The Cat Who Wanted A Dog by Micki Peluso

Great review from a friend who likes to color.

Book Reviews by Pat Garcia


There are not enough superlatives to describe this delightful storytelling coloring book. It is the perfect mixture of storytelling and illustration, of a writer, Micki Peluso and an illustrator, Neva Franks, both coming together to bring joy to children and adults with a child’s heart.


The Cat Who Wanted A Dog restored my love for coloring. It forced me to go out and buy crayons. Now, I take the time to paint a picture, and these are precious moments I treasure.

Your children will enjoy this little book and maybe you will too. I know I do as you can see below from the book I purchased.

Excellently done, Micki Peluso and congratulations on the teamwork with Neva Franks. You two make a great team.



Shalom aleichem,

Pat Garcia August 13 2016

Pat Garcia

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More About ‘The Cat Who Wanted a Dog’

99 cent kindle sale–October 5th–October 12th

Have you ever known a cat who wanted a dog? If not, you’ll want to read this aspiring little children’s book, ‘A Cat Who Wanted a Dog’ and perhaps share it with the little  ones in your life.mickiheadshot


Last week I introduced you to Micki Peluso, a phenomenal freelance writer, award winning author, 3rd place winner in Predators and Editor contest, and 1st place winner for People’s Choice award.



Now, I’d love for you to really get to know Toby, the protagonist of this story, through the pages of its text. In addition to the wonderfully scripted text, I hope you’ll enjoy the coloring book illustrations revealing so much about Toby’s character.

My favorite illustration is the one showing Rocky licking Toby’s coat. I hope you’ll soon share which illustration is your absolute favorite, too.


toby-the-catMicki shares a true story of Toby, a cat she and her family loved for years. Toby wanted his own little dog, and he was in for a big surprise. Go along with Toby now, as Peluso tells his story for what she perceives as her cat’s point of view. It’s really a cute story.


Hi boys and girls, I’m Toby, a handsome cat if I say so myself. I do whatever I want, but Grandma and Grandpa thinks they own me! My favorite thing is to take Grandma’s shiny jewelry and hide it. Grandpa is still looking for his favorite pen. I have one friend, Casey, a wild cat who lives outside, but she tells me through the screen door about the outside world. I was a happy, cool cat until—-well, read what I wrote about the day Grandma invited the ‘Monster’ to visit. Yikes!


Do you think Casey will ever convince Toby to join her outside, or is Toby far too comfortable inside enjoying the joys of life his family joyously gave him all those years?

See what others have to say about Mick’s new book:


5.0 out of 5 stars Delightful!

By Bette A. Stevens on August 31, 2016

Format: Paperback Verified Purchase

After reading Micki Peluso’s memoir and several of her short stories, I could hardly wait for her first children’s book to arrive in my mail box. The day it arrived I was not disappointed. Peluso’s unique sense of humor shines through in this delightfully written and illustrated coloring book for kids. I highly recommend it for children of all ages. Whether a read-aloud or read-along, the whole family is sure to smile. And lessons on friendship will long be remembered. My grandson loves The Cat Who Wanted a Dog and so does this still-laughing-out-loud grandma. ~ Bette A. Stevens, Maine author of award-winning picture book Butterfly and other inspirational books for children and adults.

5.0 out of 5 stars Books That Sow: Strength, Character & Diversity, DBAon September 19, 2016 Format: Paperback

‘The Cat Who Wanted a Dog’ is a really cute children’s book about a house cat who was really comfortable with his life indoors even though Casey, a wild cat who lived outside, tried to convince Toby he’s truly missing out on all the adventures in the outside world.Toby ignored Casey because he was content with his wonderful life indoors with his family until one day his life changed forever when grandma’s daughter and her two kids came to visit, but they didn’t come alone. According to Toby’s eyes, they brought along a ‘monster’ and he was a huge golden retriever, at that.

Later, Toby learned this ‘monster’ was called Rocky. As far as Toby was concerned, Rocky was surely starving for attention, or was it friendship he wanted? Whatever the reason, Toby wanted no parts of it! Rocky did all sorts of things trying to get Toby’s affection and attention, but all Toby could see was huge annoying ‘monster’, or so it seemed.

