Meet Clovis 🐾

I don't know if you knew this, but in my books, you might find a brilliant little herding dog named Clovis.  She's been through a lot.  Her battered body—much like Callie's—is a well-deserved badge of honor.  She's sharp, loyal, and spunky as hell.  Here are some fun Clovis cameos you might enjoy.  

From Clovis, Epilogue, ONE YEAR LATER

— Callie

She had to undergo an amputation all the way up to her shoulder.  But I tell you, it hasn’t slowed her down at all. I honestly don’t think my dog even remembers what it was like to have a right leg; she runs and jumps and does twenty tricks like it was never there. “Scars make good stories,” I tell her when I pet the little white nub of a scar on her chest. Needless to say, we make quite the matching pair for it.

“Ain’t that right, Clovis?” I ask her.

I tuck Cheeky by her in the seat and give Clovis the little “click-click” cluck of my tongue. She responds with her little “Whoof” of a bark. Like Pepper, she never barks without reason, and only whines when it’s really important—when she has to pee or when I’ve put Cheeky in the wash and she goes nuts by the machine, acting like he’s undergoing open heart surgery.

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From Austin, Ch. 5, MY GNOMIES

— Callie

I’d actually squealed a little after he’d left the room. And peed. I couldn’t help it. It was all so exciting! Clovis leaned back on her one front leg and did that stretch-yawn thing dogs do when something confuses or irritates them.

“Oh please. I’ve seen you with that big Great Dane at the park. What’s his ridiculous, embarrassing name? Beauregard? Don’t give me that look woman,” I’d told her. Clovis just yawned and let her head flop back onto her front paw with a groan: her version of a doggie eye roll.

“Just for that, you’re staying here,” I tell her. In response, she simply closes her eyes. Playing me. Always the strategist.

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From Austin, Ch. 8, PIECES

— Cadence

This woman was missing the lower half of her left leg. It had been replaced by this bionic looking prosthetic that was cool as all get out! I wondered if she could detach it and do camping tasks with it. Like open a can of beans, light a fire, then slip a knife out and cut the can of beans in two! Crazy wildlife documentary stuff like that.

She held up her hands doing something—it looked like sign language. Took me a second to realize who she was signing to. It was a dog! A little speckled three-legged one with a gorgeous glossy spot over one eye and a nub for a tail. I’d never seen anything like it. Although I had read that dogs, well, and horses, chimps, pigs, many animals, can learn and respond to hand signals, I had never actually seen it. This woman just got neater and neater. After she finished giving whatever the signal was,she gave her attentive dog a treat. The dog gave a muffled whoof of a bark and then took off! Like she’d been sent on a top-secret mission. And she ran faster than any dog I’d seen on four legs. She was gone in a flash.

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From Austin, Ch. 11, LEAN-TO

— Cadence

At the sound of Mom’s shouts, I hear a dog bark. Once. Sharp. I see Aunt Callie’s dog come running, fast as a streak, to the tree. She throws her one front paw on the bark and sets laser focus on my lean-to giving one more sharp bark, this one with more force, like she’s saying “EXPLAIN. NOW.” I marvel realizing even I am starting to pick up on the dog’s nuances.

Aunt Callie leans over the edge and places a blade-shaped hand to her mouth, like finger to lips in a “Shh” signal, then takes the blade hand and lays it down in front of her, like setting it on a table. Immediately, her dog backs away from the tree with no further barks, hops back up a few hesitant steps, and then sits dutifully next to my mom, who looks down eyeing her strangely. The dog seems to look back up to her as if to say I’m as clueless as you lady.

This elicits a little chuckle from Callie and lightens the mood, thankfully. “Good girl, Clovis. You stay,” she says, with force. I spend a moment admiring Clovis’s perfect, pretty little name. Suddenly she, too, feels like some tribal link to my past. I look down at her and admire some of her honey-colored patches that seem to perfectly match my skin. I’m dying to pet her.