A Good Dog: The Story of Orson, Who Changed My Life

A Good Dog: The Story of Orson, Who Changed My Life

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by Jon Katz, Cynthia Darlow

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“People who love dogs often talk about a ‘lifetime’ dog. I’d heard the phrase a dozen times before I came to recognize its significance. Lifetime dogs are dogs we love in especially powerful, sometimes inexplicable ways.”–Jon Katz

In this gripping and deeply touching book, bestselling author Jon Katz tells the story of his


“People who love dogs often talk about a ‘lifetime’ dog. I’d heard the phrase a dozen times before I came to recognize its significance. Lifetime dogs are dogs we love in especially powerful, sometimes inexplicable ways.”–Jon Katz

In this gripping and deeply touching book, bestselling author Jon Katz tells the story of his lifetime dog, Orson: a beautiful border collie–intense, smart, crazy, and unforgettable.

From the moment Katz and Orson meet, when the dog springs from his traveling crate at Newark airport and panics the baggage claim area, their relationship is deep, stormy, and loving. At two years old, Katz’s new companion is a great herder of school buses, a scholar of refrigerators, but a dud at herding sheep. Everything Katz attempts– obedience training, herding instruction, a new name, acupuncture, herb and alternative therapies–helps a little but not enough, and not for long. “Like all border collies and many dogs,” Katz writes, “he needed work. I didn’t realize for some time I was the work Orson would find.”
While Katz is trying to help his dog, Orson is helping him, shepherding him toward a new life on a two-hundred-year-old hillside farm in upstate New York. There, aided by good neighbors and a tolerant wife, hip-deep in sheep, chickens, donkeys, and more dogs, the man and his canine companion explore meadows, woods, and even stars, wade through snow, bask by a roaring wood stove, and struggle to keep faith with each other. There, with deep love, each embraces his unfolding destiny.

A Good Dog is a book to savor. Just as Orson was the author’s lifetime dog, his story is a lifetime treasure–poignant, timeless, and powerful.

Editorial Reviews

"People who love dogs often talk about a 'lifetime' dog. I'd heard the phrase a dozen times before I came to realize its significance. Lifetime dogs are dogs we love in especially powerful, sometimes inexplicable ways." A Good Dog recounts the ways in which an intense border collie named Orson and a dog owner named Jon Katz became intertwined in each other's lives. A charming book by the author of Katz on Dogs.

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Recorded Books, LLC
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A Good Dog

By Jon Katz

Random House

Jon Katz
All right reserved.