Soon, Toby began taking advantage of Rocky’s attention playing tricks on him. Toby’s plans were to show Rocky who the real boss was in his home. After all, Rocky was on Toby’s turf.

Rocky found himself all out of ideas gaining Toby’s friendship, but he decided to try one last thing. Rocky dropped a dog treat at Toby’s feet. Imagine that! Can you believe a dog giving up a treat?! Rocky must’ve wanted Toby’s friendship awfully bad, huh?

Do you want to know what Toby did next? Well, I don’t want to be the one spoiling the end of this story line, so you’ll want to purchase a copy of Peluso’s children’s book for all the children in your life. I believe you’ll find children enjoying this book, but that’s not all. ‘The Cat Who Wanted a Dog’ is filled with coloring book illustrations the children are sure to adore and spend time coloring for hours.

I find this children’s book a two for one steal. Children can read the book, and then color the illustrations which carefully help tell the wonderful story revealing Toby’s feelings, and emotions about wanting a dog.

And, don’t forget about the holiday season soon to arrive. ‘The Cat Who Wanted a Dog’ would make an absolute wonderful stocking stuffer.


Cherrye S. Vasquez, Ph.D., author/writer of children’s books
Books That Sow: Strength, Character & Diversity, DBA Link for ‘A Cat Who Wanted a Dog’ 

See Peluso’s other book ‘…And the Whippoorwill Sang’

Coming Soon:

‘Don’t Pluck the Duck’ (Release date, 2016)


Meet the Author, Micki Peluso

Meet Author, Micki Peluso BIO:

Micki Peluso began writing after a personal tragedy. This lead to a first time publication in Victimology: An International   Magazine and a career in Journalism. She’s freelanced, and had been staff writer for one major newspaper, written for two more,   and has published short fiction and non-fiction, as well as slice of life stories in colleges, magazines and e-zine editions. boys and girls!

‘The Cat Who Wanted a Dog is a children’s coloring book based on a real cat who meets our visiting grand dog and becomes friends with him after a really bad beginning. Toby wanted to write this story all by himself but his claws kept getting stuck in the keyboard. So I told him that I’d help a little. This handsome cat is not your ordinary cat. He also insists that he’s a doctor. I will admit that when he lays across my aches and pains and purrs, I do feel better. He also does this to other animals and children and they all feel better too. The animal doctor says that the sound of cats’ purring hits a note that is healing to people, themselves and other animals. Isn’t that amazing?

Toby has lived with Grampa and me since he was a kitten. Normally he is a well-behaved cat, except when the Christmas tree is decorated. He waits until nighttime and takes all the soft ornaments off the branches. At least he leaves the glass balls alone! Then he curls up in the manger of straw and cuddles with the baby Jesus.

Don’t give me a dirty look, Toby. You know this is true.” Well, he’s off to sulk in a corner and wait for his friend, Casey, to stop by the screened in patio so he can complain to her about me. Sigh. We feed Casey and give her warm blankets and a litter box but even Toby can’t convince her to come into the house. Se likes her freedom. I know Toby is sad since our grand dog went back to his home after a long visit. He keeps trying to tell me something. Can any of you figure out what it is that Toby wants from me?

Other Works from Micki Include:

Micki’s first book was published in 2012; a funny family memoir of love, loss and survival, called, . . . And THE WHIPPOORWILL SANG which won the Nesta CBC Silver Award for writing that Builds Character, won third place in the Predators and Editors Contest, and first place for People’s Choice Monthly Award. She has stories in ‘Women’s Memoirs’, ‘Tales2inspire’, and ‘Creature Features.’ Two of her short horror stories were recently published in an International Award winning anthology called ‘Speed of Dark.’ She is presently working on a collection of short fiction, and slice of life stories in a book collection called, ‘Don’t Pluck the Duck’, due to be released in 2016.  for interview and much more!!!


