L.S. O'Dea's Blog

I’m being accosted in my yard, and it all started with a walnut.

Every morning, an army of these little buggers wait for me, stalk toward me, and block my walking path, demanding that I give them what they want.

It’s my fault.

It all started so simply.

I bought some walnuts because they are really good for you, but I’m not a huge fan of walnuts. They’re okay, but I’d rather eat almonds. Anyway, instead of letting them go bad, I decided that I’d put them out for the squirrels and birds.

I have a line of fence posts down the middle of my property. I don’t know if there had once been a fence there or if the previous owner was going to put a fence up but never did. The reason behind their existence doesn’t matter. They just are.

And they were the perfect place for me to leave a little gift for the critters.

I know it’s not good to have wild animals rely on you for their food. They overpopulate and they forget how to forage for themselves, but I figured if I just put one walnut (actually, the bag was pieces of walnuts) on about seven to ten fence posts, the animals wouldn’t rely on it for all their food, but it might make their day a little easier.

As with so many things in my life, it sounded good but somehow the plan went a little south (or a lot).

Everything was good…at first.

I’d put a few bits of walnuts out in the morning on my walk. The walnuts would disappear as I made my way around the yard. I’d feel happy because I helped to make their morning  and their lives just a little easier.

At first, I didn’t even realize what was happening. As I’d walk, I hear the movement in the trees. I’d even look up and see the squirrels looking at me.

Waiting…

Sometimes I’d toss them another walnut or two. That was my first mistake (or maybe, that was just my next mistake – lol).

And then one day, I heard the rustling in the trees, but I ignored it. I was walking and working – dictating a story. My head was so far in another world that I didn’t even realize what was happening until it was right in front of my feet.

One of them got brave or really hungry.

The little bugger hopped right up to me. They usually stayed in the cover of the trees but instead this one was on my path and came almost to my feet.

Enter, my next mistake.

I thought it was so cute, that I tossed him a walnut.

As I’m sure you can imagine, things went downhill from there, but just like in a story, I didn’t realize how bad it was getting because I was so enamored with the situation.

I started working with him/her, trying to get him to take the walnut from my hand. He did finally do it, but during all those weeks, I was also feeding the others. I mean, how could I not? They were all watching and hungry, and they are so darn cute.

This went on for weeks.

One time, my oldest dog who’s sixteen and arthritic hopped toward the squirrel and he ran up the post. I decided to try and feed him from my palm since I only had little pieces of walnut left and clearly because I’m an idiot.

I flattened my hand like you would do to feed a horse, but I was soon reminded that a squirrel isn’t a horse. He didn’t gently nibble the food from my hand, tickling my palm with his soft horsey lips.

Nope.

The little tree rat grabbed my finger and tugged.

I swear. I may not be a hand model, but my hands do not look like walnuts – unless you’re a squirrel.

This is where my instincts will either help me survive a zombie apocalypse or be the cause of my immediate demise.

I didn’t panic. I didn’t freak out. I just waited, trying to convince the squirrel that my finger was not a walnut. I knew if I tugged, I’d get bitten. I didn’t want to go through rabies shots, so I waited, talking to him as he kept tugging on my finger.

Fortunately, the squirrel must’ve gotten tired of my “mother” tone and ran up the tree without a piece of my finger.

That was the last time I decided to try and feed him from my hand.

I settled on just tossing him a walnut when he hops over to me.

I also still continue to feed the others who wait in the bushes, but somewhere things changed.

Now, I have five to ten of them and they all come up to me. There are a few who still hide in the trees but most hop right over to me. The things are so stupid they even do it when I have all my dogs with me.

I don’t worry about my oldest dog. The squirrel would have to crawl right into her mouth for her to catch it, but my other two are not arthritic or slow.

I literally had to turn around and make them walk in the other direction because the darn squirrels were all on the path and I didn’t want to see any of them get eaten.

I don’t mind giving them a few walnuts, but I can’t even walk one lap without them almost surrounding me. And they are increasing their territory. They used to just accost me near this one section of my walk, but now, they are following me, demanding food for about half of my walk.

Enough is enough.