ISBN: 140006189X

Chapter One

Carolyn Wilki told the five of us to spread out into a circle in her pasture, with our dogs. We were an odd group, a mot­ley mix of dog lovers and our anxious border collies and shepherds arrayed near an aging stone farmhouse in eastern Pennsylvania in the blazing summer sun.
The other four people did as instructed, along with their dogs. I didn't.
Devon and I were in our third month of working with Carolyn, a respected and fiercely opinionated sheepherder and dog behaviorist. She'd suggested that we join this herd­ing class in addition to our weekly lessons. So we had, with trepidation. I'm not generally a joiner; I don't have a good history with groups. And Devon was not a dog who played well with others, either.
Once we were mostly in formation, Carolyn brought out her antique metal box filled with small figures of dogs, sheep, and fences. I groaned.
Carolyn was fond of her toy farm creatures, which she'd shown me on our first visit, and loved to demonstrate the bal­let that constituted sheepherding-human, dog, and sheep all moving in relation to one another. She would haul her box out and carefully place the components in their appropriate positions on a picnic table or on the grass. Then she'd sketch out herding and training moves like an NFL coach diagram­ming complex patterns for offense. The papers she handed herstudents when class ended were filled with X's and O's, squibbles and arrows. The X's were dogs, the O's were peo­ple. If the X's went here, she'd explain, then the O's would go there. The sheep were usually the squibbles.
Devon and I were rarely where we were supposed to be. He herded sheep the way he herded school buses-forcefully, impulsively, explosively. At least the sheep could run.
This role-playing was not the sort of thing either of us was especially good at. I was allergic to being lectured to, had hated just about every class and teacher I'd ever had, and the favor had been returned. Poor Mr. Hauser actually wept in front of my mother when I had to take his math class for the third time. Neither of us could bear the idea of going another round. Authority issues continued to plague me through my adult life. One reason that being a writer suited me was that most of the time the only jerk I had to put up with was me.
Devon had similar issues with commands and obedience. Training seemed to either upset or excite him, and learning to herd sheep seemed unlikely to be an exception.
You are a ewe, Carolyn told me, pointing to an O on her diagram, and placing one of her tiny white plastic sheep along a toy fence. You will stand over here and wait to be approached by a dog, she said, gesturing to an eighty-year-old woman in a sun hat holding a terrified sheltie on a leash.
Everybody else seemed willing, even enthusiastic, about acting out these herding moves. But I didn't want to be a ewe. Devon looked up at me curiously; I knew there was no way he was going to do this, either.
In fact, he suddenly charged after the sheltie, chasing him under Carolyn's truck. I pulled him back, made him lie down, and he settled to watch the proceedings.
As Carolyn passed by, dispensing instructions, I whis-pered-hoping to avoid a scene-that I didn't want to be a ewe, or to play this game. Carolyn did not suffer fools or rebels gladly. I don't care what you want, she muttered. Do it. It will be good for you.
I couldn't. No better at being submissive than this strange dog I now owned, I told Carolyn this wasn't the right class for me. Devon and I retreated to our room (Carolyn's Rasp­berry Ridge Farm is a bed-and-breakfast as well as a training center) to brood. I put Devon in his crate and lay down on the bed. Outside the window, I could hear the dogs and sheep going through their exercises as Carolyn offered sug­gestions and critiqued the proceedings. Much as I often wished for a more pliant dog, I also wished I were a more compliant human. Life would be smoother.
It's an article of faith among trainers that the problem with dogs is almost always the people who own them. My dog and I were both impulsive, impatient, distractible, and restless. That was why we'd come.
Carolyn was an impassioned believer in positive rewarding training, a training method that emphasizes reinforcing ap­propriate and desired behaviors, and generally rejects negative or coercive methods like yelling, swatting, or even more abusive responses.
Positive reinforcement puts pressure on the human, rather than the dog, to suppress anger and impatience, and simply praise or mark good behaviors-with words of praise, food, clickers, whatever works. It asks a lot of people; they have to take a long view of training and curb some of their stronger instincts. For somebody who is by no means an all-positive person, like me, it was difficult-especially with a dog like Devon, who daily challenged one's patience.
One afternoon he escaped the yard in New Jersey (I have no idea how), and soon afterward I heard the by-now-familiar screaming and tumult in the street and went running out. Devon had intercepted half a dozen Jersey teenagers on skateboards, rounded them up into a tight cluster in the cen­ter of the street-skateboards flying in every direction-and held everyone there until I arrived.
