Smith Mountain Lake Mystery Writer

Contemplations from a quiet cove on Smith Mountain Lake.

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Location: United States

I'm a Southern gal who loves life, my husband and our family (which, to date, includes 13 grandchildren). I enjoy being with friends and family. But I also like being alone and thinking up plots for future books. I've published two novels, both mysteries, and I'm working on my third. For more about my books, visit me at If you ever hear me say, "I'm bored," please get me to the ER immediately! Paddling my kayak and snapping pictures of the critters I see relaxes me. Beach music has the opposite effect--when I hear those old "doo-wops" I want to dance.

Wednesday, December 19, 2012


He arrived February 29, 2008, the same day folks came to do tree work. We thought he belonged to them. When they finished three days later we asked if they were going to take their dog. "He's not our dog," they said. "We thought he was yours." And from that day until December 8, 2012, he was. I guess he still is, always will be.

We named him Yellow Dog because he was, well, yellow. And he was a dog--a loving, caring, non-barking dog . We searched for his owner, put ads in all the newspapers within a 50-mile radius, distributed posters with his picture on them, called all the animal hospitals and dog pounds. A hopeful lady from Amherst County called, but he wasn't hers.

Best buddies Yellow Dog and Angus.
Yellow immediately bonded with Angus, our 16-year-old mixed breed who appeared at our previous home years ago. We believe Yellow's presence gave Angus two more years of life.


Angus and Yellow gazing at the lake.
Yellow rested this way often.

Even though Yellow was part Lab and part Golden Retriever, his feet weren't webbed and he despised the water! He'd go down to the dock only if we were there or if he thought grandchildren were planning to fish. In the almost five years we had him, he never once stepped foot on the floating dock.
Yellow watching Ron release a small perch.

Yellow waiting for granddaughter Micah 
to hook a fish.
Still hoping for a fish.

Matthew and Yellow Dog.

Grandchildren Matthew and Emily
with Yellow Dog and Angus.

Yellow and Ron at the Blessing of the Animals at 
Trinity Ecumenical Parish, Moneta, VA.
 Granddaughter Johanna with Yellow a couple 
of months before he died.

Yellow sleeping with his head on Ron's foot. Ron 
was Yellow's favorite person in all the world.

On December 8th, we had Yellow Dog put down. We didn't want to; we'd nursed him night and day for over a month, rarely left him alone, wanted so badly for him to get well. But cancer had invaded his body and his blood stream; his pain became unbearable. And we could no longer watch this loyal and loving companion suffer. He died with our arms wrapped around him. It broke our hearts.

We had him cremated, picked up his ashes yesterday (more tears), will bury the ashes in a small hole next to where his buddy Angus is buried. And we'll cry a little. Or maybe a lot. People are already asking when we're getting another dog. Right now we don't think we'll ever want or have another one. It just plain hurts too much to lose one. But perhaps one day another needy fellow will appear at our house just like Yellow, Angus, and all the other dogs we've adopted and loved over the years. We'll see.

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