This morning, I answer a knock on the door and here’s this guy with a dog. He says the dog wants to blog. I thought it was an amusing rhyme, but I had to refuse. I mean, let’s be serious here, dogs don’t blog. Fetch balls, roll in the mud, retrieve pheasants, but not blog.
However, the pooch started to stare at me…and, you know, it’s a dog and I like dogs…and after awhile, I-well, let’s just say that I wouldn’t let my cat blog…he wouldn’t in the first place, but a dog?
My name is Andrew Joyce and I write books for a living. Stephen has been kind enough to allow me a little space on his blog to promote my new novel RESOLUTION: Huck Finn’s Greatest Adventure. I think it’s a good book, but what do I know? Anyway, I’m kinda shy about tooting my own horn. So I think I’ll turn things over to my dog Danny—Danny the Dog. He writes articles for various publications and those articles seem to be rather popular. But he’s been offline for a spell and . . . well . . . I’ll just let him tell you about it. So without further ado, here’s Danny.
Andrew took me away from watching reruns of Lassie to help him out here. For a person who works with words for a living, he has very little to say in real life. He wants me to tout his book for him, but I don’t think I will. Instead, I think I’ll address my fans.
Okay, I know you’ve missed me and I have missed you. But please—stop sending me letters, emails and videos begging me to write some more of my adventures.
Wait; let me back up for a minute. For the few humans on the planet who don’t know who I am, allow me to introduce myself by paraphrasing Mick Jagger. I’m a dog of wealth and taste, pleased to meet you. Danny the Dog is my name—a heartbreaker to all females, human and canine alike.
Now back to business. You people are in luck; I do have a new adventure for you.
My latest exploits started on a dark and stormy night. (Not really.) Andrew was at the computer, pulling his hair out because he had been editing his latest book. That’s the reason I haven’t been writing lately. He was hogging the computer, so I was going to bite him. Then I remembered that he’s my sole source of food. (Andrew and I live together on a boat and we share a computer.)
Anyway, after a year of research and writing, and three months of working with his editors, ol’ Andrew was coming apart at the seams. It wasn’t all the work that was getting him down—although he lacks verve and is very indolent—it was the fact that he thought no one would ever read his genius work. His word, not mine.
So just before he fell apart completely, I gave him my patented one-bark command and took him for a walk to calm his nerves. When we returned to the boat, I hopped up on the bench in front of the computer and wouldn’t make room for him.
I barked at him, telling him to go to bed, and like a good boy, he obeyed. Then I stayed up throughout the night fixing his mess. And I must say that I’m hell-on-wheels when it comes to writing.
When I had finished saving his career (career?), I emailed the now genius work to his agent.
If he had sent the book off as written before I got to it, you would never have heard from Andrew Joyce again. But with my paw prints all over the novel, look for it on the New York Times bestseller list any day now. And when they make it into a movie, I’m going to play the lead! I wrote in a part of a hero dog just to give his story some credibility.
Well folks, that’s it for this go-round. Now that I have more access to the computer, look for my next modest adventure: Danny the Dog Saves the World! As are all my adventures, it is 100% true.
Oh yeah, I almost forgot—go out and buy Andrew’s new book and make the old guy happy.
This is Andrew again. On behalf of Danny and myself, I would like to thank Stephen for having us over. It’s been a real pleasure.
By happenstance, a fifty-nine-year-old Huck Finn and his lady friend, Molly Lee, are on hand, but they are not interested in gold. They have come to that neck of the woods seeking adventure.
Someone should have warned them, “Be careful what you wish for.”
When disaster strikes, they volunteer to save the day by making an arduous six hundred mile journey by dog sled in the depths of a Yukon winter. They race against time, nature, and man. With the temperature hovering around seventy degrees below zero, they must fight every day if they are to live to see the next.
On the frozen trail, they are put upon by murderers, hungry wolves, and hostile Indians, but those adversaries have nothing over the weather. At seventy below, your spit freezes a foot from your face. Your cheeks burn—your skin turns purple and black as it dies from the cold. You are in constant danger of losing fingers and toes to frostbite.
It is into this world that Huck and Molly race.
They cannot stop. They cannot turn back. They can only go on. Lives hang in the balance—including theirs.