A City Wounded Rises Stronger



                              A CITY WOUNDED RISES STRONGER                                             


On this third anniversary of 911, our nation is not nearly recovered. That horror is forever etched deep into the soul of America. New York City, home of The World Trade Center, bares a gaping hole in its spectacular skyline, as if its two front teeth were knocked out. Buildings can be replaced. Innocents incinerated in an instant leaving no trace of their humanity to be buried, cannot.

We are angry.

New Yorkers mourn, observing that famous panoramic view, remembering the loss of loved ones who perished. Our pain does not subside, scars do not heal.   Our sorrow knows no comfort, nor ever will.

One must endure the unthinkable to fully comprehend. In a city of millions, all have either lost loved ones or know someone who has. Our pain is ever present. Our rage knows no rest.

New Yorkers are unique, in that we face crime and threats to our safety on a daily basis. Yet, 9/11 stunned us.  

How dare terrorists use our own planes to attack us on our own territory? It makes us vulnerable. It also makes us irate, jolting us to a new awareness, shaking our complacency and replacing it with resolve. Never again will we be caught unawares.

Tales of honor are printed, televised and recited, feats of untold bravery . . . to what avail? Terrorism faces us daily, hovering like a dark evil disrupting our lives. We will never again feel truly safe.

A recent article in a New York newspaper has exposed the truth of the toxins spread over the city. According to an EPA worker, we were lied to concerning the true dangers. Our losses on that infamous day could have reached 50,000 casualties. In truth, the loss of life was approximately 3000. Yet, in years to come, the toxic debris of mercury, asbestos and other carcinogens may well reach, or surpass that 50,000 number.  

Already, many citizens including FDNY, NYPD and all those initially exposed are being diagnosed with asbestos and toxin related cancers. Many more New Yorkers may be infected. For, as crow flies, the toxins from Ground Zero blew across all five boroughs of New York and parts of New Jersey.

May God grant us the fortitude to vanquish the hatred feeding the bloodlust of the terrorists and the grace to forgive these hellish creatures bent on fanatical hatred and destruction.  

We are New Yorkers. Our city has been assaulted and our loved ones’ ashes mingle with the twin towers imploded into nothingness. We mourn, but we will not be taken unaware ever again.

We are a city wounded, but these wounds have only made us stronger. Terrorists must face the repercussions of their diabolical acts. Vengeance, while not sweet, must be swift and terrible, so that our people will not have died in vain.

Like the legendary Phoenix, the ashes of The World Trade Center will rise to forever destroy its adversaries.

     It is now 9/11/2016. We honor the memory of the ones lost so many years ago. The 9/11 Memorial stands tall displaying respect for those we loved and lost. Surely now we are safe. In the years following the horrendous massacre, we have half-heartedly chased down Osama Bin Laden, eventually killing him. We have lost thousands of service people fighting terrorism in Irag, Afghanistan, Syria and other trouble spots where Islamic terrorists continue their slaughter in the name of Allah.

     While not all Muslims are terrorists the majority of terrorists are followers Islam, exacerbated by the radicalized citizens of other countries twisted by the lust of slaughter for various reasons, religion being primary. Each time we have a chance to stamp out terrorism for good, the government pulls back before the job is complete.

     On this day of sadness and memorials, we exist in a state of worldwide terrorism, led by Isis and other radical terrorist groups as they march steadily across Europe, Africa, Australia, the United States by infiltrating their populations in numbers that when called to worldwide Jihad have the capacity to inflict murderous dominance. Just like France, Belgium, the UK and other places around the world, the horror continues. Hundreds continue to be brutally murdered, gunned down, mowed down by trucks, and blown to nothingness by explosives. What happened to our sworn slogan—Never Forget?

     We watch with shameful complacency as children around the world are beheaded in front of their parents, women are victimized by hideous assaults to their bodies under Sharia law, even while living in our free country. Outbreaks of terrorist attacks occur worldwide on a daily basis. And what do we do? Nothing…a pitiful broken promise to the almost 3000 innocent men, women and children who were slaughtered through no fault of their own. People we promised not to let die in vain. Shame upon us all.