I’m just going to have to start getting up early and walking while the little buggers are sleeping. Then I’ll leave a small offering for them because I do still like knowing that I made their morning just a little easier. Life is hard for wild animals, and I like to help, but this isn’t good for my pocketbook or for them. They are going to be picked off by an owl or hawk if they keep leaving the trees.

Plus, I don’t want to have them waiting on my porch like this squirrel in this video. Lol.

This ends my squirrel saga – at least for now.

The post It All Started With A Walnut. appeared first on L. S. ODea | Author.

Let me start at the beginning or even a little before that.

I currently have four dogs. All were strays that I found.

Louis and Charlie are the biggest, laziest, non-dog-like dogs that I have every had. They hate going outside. I have to force them out and then they pee and ditch into the bushes to poop and race back to the porch.

(Charlie is the one with his eyes shut on the couch. Louis is standing.)

Tricks is a true Belgian Malnois. She’s loyal, smart and high strung. She’s also old. They guestimated her age when I found her in 2011 as about 7 which makes her about 16 and that’s old for a dog like her. She’s doing great except for arthritis.

And Sassy –She’s my hound. I found her when she was about 2 and she’s about 13 now. She’s hound to her core. She searches for scent and runs. Because of this, she can’t be loose or she’s gone.

I live on five acres in a very rural neighborhood. The smallest plot is five acres. My yard is completely fenced in – kind of – there are openings and holes in many places.

Now that I’ve given you the background here’s the story.

I took Tricks outside and Sassy. Sassy was on a leash. I walked around my yard a bit, letting Sassy sniff and do her business and letting Tricks run as much as she could. Then I put Sassy on the chain hooked to my porch and brought out Louis. I walked while he darted into the bushes to do his thing.

A lap or two around the yard and he was on the porch. Sassy was also up there. Both of them wanted in the house but I decided they could stay out while I walked. I took Sassy off the chain, let Charlie out. Made him go off the porch and then closed the porch gate/door.

Charlie, like his brother, took off into the bushes to do his business. I walked.

When I walk, I plot my stories so time kind of disappears. I’m not sure how long I walked but each time I passed the porch I glanced at the stairs to see if Charlie was on them waiting to get onto the porch. He wasn’t.

That was weird. The dogs never pushed the gate.

As a matter of fact, I often yell at them to push it open because I’m usually helping Tricks up the stairs and they’re all creating a dog-jam because they refuse to push that gate with their noses.

I do another lap. Still no Charlie. I call him. He never runs off. Never.

I hear dog feet on the porch and this time I look closer. The gate is pushed open just a bit.

Oh shit.

I hurry up the stairs. Louis and Charlie are there wagging their tails but Sassy is gone.

I put Louis and Charlie in the house and start calling Sassy.

I look to Tricks, hoping she’ll be like my little beagle mix, Reese, who used to tattle on the other dogs when they’d run off. She always did her best to take me right to them or at least she led me in the direction that they went.

(This is the little tattletale.)

Tricks just stared at me.

So, I have five acres to search and I’m praying Sassy didn’t get out of the fence.

These pictures will give you an idea of what I was going to have to search.

(I didn’t see any deer today but I like this picture.)

I start on the one side, yelling and looking for white (she’s speckled but that white stands out in the pine forest).

Nothing.

Tricks is following me and getting tired.

I need to search the part of my property that my father used to call “the back forty”. It’s nowhere near 40 acres; it’s about 2 or 3, but I do nothing with that part of my yard. I leave it for the wildlife.

I don’t want Tricks following me over there.

There could be wild boar, bear and I know a few months ago there was a gator in the pond that’s over there. It’s not a big pond and it often dries up, so I don’t think gators live there but I do think they visit while passing through.

Tricks has to go in the house or on the porch.

I call her.

She doesn’t want to do either. She wants to stay outside.

I call her again.

The stubborn ass runs (the best she can) in the other direction. I quickly catch her (she’s sixteen, remember?) and put her on the leash and take her to the house, but I know that every minute I waste doing this is yards that Sassy could be traveling.

After Tricks is secured on the porch, I head to the “back forty”. I tromp through the high grasses, hoping any snake will slither out of my way. I walk face first into spider webs but I don’t have time to worry about a spider on me. I have to find my dog.

