Lindsay Downs and I have a lot in common. We both have a love for writing. We are women. We live in the US. Okay. So maybe two people can't base a life-long friendship on just those factors. Nevertheless, I am positive that when we finally get together, we won't stop talking. Here's the glue that brings us together – we are both avid dog people. We love dogs. We like to talk about them in real life and in fiction. Lindsay and I swapped blogs today! You can see my post at http://murdersandmysteries.wordpress.com/ . Please visit with me at Lindsay's after you read what Dakota (who by the way is an extremely handsome fella) has to say about being a hero.
Being a Hero Isn’t All It's Cracked Up To Be
Let me tell you readers out there, being a hero sure ain’t no beer and skittles. It’s hard work, if you can get it.
What, you think the hero pops up in a book at our authors whim. No way. There’s a selection process the hero to be or HTB has to go through.
Do the HTB achieve the right look. You know the ones I’m talking about. That sultry gaze as he casts on the heroine to make her melt into his arms.
The way his hair, which BTW can’t be to short or long but the right length. It will at a moment’s notice need, and I might add without help, to fall over the forehead. This way the heroine can sweep in and brush the hair up creating a heated moment between them.
If they make it there then the exams which can be murder, pun intended. Questions range from choice of weapon(s) to style of clothing, even down to footwear.
The hardest are the ones about dining. Where to take the heroine? Who does the ordering? What if she orders fish, you steak, what wine? Or do you order the same to simplify matters?
Let’s say, for the sake of argument, you, the HTB, pass all the tests for entrance into the school, then the real work begins. Days, weeks and sometimes even months of lessons both theoretical and practical await you.
After all this time the big day arrives and your author selects you to be the hero in their next book. You two survive all the way to the last page and ride off into the sunset together. There, to live as they say in the romance writers world HEA.
Until, oh you didn’t think there was an UNTIL, she finds someone better. Handsomer. A better dresser. More articulate. Has more money.
So where does that leave the hero you cheered for. Kicked to the curb like a dog.
Which is exactly my point here. You see, I’m Dakota, a collie and the hero in the Emily Dahill Series. Being a collie automatically makes me woman’s best friend, okay man’s also.
The way we met still brings puppy collie tears to my eyes but it was and still is a match made in heaven. All I will say is it was love at first pink tongue lick on her nose and her burying her face into me puppy mane.
No school was needed for me. Well, I did take a few classes but the teacher threw my out because I surpassed the others including the two-legged teacher, because I learned everything I needed from my mom, Kebi.
Clothes, forget it. Give me a nice camo collar any day. And that hair, never a problem since she keeps me groomed.
Food, give me a steak at the end of a case. The best thing is I’ll always be there for her because we are a team that can’t be beat, tricked or outsmarted.
The only complaint I’ve got is when I’m sleeping when we are at the office sometimes she moves her foot without telling me and my head hits the floor. You see, I love using her foot as a pillow, and she lets me.
Now that you’ve seen the difference, who would you like to read about: a two-legged hero who will more that likely end up in the gutter or a collie who always has a soft bed, great food and a gentle touch at the end of the day.
A Body in the Attic
Special Agent Emily Dahill, Dakota along with her team of technicians are sent to Master Sergeant Annabelle Carlyle’s Victorian style house for what they think is a simple break-in. What they find however, turns out to be even more ominous and far reaching.
A secret passageway leads to a mysterious gunshot. When the prime suspect is cleared they still have no clue who the shooter is, or why. Could the shooter be the same individual who took a shot at Dakota?
Add into the mix the FBI and their unexpected involvement in the case.
Soon they learn the break-in had been a cover-up for a more nefarious crime. One that involves Emily’s nemesis, the brown-haired man, and millions of dollars being sent to terrorists.
Will they solve the case before the money disappears forever and more bodies turn up? Not even the inestimable Dakota is sure.
Excerpt- (NOTE-No collies were injured in the writing of this book)
Dakota, annoyed he’d lost his foot pillow, looked for another amongst those still seated. Not happy with the choices he had, with a reluctant puppy sigh, he flopped to his side, having to settle with the floor. His eyes were about closed when a sound, so faint only his keen ears could pick it up, brought him up so his legs were now underneath him, ready for a quick rise to chase the whatever he’d heard.
He perked his ears as the sound got closer. Cautiously, he looked at the people around him, not all surprised to notice they weren’t aware of the approaching footsteps. Which meant the investigation fell to him, something he proudly excelled at.
Silently, he rose to his paws. With a sly glance around to make sure no one was watching, he slipped to the hall door.
He checked right. Nothing.
A look left showed the screen door, the only barricade between him and the outside. Head low, his nose barely off the wooden floor, he stepped out of the room, searching for an airborne scent to match the sound. Using his nose, he pushed open the door, let it slide down his side so it wouldn’t make any noise, and stepped out onto the porch.
A gentle evening breeze ruffled his mane, but brought something unexpected. A familiar human scent. Not one from his people either. His ears twitched when a rustle in the bushes to his left caught his attention.
He’d been around crime scenes long enough to know that only his partner and her people belonged anywhere near one. Acting, not reacting, he bolted down the stairs toward the movement.
Dakota saw something that made his mind quickly tell him to retreat, but his body was traveling too fast: an arm raised with a pistol pointed directly at him.
He launched at the person.
A shot rang out.
Dakota’s body twisted as he came down on his side, eyes on the shooter. A brief look, a deep inhale of the scent to remember what the man looked and smelled like, and then his eyes closed.
Through the ground, he could feel the individual retreating.
He heard feet running his way, and he smiled.
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