The Uneaten Meal


This is a part fiction, part true story of one of the most horrific days in our history. All the facts surrounding that day are true –I lived it. The fictional part examines what might have gone on in the mind of one of the victims during his last minutes of life.

The Uneaten Meal
            The watch hanging from Ian’s belt loop under his white chef jacket read 8:15. The morning rush was in full swing. Patrons sat in the sunlit posh restaurant—some drummed their fingers with impatience, others read the Wall Street Journal. Many seemed barely awake, sipping coffee for a caffeine jolt. 
            Ian had worked the kitchen all morning, his third day on the job as a Sous Chef to the Head Chef. He had survived the breakfast rush; bagels with cream cheese and lox for the rushed, Quiche Lorraine for the ones too important to punch a time card. Still, most would be heading to their various jobs, many on the 104th floor below the restaurant. The conference room, a floor below the restaurant, on the 106th floor was catering a breakfast to the Waters Financial Technology Congress, serving seventy-one guests.
            Ian was preparing for the lunch entrée special; a new recipe Chef would be offering to the lunch crowd–numbering hundreds. Ian worked quickly, with dozens of cooks helping to prep the ingredients. It was a gourmet delight – an aromatic concoction of bowtie pasta swimming in a rich white cream sauce, consisting of sweet herbed butter, heavy cream, white wine and an imported parmesan cheese. Large shrimp lightly sautéed in the sauce were placed on top, sprinkled with crumbled Greek feta cheese, sweet basil and freshly ground black pepper. Parsley sprigs added décor to the plate along with a few strips of fresh grilled red pepper. Chef Mike was confident of his creative cuisine. He was not of his new Sous Chef and often hovered over him, making Ian nervous. He was glad Chef Mike would not be coming in to work until the noon rush. This entrée could not be made completely in advance and the chef wanted a few made up to insure the recipe was followed to the letter. He had a fine reputation to maintain.
            As customers rose to go to their perspective jobs; many glancing out of the rows of large windows overlooking the panoramic business district of Manhattan and the East River, the dining room was set up for the lunch rush.
            Ian had Chef Mike’s creation ready to be sampled as soon as he arrived for his shift. He was afraid his job depended on how well he had prepared the dish. Still, he had done his best and felt confident it would suit the perfectionist chef.
Blinding light and roaring noise shut out his world. Fire and smoke filled the entire 107th floor, screams of panicked customers and workers alike died out quickly as they were overcome by suffocation and burns. The delectible shrimp and bowtie pasta entrée was destroyed along with most of the kitchen. Neither Ian nor Chef Mike would ever know if it met the chef’s high standards. His new recipe would go uneaten, along with all the meals scheduled for that luncheon meal. Windows on the World, Manhattan’s noted and loved restaurant was destroyed. It was 8:55 and the 104th floor was incinerated.
          People on other floors were spared the direct impact of the first passenger jet, Flight 11 that slammed into the first tower of the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001. The ones on the top floor, along with the people in the restaurant were trapped. There was no way down.  Many ran up the staircases to the top 111th floor and climbed onto the rooftop hoping to be rescued. Ian ran with them. He helped the few people alive make it to the roof. Helicopters tried in vain to reach them but black billowing smoke prevented this, as well as bursts of flame. People succumbed to the heat and smoke and died. Others chose to jump off the top of the building, rather than burn to death. Ian was one of them.
            As he jumped, his thoughts were of his wife and their new born baby girl. It was such a beautiful day that they had planned a picnic in Central Park when his shift ended. Before Ian reached the ground, his spirit left his body. He saw his body splatter on the street below. He watched as financial wizards, secretaries, businessmen, maintenance workers, became one in the futile effort to escape the building. He saw a second plane hit the second tower, taking more lives in an instant. This plane hit closer to the top of the second tower giving more time for people below those floors to get out. Many made it, many more did not. Ian’s spirit drifted through the first tower, watching frantic people calling on their cell phones for help—some realizing their plight cried and said goodbye to their loved ones.