The two main roads in my neighborhood are now paved, including the one in front of my house. People drive about seventy down this road. Sassy could get hit or if she decides to chase someone’s chickens she could get shot (it’s happened before out here). And let’s not forget about the gators.

I have to find her but there is no white on the “back forty”.

I trudge back toward my house.

Do I take the time to post her picture on the Nextdoor app in case someone sees her? That’ll take at least fifteen minutes. Do I drive my car around the neighborhood, calling for her? I’ve done this before to find her and other of my escape artist companions.

I decide to take one more look near the house. I go into the back part of my yard. There’s a section that’s fenced in just for my dogs. I don’t use it for them anymore because Sassy digs out and the other three don’t want to be out there. I now leave the gate open to make it easier on the deer – why make them jump if they don’t have to?

I go back there and I see it—White!!!!

It’s Sassy. She’s over in the area where I first looked (obviously not very well -lol).

I holler for her and hurry around the house.

Luckily, she doesn’t run from me. She just kind of slinks around, knowing she was bad.

I want to scream at her and hug her and shake her because she scared the bejesus out of me, but instead I put the leash on her.

Then, I bend and give her a great big hug. She’s safe. My heart can stop trying to escape from my chest by way of my throat. Life is once again good except…

Then I smell it.

She rolled in something. I back away but the stench follows me because it’s on my shirt, in my hair and on my face.

So the lesson for the day is if you find your dog after he/she runs off, don’t hug them unless you like to have the smell of dead things mixed with poop all over you.

The post I lost my dog today appeared first on L. S. ODea | Author.

I’m usually a very motivated person. You have to be in order to be an indie writer/publisher.

There is no one but yourself who’ll make you sit down and put those fingers to the keyboard.

Usually, I have no real problems writing. Every now and then, I’ll have a day or so where I don’t write but it doesn’t last long. I love writing and when I don’t, I get cranky.

But lately I’ve been in a funk.

I know I need to write. I want to write but I just don’t.

I also haven’t been exercising and I know from the past that exercising first thing in the morning motivates me to be productive all day.

Motivation failure take-1. I roll out of bed early and change into sweats and a T-shirt.

I walk the dogs, stretching my legs for my upcoming run. I walk about a half mile.

Then I start jogging. I make it less than a tenth of a mile when I feel something on my thigh. INSIDE my pants.

It’s long – about two inches – and prickly.

I stop. My heart’s thudding in my chest. I really don’t want to know what’s in my pants but I kind of have to.

I pull the waistband of my sweats away from my body and pause.

I’m in the middle of my yard. The street is right behind me.

If this is some weird bug, these pants are coming off.

Perhaps I should go back up to the house, but it’s clinging to my leg and I really, really need to get whatever it is off my skin.

Beware neighbors because you may be seeing my big, underwear’d-butt very soon.

I move the sweats down a bit and away from my body and almost collapse with relief. It’s a pine needle.

Myself and my neighbors were saved from a terrible trauma that day, but it didn’t help my motivation – except shaking my pants before I put them on.

A few more days of fudgy-funk pass by and I decide, today is the day. August just started. Time to start writing again.

Motivation failure take-2. I’m out walking my dogs. I have to actually go into the office today to turn in the on-call phone and I’m taking the dogs for one last quick walk around the yard. My hound dog, Sassy, has started angry-peeing when I leave. You may remember her from this blog post.

I’m almost to the house when Charlie (a boxer-mastiff mix) takes off across the yard after something small and dark. I scream. He ignores me but his brother, Louis, is now paying attention – TO Charlie NOT me – and he runs after his brother.

I run after them (much, much slower). I have Sassy on a leash (she runs away so always has to be on a chain or leash) and I’m screaming because whatever it is Charlie has it.

And it gets away. It’s an armadillo and it’s flying across the yard but my two asshole dogs are right on the poor little thing’s tail and they get him again.

I’ve reversed direction and am running after them. I catch up with them in the brush. I reach to slap them and Sassy dives in joining the chomp-fest on that poor little thing.

I yank her back, kicking at Louis and Charlie, screaming no and yelling for them to stop but they don’t even hesitate at my screams.

