It is so exciting to announce the release of The Good Dog by Laura Stamps. Let’s check out what this fun and touching novella is about:
Ashley is not a dog person. She’s not. Just ask her. Yet for some reason she’s obsessed with Chihuahuas. And she’s not happy about it. No, not at all. Not when she has other issues to deal with. Like chronic anxiety. And panic attacks. And a crazy ex-husband who can’t stop stalking her. Yeah, the last thing Ashley needs is a dog. Or so she thinks. Until a stranger at PetSmart tells her a dog is better than a husband. Could this be true? Ready or not, Ashley is about to find out. Endearing, empowering, entertaining, and laugh-out-loud funny. THE GOOD DOG is all of that and more!
Excerpt from the Book
Don’t know how it happened. Have no idea. But I’m obsessed with dogs. It’s a new thing for me. This obsession. Relatively new. Just in the last month. Okay, maybe two months. Possibly three. Okay, four. Whatever. And not all dogs. Just small dogs. The smallest. Chihuahuas. I’m obsessed with Chihuahuas. And I have no idea why. Makes no sense. Absolutely none. The last thing I need is a dog. Dogs are too needy. Everyone knows that. Needy. Not what I want. Not what I need. Even from a dog. And yet, and yet. I seem to be obsessed. With these little Chihuahuas.
But here’s the thing. I know nothing about dogs. Don’t even like dogs. Never wanted a dog. Never owned a dog. Well, not technically. Not me personally. Okay, we had a dog when I was in high school. A big dog. But it wasn’t my dog. It was my brother’s dog. Dogs were his thing. He was the one who wanted a dog. Not me. He was the one who promised to take care of it. Pleaded, begged, pestered our parents for a dog. Relentless, he was. Then one night dad took too many pills (he called them his “mood elevators”), ended up in the pet department at Richway (we still don’t know how that happened), and bought a puppy. Pill poppers, my parents. Both of them. Mom was just as bad. Worse, even. Filled her prescription every month at the local pharmacy. One hundred pills at a time (what was her doctor thinking?). Those green and black capsules. Everywhere. All over the house. I’ll never forget them. High anxiety. That’s what she said she had. Too bad those pills never worked. On the anxiety. As for the high? Oh, yeah. Worked like a charm.
We only had a dog for a year. Ran away the first chance it got. The quest for greener pastures, I suppose. Or maybe it just wanted to be fed. Dogs need to eat. And drink. It’s important. But my brother wasn’t so good at that. Or brushing or walking or playing with a dog. He was lousy at that too. It was probably the weed. Quite the doper, my brother. A year later we were dogless again. And my brother never mentioned dogs again. And dad. He never went to Richway again. But then he never remembered how he got there the first time. He was good at that. Never remembering. But that was dad.
My best friend thinks my obsession with Chihuahuas is a guilt thing. Like I feel bad about the way my family treated that dog. Like I could make up for it by adopting a dog and taking good care of it. Like this would fix all the bad things that happened back then. To the dog. To me. To my brother. Like that would make everything right. But would it really? No. Not even close.
And if you think I like being obsessed with Chihuahuas, think again. Just because I joined a national group for Chihuahua rescue on Facebook. Just because I comment with little hearts on all the posts for homeless and abused Chihuahuas. Just because I cruise my local Petco every week to look at dog sweaters. Just because I know the color, size, weight, age, and sex of the Chihuahua I would want if I wanted one (which I don’t). If I ever adopted one (which I won’t). None of that means anything. Nothing. Not a thing. Nada. Do you hear me?
However, speaking of that Facebook group, you should have seen yesterday’s post. The one about the tiny Chihuahua, the tan one (the color I want), four pounds (the weight I want), about three years old (the age I want), female (the sex I want) in a precious pink sweater. Such a tiny little thing. Tiny, tiny. And then there’s this. This! She only has one eye. Can you imagine? Poor abused, neglected dog. Poor little Polly. That’s her name. Fully vetted. Available for adoption. And she’s in Dallas. Thirty minutes from where I live. How amazing is that? I hope a good person adopts her. She deserves it. A good person with a loving home. Someone who knows what it’s like to be abused. To escape. To finally get away from the people who hurt you. Someone like me. But not me. Someone to spoil her. To give her more love than she can imagine. That. That’s what Polly deserves. Someone who likes dogs. Someone who wants a dog. A dog person. But not me. No. Not me.
And yet, and yet. She’s so adorable. In that little pink sweater. I do love those tiny dog sweaters. Too cute. Too bad I’m not interested. And I’m not. Well, maybe. One day. I don’t know. Dallas is only thirty minutes away. Maybe I could go. Just to look. Nothing more. A good, loving person. Like me. But not me. A dog person. That’s what Polly needs. Someone to love her. Like she deserves to be loved. Someone she can love. Like me. But not me. What do you think? Should I go? Maybe. I don’t know. Okay. Just to look.
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About the Author
Laura Stamps loves to play with words and create experimental forms for her fiction and prose poetry. She is the author of 50 novels, novellas, short story collections, and poetry books. Most recently: IT’S ALL ABOUT THE RIDE: CAT MANIA (2021, Alien Buddha Press), DOG DAZED: A NOVELLA (2022, Kittyfeather Press), and ADDICTED TO DOG MAGAZINES: A NOVELLA (Impspired, 2023). Her fiction and poetry have appeared in over 2000 magazines, anthologies, broadsides, and literary journals worldwide. Laura has won numerous awards, including the Muses Prize. She is the recipient of a Pulitzer Prize nomination and 7 Pushcart Prize nominations. You can find her every day on Facebook (Laura Stamps). Website: www.LauraStampsFiction.blogspot.com