            911 operators, unaware of the gravity of the situation, gave wrong advice to many who called–advising them to remain inside until help came. Help that was unable to reach most of them. Many of the ones who survived had ignored that advice and hurried to escape the building.
            New York City responded at once. Ian watched as police, search and rescue squads, and fire trucks rushed to the scene. Ambulances raced to help those who survived. People began the long trek down dark stairways, coughing and choking on thick black smoke; often meeting police and firemen on their way up the building. The heat was unbearable. Ian felt anquished, knowing that so many would never make it back down. He saw many like him who could walk through the ruins, already dead.
            The second tower imploded almost without warning at 10:05 A.M., through time held no meaning for Ian. Thousands of lives were crushed into rubble. The ambulances and hospitals set up triages for the injured. Most beds lay empty, as few made it out of the towers alive. Except for the ones lucky enough to have escaped before the first tower imploded at 10:30, there were few patients to help. Ian observed the nearly 3000 souls wandering lost throughout the ruins. Many did not yet realize that they were dead.
            The shock waves of horror extended past Manhattan, its neighboring boroughs, rippled across the country, impacted the world.  America had been attacked by cowardly terrorists on her own soil. New York City wept, Mayor Guiliani wept, the free world wept. And Ian wept.
            The Chef’s new entrée in the Windows on the World would go uneaten, never sampled for its flavor.   There would be many uneaten meals that day and for many days to follow. Terror, death and inconceivable destruction had taken away the appetite of the City, the nation—most of the world. It left a bitter taste in the mouths of all those who lost loved ones and those who grieved with them.
            Ian glanced through the rubble and saw his chef uniform buried beneath the debris. It held a quickly scribbled note of love to his wife and newly born baby. He hoped it would be found and given to her. He also hoped that she would tell his baby girl about her father—so that his memory would live on, even if he could not. Ian sensed that this most infamous day would never be forgotten. He wished for new twin towers to be erected for all the lost lives destroyed this day, taken so brutally. And maybe a new restaurant and new offices restored—not to replace those lost but to honor them. Perhaps there would be a new chef with an untried recipe that would be eaten and enjoyed.   If that day arrived, it would signify healing in a shocked and saddened nation—a new beginning.
            Ian turned to see a horde of people of all ages and occupations gathering together. He looked up and a bright, warm light spread across the sky. He saw arms outstretched to embrace those who walked toward the brightness. He joined them.
Seventy-three employees in the restaurant died that day, all seventy-one in the conference room and an unknown number of patrons. Remnants from the Windows on the World restaurant rubble included: a dinner spoon, soup bowl, salad plate, dessert plate and coffee cup. Also found was a table lamp, champagne flute, bottle of champagne, grill scraper—and a chef’s uniform.
Author’s note: The terrorists had counted on taking out from 30,000 to 50,000 lives that earth shattering morning. Their timing was a little off and many people had not yet entered the building. However, due to the toxins in the debris, such as mercury and asbestos, many of those who spent days, weeks and even years searching Ground Zero for body parts are now dying a slow and agonizing death due to cancers of the throat, lung and esophagus. Many more will die in the ensuing years—among them, families and small children whose homes were filled with this debris; which they were told to clean up themselves. The repercussions of disease from toxins spread to Staten Island, when they helicoptered the remains to the Staten Island dump. The dump blew the toxins across the seventeen-mile- long Island and many are dying of quickly striking and fatal cancers. It is conceivable that the total count of those lost on 911 will reach 30,000 to 50,000 after all. Damn the terrorists!