Now, I’m getting pissed and scared for that armadillo. It’s a big one, so it’s armor is strong but they are big dogs. I’m still yelling and trying to hold Sassy back as I kick at my dogs. I don’t know exactly when or how, but I end up on the ground, holding Sassy back (who’s howling like a banshee) while I slap at my two dogs. They are paying me about as much attention as a fart in a hurricane.

At this point, Tricks, my Belgian-Malnois, jumps in. I know there’s no way that poor critter is getting away from three of them, but she doesn’t go for the armadillo, she goes for Louis.

Tricks is old – about 15 or more – and she has arthritis bad. Louis is about 9 or 10. He’s in great health and outweighs her by about 20 lbs. I scream at her to stop because I don’t need a dog fight on top of this (and me, remember, I’m on the ground with the armadillo).

Luckily, Louis pays no attention to her and she backs off to pace on the outskirts, not sure what to do.

I go back to trying to get them to stop biting on the poor thing and at some point it scrambles under a palmetto bush. The two dogs haul ass into the scrub with it.

I know there’s no way I can help it with Sassy. I won’t be able to hold her back and dig through the brush for dogs and armadillo. So I drag her to the porch and grab my mop. I’m so pissed and frustrated at this time that I consider grabbing the shovel but I don’t really want to hurt my dogs.

Mop in hand I lock Sassy on the porch and hurry over to the bush. I can hear one of the dogs snorting. I’m imagining it chowing down on that poor armadillo but instead, the little critter found one of his tunnels and Charlie is snorting as he’s trying to dig it out.

I wallop him with the mop.

That got his attention – FINALLY.

I then chase them both back to the porch. I’m furious with them and myself.

I know dogs are dogs and they chase and kill small animals, but I expect my dogs to at least flinch when I scream at them. I’ve had numerous dogs over the years and they all minded better than this. I am top-dog in my house. I have to be.

In Louis and Charlie’s defense, I’ve never spent much time training them because I didn’t think I needed to. They are well behaved dogs — apparently, unless they are trying to kill something.

So, yesterday I punished them. I locked them in separate rooms for most of the day and when evening came around I wouldn’t touch them or let them get on the couch by me. And to really hit them where it hurt, I gave Tricks numerous snacks right in front of them and the three jerk-faces got nothing more than “bad dog.”

Today, training started. If they won’t learn to stop when I say, then they’ll have to spend the rest of their lives being walked on a leash because they have to mind.

I don’t value another dog or cat over the life of an armadillo but I could get sued if they attack someone’s dog or cat. I can’t have that.

I did go back out to the brush and look for the armadillo but I haven’t seen him. I haven’t smelled him either so hopefully, he made it.

I feel so bad for the poor thing and it was another failure at motivating myself because I wasn’t in the mood to do anything after that ordeal.

I was exhausted. My shoulder had been hurting before and this didn’t help it. Not to mention all the cuts on my arms and legs. I don’t know if they are from the brush or the critters. None of them are deep and I’ve cleaned them well, so it doesn’t matter and it’s nothing compared to what that poor armadillo must be feeling.

But just like with the armadillo, I haven’t given up. I will push myself and start writing again. It’s not as life-and-death as what the armadillo went through, but I’m only happy if I’m working on a story or two for at least a few hours a day. And I like being happy so that means I’ll write again.

The post Motivation appeared first on L. S. ODea | Author.

I like to run.

It clears my head and allows stories to form and grow.

Due to my work schedule I usually run in the dark.

And when I say dark, I mean dark. I run in my yard, five acres nothing but pine forest.

No street lights and the closest neighbor isn’t very close.

All I have to light my way are the stars, moon, my yard light (which doesn’t cover my entire path) and a flashlight.

I’ll admit that sometimes, it can get kind of creepy out there.

Especially, when I first started. Every sound was new. Every sound was scary.

The rustle in the bushes

The splash of something big jumping into the water or dashing through it as you plod closer

The screech of an owl

That bark of a gator carrying for miles on the night air

The snort

Not miles away but directly behind me.

I never ran so fast in my life, I probably looked like a fat Flash Gordon.

I made it to the house and up the steps, my heart pounding. I called it quits for the day.

Did I go back out the next night?

Yep and there was no snort.

Later I realized that it was a deer. They snort warnings to one another.