Carolyn would not have approved of my response, which was not positive in the least. I screamed at Devon to get away from the kids, apologized profusely, and retreated into the house, Devon in tow. The kids thought it was funny; when they got home, their parents might not.
Recognizing that I needed help with Devon, a far greater challenge than my mellow Labradors, I'd started bringing him to Raspberry Ridge, along with my younger border col­lie, Homer. Homer didn't seem destined to be an ace herder, either, but he was much more attentive and controllable than Devon.
Carolyn often said she was surprised that I'd stuck it out with Devon's lessons; in fact, she told me, she'd doubted I would come back after the first session. Which had been marked by Devon's chasing her panicked sheep around a fenced pasture. The truth is, I never thought of leaving Rasp­berry Ridge. Eventually, we became regulars.
From the first time we drove down the long gravel drive­way, I was drawn to the place. Carolyn had an old stone farm­house, a giant barn and other teetering outbuildings, a junkyard, perhaps two hundred ewes and rams, an old don­key, a dozen or so dogs, and more than seventy acres of grass, meadow, and woods.
She lived upstairs in the farmhouse; guests and visitors oc­cupied the B&B rooms downstairs. She kept crates tucked all over the house, in which her herding dogs-border collies and shepherds-slept while waiting to work, exercise, or play.
These working dogs, I'd come to learn, led lives very dif­ferent from my dogs'. Carolyn let them out several times a day to exercise and eliminate, but generally, they were out of crates only to train or herd sheep. While they were out, Car­olyn tossed a cup of kibble into their crates for them to eat when they returned. I asked her once if she left lights on for the dogs when she went out, and she looked at me curiously. Why? They don't read.
They were happy dogs nonetheless, fit and obedient, so­ciable with dogs and people. From Carolyn's example, I was learning to respect the true nature of dogs: they are wonder­ful, but they're still animals, and not even the most complex animals. She didn't see them as four-legged versions of hu­mans, and woe to the student who did.
Still, they were everywhere. If you bumped into a sofa it might growl or thump. Some of her crew were puppies; some were strange rescue dogs.
The chief working dog was Dave, a venerable shorthaired Scottish border collie who efficiently ran the farm, moving sheep in and out of pastures and into training pens for lessons and herding work. This was an impressive fellow. I once saw a near-riot break out during a herding trial when some sheep crashed through a fence by the parking area, which was crammed with dogs, handlers, spectators, cars and trailers, and food stands. Carolyn yelled to me to run inside-Dave's crate held the place of honor by Carolyn's desk-and let him out.
When I opened the crate, Dave promptly rushed to the front door, pushed open the screen, and picked his way among the rampaging dogs and sheep and people. He gath­ered up the sheep and, at Carolyn's direction, moved them down the drive and into the back pasture, maneuvering them around lawn chairs and tents, barking dogs, and all the para­phernalia of a trial. He held them there until Carolyn arrived to close the pasture gate. Then he trotted right back to the house, nosed open the screen door, and went back into his crate. Dave was the anti-Devon, as grounded as Devon was excitable, as obedient as Devon was unresponsive, as useful as Devon was difficult and unpredictable. I told myself he was less interesting, too.
Carolyn's hallways were hung with crooks, ropes and hal­ters, flashlights and rain gear. She loved dogs the way great trainers do, respecting their animal natures, understanding their simple and sometimes crass motives, accepting them as they are, rather than trying to recast them into versions of ourselves. The signs of her success with this approach were also abundant: the walls were festooned with trial ribbons and awards.
Yet she spent much of her time working with less her­alded dogs and their desperate people. Troubled dogs from all over the country came riding up her driveway. I remember one pair of newlyweds who arrived with a schnauzer that had belonged to the bride. The groom was covered in bandages. It seemed that every time he tried to touch his wife, the dog bit him.
Why, someone asked, didn't they get rid of the dog? The bride was incredulous. I love my husband, but this dog has been with me for years.
Carolyn prescribed an elaborate new regimen in which all food came from the husband's hand, and only when the dog was calm and well behaved. Any growling or biting meant the dog didn't eat. The couple stayed at Raspberry Ridge for a week, and when they drove away, the dog was dozing lov­ingly in the husband's lap, marriage saved.