Powerful and Engaging Story

on September 6, 2016
Micki Peluso has done her daughter proud. I was not expecting such an engaging experience. Often memoirs that commemorate a deceased child are difficult to read due to sentimentality and emotion that overpowers the story. Emphatically not so in this case. Peluso brings us into the story of her young and growing family with great honesty and detail. Her story is often entertaining and always interesting. Having married before graduating from high school (and spending so many years up to her neck in child rearing), I want to know when and where Micki Peluso learned not only the craft of writing, but of story structure. She is a natural storyteller,and I recommend this book to everyone, especially anyone who has lost a child. I hope the author has sent (or will send) this book to the MADD organization, where it may be put to good use educating abusers and hopefully preventing more tragedy.

A Most Laborious day

     It’s 1979. We’re in a recession and feeling it the hardest in our country home. My six kids are old enough that I can leave them home alone. At least that’s what I tell myself. I find a job as a morning prep person and night dinner cook in the small town’s favorite Italian restaurant.

     I’m not a morning person. The rooster next door crows at 6:30 AM, waking the neighborhood dogs. That’s my alarm clock. Rousing the kids who sleep through the racket, I get them moving, dressed and breakfasted as I gulp down my third cup of coffee. They all pile into the local school bus and go off to their various schools.

     I get to work at 8:30 AM and begin making mountains of meatballs as ‘Aunt Mary,’ the mother of the restaurant’s owner, stirs a huge cauldron of red sauce and rolls out sheets of pasta dough. Hours later we’ve made hundreds of homemade ravioli and rolled so many meatballs that my hands are cramping. It’s 2:30 PM. I leave to get home in time for the 3:30 PM bus and onslaught of starving kids rushing through the front door. They head for the fridge and snacks laid out on a table, while telling me all about their day at the same time. I’ve learned to listen to all of them at once, a gift that may come in handy one day — or not.

     It’s Friday, one of the three or four nights that I work as a cook at the restaurant. Homework gets done or so they tell me, chores when I can catch them, pets cared for, and last night’s tuna casserole set out for dinner. I’m off to work again at 5 PM. The summer heat registers 95° in the kitchen of the restaurant and it feels like 110° or more. I’m dressed in short shorts, tank top and flip flop sandals like the other cooks. Massive vats of boiling water for pasta and sauce simmer as the fryers and range emanate even more heat. God is good. Tonight I get to work the salad bar and scrub huge pots and pans.

     The bartender/owner brings me a mandolin to slice the salad veggies. I prefer a knife but he’s the boss. Within minutes, I manage to slice off the tips of three fingers on my left hand – not completely off but hanging and bleeding all over the wood cutting board and vegetables. The grill cook rushes to get our boss, Donnie, and after appraising the situation, he leaves and returns with a roll of black electrical tape. Whatever works, I think, and struggle to carefully place the tips of my fingers back on and tape them with my right hand. The pain is fierce.

     Donnie pops in to tell me to switch places with the Gopher cook so I don’t bleed on the food. I realize then that he’s not sending me home. The dinner rush hits and I’m soon busy working the microwaves, getting food out of the huge walk-in, and setting up plates. That’s the job of a gopher.

     Wild storms strike the area, breaking the heat wave and slowing business. Donnie sticks his head into the kitchen. “It slowing down, Micki. You can go home now.” The man is all heart. I grab my purse, say goodbye to the cooks and dash out the back of the kitchen to where my car is parked. The storms have slowed to a few rumbles and flashes of ground lightning as the rain tapers off to a fine drizzle.

     Home looks really good — a deception of course. I walk in to find eight-year-old Nicole crying on the couch. The heat made her sick and triggered a migraine. “I told you girls not to let her out in the sun,” I snapped at her two younger sisters.

     “She got away from us,” Noelle says, looking upset.

     But 15-year-old Kelly has a bigger problem, forecast by wracking sobs. She’s holding Puff, my oldest daughter, Kim’s, white rabbit;, he doesn’t too healthy.

     “It’s my entire fault,” Kelly sniffles.” I left him outside in the storm. Kim is going to kill me.”

     I figure the poor little guy was either traumatized or struck by lightning. He begins screening, which rabbit’s do before dying. I try pouring whiskey down his throat and then warm tea but he lets out a final shriek and dies in my arms. 16-year-old Dante suggests laying him out on a table in the basement until we can bury him the next day. Kim comes home from her date and that scene isn’t pleasant. She stomps up to her room and slams the door. Mike ambles in a little later on and we all sit on the long red velvet sectional couch watching TV until my husband walks in. The recession makes it necessary for him to work five hours away in New Jersey and come home only on weekends.