I’ve become quite adept at identifying the sounds made by my furry and feathery neighbors but whenever I hear that snort…I still jump and my pace quickens. Instinct takes over but then knowledge and experience calms that burst of adrenaline and I continue plodding along until I’m done.

The post Running in the dark appeared first on L. S. ODea | Author.

The other day I was walking in my yard and I heard a woodpecker.

I immediately thought, “The harbinger of death.”

Woodpeckers are not known to announce death but that was my thought. Of course, I then decided to use that in my Fracturing Realms series about another realm where flowers and trees can kill or befriend you, dragons fill the sky, elves can morph into animals and a father, wrongly imprisoned wants his family and his revenge (to be released 2021).

The next day, I heard some odd noises.

Animal noises.

I’m getting pretty good at differentiating the sounds of the native critters.

Hawk

Owl (boy, do they make some creepy sounds)

Sandhill crane

Deer

Gator, etc

but this was different.

I heard the same sound later that evening and the next morning on my walk I almost wet myself at the sound of wings.

Silly?

I don’t think so.

If you’ve ever been around big birds you know that their feathers make some big rustles and when you’re alone in the woods with a few scardy-cat dogs, you get nervous at any large animal sound.

So, this is what I saw.

And these may not bring death but they sure do signal that it’s been around.

I’m a big believer in trusting your instincts. Those feelings you can’t explain are there for a reason. They developed over thousands of years. Our ancestors relied on them to survive. So who am I to scoff at them?

This is what I saw when I left to go to the store later that day.

Let me tell you that I thought twice about leaving.

Was someone trying to tell me to stay home? Was I about to get into a car accident or catch Covid-19?

Well, I may be a big believer in instincts but I’m also one to look for the logical answer over the divine or instinctual.

I’d seen the buzzards earlier en mass and now here they were again.

I drove my car over by where they were congregating and saw the deer. It was in the ditch. It was probably hit by a car. I think it was one who hung around on my property. I had been seeing two of them on a somewhat regular basis and now, I’m only seeing the one.

I feel for him (or her). It must be scary to be out there alone. I hope he finds a few fellow deer to hang out with soon.

By the way, I went to the store without any issues but I still think the woodpecker knew.

The post Is someone trying to tell me something? appeared first on L. S. ODea | Author.

The other day, I was bitten on the foot by a spider.

At least, I’m pretty sure it was a spider and not an ant by the swelling.

I’ve had many ant bites and spider bites over the years and I’ve learned how to deal with them myself.

I’m not a doctor, herbalist or naturalpath.

I’m just someone who is pretty darn good at finding things on the Internet and who doesn’t like going to the doctor.

Could be because for years, I didn’t have insurance or the money to go to the doctor. Or it could be that I was sick as a child and I now prescribe to the “ostrich” outlook for health care (head in the sand – also known as “what I don’t know won’t hurt me” approach to medical care).

I know this isn’t a very smart way to manage one’s health, but still I do it.

Don’t get me wrong, if I had a broken arm, I want a doctor.

But for rashes, bug bites, etc. I’ll take care of it myself.

How? Well, let me share some natural remedies that I’ve used over the years.

If you’re bitten by an ant, especially fire ants, scratch the little white blister open and rub dill pickle juice on it. You can use vinegar but pickle juice works well and most folks have that in their fridge. It really helps dry up the poison.

If you’re bitten by a spider, I concoct a paste of water, baking soda, minced garlic, colloidal silver and echinacea. If the bite is on your foot, like mine was this week, then I soak my foot in a bowl full of this, making sure to get that paste all over the swollen area.

Sometimes it’s hard to know exactly where you were bitten. For example, two of my middle toes, and the bottom and top of my foot swelled so much it was like walking on a balloon. I soaked my foot for a few hours, getting that paste all over the top and bottom of my foot. The swelling started going down right away and by the next morning, it was gone.

Just a note, I didn’t have colloidal silver or echinacea so I just used water, baking soda and garlic.

Again, I’m not a doctor and spider bites can be really bad, so see a doctor if you need to.

Another wonderful product is coconut oil. This baby kills fungal issues.

Once I had a rash on my back. I went to the doctor and he said it was fungal. He prescribed some medicine and told me to be very careful and only get it on the rash because it would eat away my healthy skin.

