Before I begin, I want to give you guys a heads up. Next week, while all the Plotmonkeys are in Atlanta for the national RWA conference, we’re going to have a special “week of exclusive excerpts.” Carly, Julie and I all have August books and we thought we’d give you a look at our books that you can’t get anywhere else.
For my part, I thought it would be fun for you to choose which excerpt from HERE COMES TROUBLE you’d like to read. So, in your comments below, please vote for excerpt # 1, # 2, or # 3
1. Murderous old ladies.
2. “Butch, sic Kiwis!”
3. Snakes in a plane. (Kidding…no way do I want to see that movie!) Actually this one should be called “Sex in a plane.”
Okay?
Now…on to today’s topic about the beast…
Before I begin, let me clarify. I am not talking about my husband…he’s Prince Charming, as I know you all already know.
I’m talking about the other male presence in my life right now. The black-haired, brown-eyed, 200 pound, lean, powerful creature with the rugged name of Killian.
Okay, so he’s only 5’2, but hey, he’s all solid muscle.
Oh, have I mentioned he’s a dog?
Let me explain. I am currently “between” homes–right now staying in Maryland with my sister to try to wait it out while the house in Florida sells. My very generous, amazingly kind sister has a big, lovely house in the country, with several extra bedrooms, a huge yard, a big pool, an enormous rec room…and a monster dog who runs the whole show.
The dog bends down to drink out of the kitchen sink, for God’s sake! (That’s the kitchen counter he’s facing!) 
He’s a great dane. But not just a great dane, he’s the biggest great dane ever created. My brother-in-law, the vet, has said that he’s never seen a bigger dog in his 20 year career. Picture Scooby Doo on steroids. Marmaduke with muscle (and bad breath.) I wasn’t kidding–his last weigh-in, over a year ago, put him at over 200 pounds. He stands eye-to-eye with my eleven year old. When you’re sitting on the couch, he towers over you. (I have the shiny hair to prove it…dog drool: wonder conditioner?!?)
Now, let me make it clear, I do not dislike dogs. In fact, I quite love them. Especially mine. My little doggie, Cassie, is like one of my children and I utterly adore her.
She’s a shih-tsu/poodle mix, weighs about 12 pounds, has a dazzling personality and is just brilliant. I am bragging, I know, but I’m serious–this dog doesn’t just roll over when you say “play dead” — she collapses into a boneless heap when you point your forefinger at her and say “bang.” (My middle daughter is into stupid pet tricks…you should hear Cassie “count” to ten when they’re playing hide-and-seek. She always hides in the same place and will not come out until someone shrieks, “Cassie, we FOUND you!”)
She’s a cuddle-bug, will curl up beside you and look up at you adoringly with her sweet brown eyes, somehow knows when you’re sad and will just put her little head on your lap to make you feel better. The kind of dog you can tuck into a carry-on bag, take to the airport, and fly across the country with–stuffing her under the seat like luggage–and she’ll never make a peep. For SIX hours.
Cassie has only one bad quality: she does not like other dogs. In fact, she hates them. She thinks she is a human being, and the minute she sees another canine, she goes into attack mode.
So you can imagine how we reacted the first time she met her “cousin” Killian.
I am so fortunate my little Cassie wasn’t turned into great dane chow. Because she went after that dog like she was really going to DO something to him. Killian, to give him credit, didn’t go back at her. He merely lifted his head, cocked on brow in confusion and looked at us with puzzlement in his eye, as if to say, “Where did this mouse come from and how did it learn to bark?”
I’d like to say they’ve gotten used to each other, but the truth is, we never let them on the same floor of the house at the same time. Cassie is too ballsy and Killian is too…unpredictable. He sometimes likes to leap around the house like a puppy (though he’s bigger than most ponies) and he could squash her like a bug if he landed on her.
Now, here are some of the things you have to get used to when you live with a monster dog. You may not–ever–leave food on the kitchen counter, not even while you’re preparing it. If you must cool a cake or a pie, you have to put it on top of the refrigerator.
I learned this the hard way at Christmastime when he devoured the entire batch of Almond Rocka I’d just made. (The candy that has to boil to 310 degrees, and which has caused the scars on my hands and wrists. If you ever meet me, you’ll notice the almond rocka scars right away.) The candy was not, fortunately, still at “hard crack” stage of 310 degrees, so the dog’s tongue and lips were not completely burned off. (Hmm…though, maybe that would have cured him of the eating-off-the-counter thing.)
More about Killian–if you’re sitting on a sofa in the family room having a conversation with someone sitting on the opposite sofa, be prepared to talk around the breathing wall of drool, flatulence and fur. Because he likes being between people. So he stands there–right in front of you–and WILL NOT MOVE. And if you try to ignore him, he will head butt you in the chest. Seriously. Put his head down, and just drive the top of his head into your chest until you’re pinned to the sofa like a butterfly to a display board, all the while dripping great strings of drool on your lap and imbedding black hairs into your clothes.
He likes to bark. Loudly. He eats enough dog food to bankrupt a small country. His water bowl is either entirely full of clean, fresh water…or it’s 1/3 full of stuff that looks like egg whites. (His drool.) And after he gets a nice long drink, he shakes his head really hard, sending the drool flying in all directions. (I leave the room when he’s drinking.)
All that said, you’d think I’d hate the beast. But I don’t. Because there’s something rather sweet about him. Like when I was posing for this picture, both of us looking straight ahead, and he suddenly swung his head up and smiled at me.

Oh, don’t get me wrong, he’s a major pain in the ass…but still, he has a mischievous streak. Like yesterday when he wouldn’t come in, so I walked out of the room and watched from around the corner. He finally stepped in–watching for me all the while and letting out one low, growly woof. I walked back in the room to shut the door. The moment he saw me, he darted back outside. A definite prankster, that one.
He’s also great company to have around when a stranger walks up to the door. I really think the pizza delivery guys draw straws to see who does NOT have to come here every Friday night.
I don’t know how long we’ll be staying here, at my sister’s very generous behest. (She really is an angel!) One thing I do know, however, is that I really can appreciate all dogs–great and small.
:doggie:
So, fess up, which do you prefer…big ones or small ones? 
PS: Don’t forget to vote for the exclusive excerpt!