     We are a sorry lot that greets him with our tales of woe. First thing he does is rip off the black tape on my fingers, removing the tips that I had secured so well with the tape. I refuse to scream from the pain as he pours salt on the wounds but tell myself that it’s good that I won’t have fingerprints left on those fingers when I strangle him in his sleep. I sip on some scotch and water — not a very good year — to ease the pain and tension from this laboriously horrible day.

     I get to sleep in tomorrow and don’t work Monday, which is Labor Day. The next day I can collect my paycheck. At a $1.25 an hour comes to about $40 a week. Reagan’s trickle-down economy has not yet reached the tiny town of Williamsport Pennsylvania – or me.

Cricket Choir, A Seasonal Poem by Bette A. Stevens

Happy September! Another Labor Day Weekend and the crickets here at The Farmstead in Central Maine are singing about it. I snapped this photo on the day their chorus began (three weeks ago). As Gra…

Source: Cricket Choir, A Seasonal Poem by Bette A. Stevens

Amazing 99 Cent Sale by Bette A. Stevens

“Soup for the soul” It’s DOG BONE SOUP—a novel by Bette A. Stevens—ONLY 99¢ thru SEPT 3rd

DOG BONE SOUP—a poignant family drama and coming of age story by Maine author Bette A. Stevens—takes readers on an incredible journey into 1950s and 60s rural America.AM HighResolution BW Border
DOG BONE SOUP, a remarkable tale of hope and happiness in the face of despair
DOG BONE SOUP, a remarkable tale of hope and happiness in the face of despair
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Listed UnderTags:
* Historical Fiction
* Family Drama
* New England

* Books

* WatervilleMaineUS

WATERVILLE, MaineAug. 28, 2016PRLogDOG BONE SOUP, a novel by Maine author Bette A. Stevens
99¢ eBook SALE
: Augut 28th–September 3rd

Take a step back in time to “The Good Old Days” with protagonist Shawn Daniels as he encounters the challenges and experiences the glories of growing up poor in an era when many families were living the American Dream.

“Shawn Daniels and his siblings shake off extreme poverty, hunger, a dilapidated homestead and a drunken father, to somehow embark upon an idyllic childhood. Bette A. Stevens has crafted a remarkable tale of hope and happiness in the face of despair.” —Charles Bray (Founder of the Indietribe, a body dedicated to supporting self-published authors)


Shawn Daniels isn’t your typical American boomer boy. Shawn is a poor boy and his father is the town drunk. Shawn’s family has no indoor plumbing or running water, but they do have a TV. After all, Dad deserves the rewards of his labor. Meanwhile, Shawn and his brother Willie keep the firewood cut and stacked, haul in water for cooking and cleaning and do all that needs to be done around the ramshackle place they call home. But when chores are done, these resourceful kids set out on boundless adventures that don’t cost a dime.

On a bitter New England day in 1964, Shawn is on his way to boot camp to soak up the southern sun and strike out on a new adventure—in a place where he believes it’s possible to make his dreams come true. Find out where this Boomer’s been and where he’s going in DOG BONE SOUP.

DOG BONE SOUP, A Boomer’s Journey by Bette A. Stevens
Find out more about the author and purchase her books at


Inspired by nature and human nature, author Bette A. Stevens is a retired elementary and middle school teacher, a wife, mother of two and grandmother of five. Stevens lives in Central Maine with her husband on their 37-acre farmstead where she enjoys reading, writing, gardening, walking and reveling in the beauty of nature. She advocates for children and families, for childhood literacy and for the conservation of monarch butterflies—an endangered species (and milkweed, the only plant that monarch caterpillars will eat).

Stevens is the author of AMAZING MATILDA, an award-winning picture book; The Tangram Zoo and Word Puzzles Too!, a home/school resource incorporating hands-on math and writing; and PURE TRASH, the short story prequel to her début novel, DOG BONE SOUP, a Boomer’s coming of age saga.

Bette A. Stevens, Maine author/illusrator