I didn’t like the sound of that, but did use it for a few days.

I saw no change.

So, I googled “natural cures for fungal rash” and found coconut oil.

I slathered that on my rash and it was lighter the next day and gone within three days.

Are these “cures” tried and true? Probably not but they’ve worked for me in the past and I’ll keep using them. Whenever I can, I go the natural route and Google is such a help in finding things to try.

Have you had any luck with natural cures? I’d love to hear about them.

*And I’m going to say this again, I am not a doctor and have no medical experience whatsoever. These are just things that I’ve used over the years.

The post I’m not a doctor, but these cures have worked for me appeared first on L. S. ODea | Author.

I’ve tried numerous health kicks and diets over the years.

No sugar.

Low fat.

No wheat.

The list goes on and on.

Why do I torture myself?

Not sure. I must have some masochistic tendencies (lol).

One day I was in the office and a friend stopped by my cubicle.

ME: “You want a cookie?” I held up a bag with some very sad looking cookies in it.

FRIEND: “What kind of cookie is that?” Trying not to wrinkle her nose in disgust.

ME: “Homemade. There’s no sugar, no butter and no wheat.”

FRIEND: “Then why do you call it a cookie?”

ME: Shrugging as I stared at the oval shaped thing in my hand. “Because it makes me feel better.”

We all do it. We lie to ourselves.

And the people who come up with these diets tell us to.

They say, “Use a smaller plate. It’ll trick your mind into thinking you ate more.”

Or they say, “Shred up carrots and put it on salad and other dishes. Your mind will think it’s cheese.”

Come on. Really?

How stupid do you think I am? (apparently, pretty dumb because I’m following their diet)

No one…Let me say this again…NO ONE is going to fall for that. Carrots are not cheese. Not even close.

So, stop lying to yourselves. Eat your cookie if you want it or eat that ball of oat flour and stevia but call it something besides a cookie.

Anything besides a cookie.

Gross.

My punishment.

My penance for past sins.

Anything at all but it’s not a cookie.

The post Fooling Myself appeared first on L. S. ODea | Author.

Being the youngest of seven was not easy especially since I grew up in a time before video games, cell phones and computers.

Yes, there was TV but nothing like today.

Back then, there were five channels. Programming went off sometime after midnight and all you’d see on the TV was the American flag.

I’m not kidding about this.

Cartoons were on Saturday mornings and that was about it.

This was a time when children had to entertain themselves and I was often the star of that entertainment.

Let me tell you, being a star of the shows and games my siblings put on was not fun.

NOT AT ALL

What did they do, you wonder.

My two main tormentors were my sister, Barb and my brother, Mike. They were five and six years older than me but still the closest to me in age.

And they were quite creative in their games.

My nickname was Goose. I have no idea how I got it or why, but that’s what it was. (probably, got the name because of the phrase “silly goose”).

Sometimes on Saturday morning my brother and sister would sneak into my bedroom when I was sleeping and slip an egg under my pillow.

Then, they’d eagerly wait for me to wake.

They probably spurred that along but I don’t remember. All I remember is waking and they’d be in my room almost bouncing with excitement. (at that age I didn’t recognize the glint of evil in their eyes – lol).

MIKE: “Goose, look what you did while you were sleeping.”  He’d point to my pillow.

ME: “What?” Rubbing my eyes. Sill half asleep.

BARB: “You laid an egg, Goose.”

ME: “Really?” Lifting my pillow in awe and staring at my baby. It wasn’t possible but somehow, I’d done it.

Mike or Barb would then snatch the egg from my bed or my hands.

MIKE: “Yes, and we’re going to eat your baby for breakfast.”

Both of them would run from the room. I’d jump from the bed screaming at them to stop. To bring it back but I was smaller and slower. I’d catch up to them in the kitchen. They’d already have the refrigerator door open where they’d mixed my baby in with the other eggs.

Then, they’d turn to our mom who was always busy working (she had seven kids after all) and say, “Mom, can we have eggs for breakfast?”

She’d say, “Of course.”

And I’d scream, trying to get her to listen to understand that they couldn’t have eggs because they were going to eat my egg. My baby.

