair. I emphasize “my” armchair because if I don’t establish my dominance over it she would never leave it and I would have to replace my favorite reading spot (unacceptable). She KNOWS that it’s my chair and that when I want it I will use it regardless of how much she preens and tries to show what a pretty girl she is. Hey, I said she was quiet, I didn’t say she wasn’t vain.

 

Anyway, our snuggle time made Oberon jealous and I turned around to find that my spot on the bed had been taken over by the big lump head. I figured I had three options. One, kick him out of bed. Two, get up. Three, offer him his own snuggle time. Let me just say that option one was never really an option and that two would have earned me wounded looks from not only every dog in the house but my wife as well. Guess there are worse ways to start the morning.

New Year's Eve Writer's Roulette! Red Riding Hood, OH MY!

You all know the drill by now! Raw and unedited, the results from today's drawing or published below. Would love to hear your thoughts, what this particular combination inspires in you and whether or not you had fun reading today's edition because I had an absolute BLAST writing it.

Genres

Dark Fantasy

Parody

Tropes, Elements and Themes

Man Vs Environment

Butterfly Effect (or Domino Effect)

Trapped/Stranded

  

“Mathew?” Red exclaimed, dropping the basket of food she’d brought for her grandmother.

“Um, no,” came a falsely high pitched reply. “No, no Mathew here, just your dear sick grandmother. Come here and let me pinch your cheeks.”

“Mathew,” Red said, stamping her foot. Her red hoodie made her eyes seem to flash. “What are you doing here? No, forget that, what the hell are you doing in my Granny’s clothes?”

Mathew stood at least six and half feet tall, but was stuck looking up piteously at the five foot four Red from the comfort of her grandmother’s flannel sheeted bed.

“It’s not what it looks like,” he said, yanking the covers up over his chin.

“And what the hell is it supposed to look like? Huh?” Red demanded, hands on her hips. Her shoe slid on something wet as she repositioned it and she looked down. The bright green kale shake she’d mixed earlier that morning and packed away in a thermos had spilled when the basket dropped and was leaking all over her new shoes.

She swore and stepped out of the mess, bending over to yank the basket off the floor. “Look what you made me do. Get out of Granny’s bed and help me clean already.”

Mathew pulled the covers higher up over his snout.

“Don’t make me come over there and yank you out of bed Mathew Conaway,” Red snapped.

Face burning beneath his fur, Mathew eased himself out of the bed, painted toe claws sinking into the rug around the bed before clicking on the wooden floor as he stepped closer. The flannel night gown was much too small for him and the hem swirled around his thighs. Painted clawed hands tried to tug it lower as he daintily made his way across the cabin’s only bedroom, ears tucked low in shame.

Red sighed and shook her head as they crouched down together to clean up the spilled basket. “I swear you have got to be the most messed up werewolf I have ever met.”

“Look, Red,” Mathew said, dabbing up the spilled shake with the blanket from the picnic basket. “It really isn’t what it looks like?”

Red picked up a squished sandwich and baggie of broken cookies and threw them into the basket. “Really? ‘Cause it looks like you dressed up in Granny’s nightgown to get your rocks off.”

If looks could kill Mathew would have already been in the icy grip of rigor mortis. “No!” he said quickly. Too quickly. “I’m not…I’m not…I’m the alpha’s son. It doesn’t…I don’t…”

Red yanked the soggy blanket out of his hands and hurled it into the basket with the ruined lunch. “Oh give it a freaking rest, Mathew! I caught you trying on my skirts years ago when you thought I wasn’t home.”

His ears perked up in surprise. “You did?”

“Why’d you think my door was always unlocked when you came by?” Red rose to her feet, taking up the basket and all its contents.

“I…just thought I was lucky.”

She snorted, letting her freckled face wrinkle in derision. “Yeah, you were. I figured you’d tell me when you were ready. I thought you liked…” her face burned crimson for a moment before her eyes narrowed to dagger sharp slits. “And then I find you here! Wearing my sick grandmother’s clothes!”

Mathew hung his head in shame. His ears wilted and his tail curled between his legs. “You thought I liked you.”

Red’s hand was halfway to slapping him when she caught herself. Mathew might be the gentlest werewolf she knew but slapping a werewolf was just plain stupid no matter how freaking mad he made her or how badly he deserved it.

“I. Did. Not.” She bit off each word like a stale cracker.

Mathew stayed crouched on the floor. Some of his fur was pushing through the cloth where the pajamas were too tight for his barrel chest. “Red, it’s not that I don’t like you. I think you’re great. It’s just…”

“Just what?” Red shouted. “Just what? What can you possibly say that will make this whole situation any better?”

“You’re gorgeous,” Mathew said.

Red dropped the basket again. Kale shake spilled anew over her shoes.

“You always have the most stylish clothes,” he went on, raising up to his full height to tower over her. 

“Always know what best to wear to compliment your figure and even make that hoodie look like Prada.”

Red’s lower lip quivered.

“But your grandmother…she is SO FINE.”