Dear Reader,

When I was a kid growing up in New York City, I desperately wanted to have a pet. A cute little dog that would follow me around and do my bidding. But when I asked for a pet, my loving parents could only afford to give me two brothers, who did follow me around but would never do my bidding unless I threatened them with bodily harm. Consequently, I had to wait until I had children of my own before a pet finally became part of our household.

The first one, Rocky (whom my son named because that was his Rocky stage—Rocky, by the way, was a female), came from a breeder. Rocky’s father was a guard dog imported from Germany. By the age of one, Rocky turned out to behave like a junkyard dog and was extremely fussy when it came to food. She also only liked a very small circle of people she knew. The rest were known to run for the hills.

Our second dog came from the German Shepherd Rescue of Orange County. Once she stopped shaking (she had been abused), she became the most docile, loving dog I’ve ever had the good fortune to know. She was the embodiment of mellow, and I loved her very much.

Our latest addition is Lucy (also from the rescue society), who loves my husband dearly, on occasion will guard him if I try to come near him and is pure energy in a fur coat. After a year and a half, she still can’t be calmly walked (she wants to catch every rabbit who dares to cross her path), but we have high hopes...

As always, I thank you for taking the time to pick up one of my books and from the bottom of my heart, I wish you someone to love who loves you back (and while you’re waiting, get a dog).

All the best,

Marie