My mother was too busy to listen to such nonsense and nonsense it was. I didn’t lay that egg. It wasn’t my baby. Deep down even I knew that but somehow, dreams of magic and the impossible slipped from my imagination and took root in my mind and heart.

What if I could lay an egg? Or fly? Or befriend a dragon and save a prince?

Seeds were planted in my childhood. Potent seeds of trust and lies. Friendship and betrayal. Fear and anger twisted and tangled with love.

My siblings loved me and I loved them (still do).

Sometimes they were my most hated enemies and sometimes my best friends.

They hurt me and I hurt them.

Yet, we fell asleep knowing that we loved each other no matter what.

I write fantasy and romance. My stories tend to have many of these feeling twisted together. Life isn’t simple so stories shouldn’t be either.

The post They Called Me Goose appeared first on L. S. ODea | Author.

I’ve never been a huge fan of song parodies.

Weird Al is definitely not on my playlist but every now and then I find a parody that makes me laugh.

This is one of them.

Plus, I love Queen.

I have to send a thank you to my sister for sharing this one with our family group text or I never – EVER – would’ve found it.

Here’s another one. This is a collection of Disney songs changed to reflect our current situation.

I found this one amusing but my niece was laughing so hard when she showed it to me that she was almost crying. (and a thank you to her too for sharing this with me)

Hope you got a laugh or at least a chuckle. It’ll help start the weekend on a high note.

The post COVID-19 Songs to Make You Laugh appeared first on L. S. ODea | Author.

If you know me at all, you know I love my furry friends.

But sometimes they drive me bat-shit crazy.

Yesterday, a guy was over setting up my new Internet (yeah, I finally have another option besides satellite – no more data caps for me).

Of course, this guy had to come into the house.

My current pack of dogs (and yes, I have a pack) are all pretty laid back and friendly. I don’t know how they’d act if I wasn’t home but when I am they’re cool.

So, I asked the guy if he was scared of dogs and he said no. He came in the house and my hound, Sassy, started barking.

It wasn’t a friendly, “Hey, how you doing?” bark. So, I grabbed her and locked her in the master bedroom.

She was in there for about 30 minutes, barking and carrying on.

When the guy left, I opened the door to the master bedroom and just stood there as Sassy happily sauntered past me – tail up, proud, and with a spring in her step.

She’d peed on the bed and not just a dribble or even one puddle.

Streaks of urine.

Lines of it from one end of the bed to the other.

Apparently, she’d run all over the California King pissing away.

Luckily (I can’t believe I can even use this word in this story), I keep a plastic cover under the sheet for “accidents” like this.

(I don’t really think this was an accident. I think she was mad about being locked up and decided to show me.)

Look at this face. She’s never sorry for anything except getting caught.

She’s been trouble in a cute package since the day I found her and put her in my car, like some weird dog-kidnapper. (I did try and find her home but had no luck.)

This picture was taken a few years earlier but I know, she wasn’t sorry today. Not at all.

I tore everything off the bed, cleaned the plastic sheeting and the floor where she’d also peed and then went into my master bathroom to wash up.

Again. Me. Dead in my tracks.

Sassy had gotten into the litter box in the bathroom and she must’ve dug because there was litter strewn all over the bathroom floor.

And I mean all over.

But she wasn’t done.

Oh, no.

After tossing litter all over the place, she’d gone to the rug that’s outside of my shower and pooped and she didn’t just poop on the rug. Oh no, that would’ve been too mundane for the crime of locking her alone in a room.

She somehow managed to poop on the rug, in my shower and smeared it on the ledge that you step over to get into my shower.

I went into the kitchen to get the cleaning supplies – again — and made sure to send her some pretty dirty looks. She did have the decency to look a little guilty, but nowhere near enough sooth my temper.

When all the messes were cleaned up, I took the four dogs outside for their walk and then came back in to feed them.

I went into the kitchen and got their dinner ready. This took about 5-10 minutes. Remember, we’d just gone on a twenty minute walk.

I went back into the living room and Tricks, my Belgian Malnois,

who’s about fifteen had pooped all over her bed.

I still love them (I think. No, I do. Really, I do) but sometimes I really don’t know why.

The post Sometimes my dogs drive me freaking crazy appeared first on L. S. ODea | Author.