Often, I was appointed dog bait for a weekend: I ap­proached an aggressive dog with a bag of meatballs to see how close I could get before the dog went off. Meatballs and other smelly stuff were a centerpiece of Raspberry Ridge dog training. When an aggressive dog was on hand, all of us armed ourselves with meatballs and began approaching the dog from a distance, tossing meatballs, getting a bit closer each time. The dog would begin by barking, but as meatballs began to rain from the sky, he'd calm down and likely rethink his hostility to people.
Staying at Carolyn's bed-and-breakfast with Devon and Homer was an adventure. Sometimes, when I took the dogs out, I would hear Carolyn or somebody scream "Run!" and realize an aggressive dog-in-rehab was outside. We'd dive back inside, slamming the door as some ferocious-sounding creature thudded against it. These were exotic experiences for me, but useful for Devon, who became more comfortable on a farm and seemed rattled by fewer things.
The true heart of Carolyn's farm was her kitchen, where sausages and pungent dog treats lay scattered over the coun­ters, along with collars, magazines and books, trial application forms, checks from her students (Carolyn, not big on details, often left them lying around for months), leashes, and dog toys.
Pots of coffee were always brewing, and dog people could be found sitting around her big wooden table at all hours. Devon and I were always welcome there, and he grew to love going around the table from person to person, collecting pats and treats. Troubled dogs were familiar at that table, and ap­preciated. If we couldn't bring our dogs many places, we could always bring them here. If Devon wasn't always suc­cessful, he was always accepted.
So was I. Here, I could be me. I came to cherish more rural pleasures. I began staying at the farm overnight, com­bining our lessons with taking the sheep out to graze. I helped with lambing in the spring, tossed hay to the flock in the winter. I met and befriended a donkey named Carol.
I also started accompanying Carolyn to the Scottish faires held around the region on weekends. She got paid peanuts for these appearances, but she loved showing people the art of herding, keeping it alive.
We would pile several dogs and half a dozen sheep into her pickup, along with hay and water and some temporary fencing, and drive off to herding demos. Suburbanites loved to see Dave push the sheep around parks and fields; between acts, Carolyn and I, like old-fashioned carnies on the circuit, could lounge in lawn chairs BS-ing about dogs.
While faires were child's play for Dave, the awed crowds responded as if they were at the Olympics. I understood: there is something profoundly beautiful and moving in seeing dogs do this traditional work. Devon could not herd in these situations-too dangerous-but he very much appreciated coming along, and was much hugged and admired. Even within the safer confines of Raspberry Ridge, his herding progress was uneven, to say the least. We had many frustrat­ing and uncomfortable days, along with our triumphant moments.
Devon still wasn't reliable enough to herd the sheep, but if I put him on a leash, the sheep would move ahead of us any­way. We could take them out to pasture, then take up posi­tions between the herd and the road.
It was often freezing, or sticky-hot and buggy, but if we went very early in the morning when the pasture was often shrouded in dew and mist, we could sit side by side for hours, Devon as calm as I ever saw him, listening to the sheep crunch away at the grass.
But when it was time to herd back to the barn and I re­leased him, he would bore straight into the middle of the flock, all training forgotten, scattering sheep in every direc­tion.
Homer was more of a herding dog, calmer, able to slip in behind the sheep and move them. He had more protective instincts, too; he could locate a newborn lamb off in the woods, help gather the flock in the midst of a blizzard.
But he also had problems. Homer was small, not especially hardy for a border collie, so he had trouble getting out in front of the sheep to turn the herd. He tended to use his mouth instead, and when he got excited, he'd grip a sheep by the legs-a major transgression. And he was easily intimi­dated. It was his misfortune to grow up as the Helldog's little brother.


Excerpted from A Good Dog by Jon Katz Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Meet the Author

Brief Biography

Montclair, New Jersey
Date of Birth:
August 8, 1947
Place of Birth:
Providence, Rhode Island
Attended George Washington University and The New School for Social Research

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Good Dog: The Story of Orson, Who Changed My Life 3.8 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 46 reviews.
Guest More than 1 year ago
After getting Orson to the point where he is finally making sense of the world, and less pressured to conform to Katz's ideal of a dog, Katz kills him for aggression. He outlines his 'choices' when Orson shows territorial aggression, and doesn't consider (1) a sign to warn visitors not to reach over fences to pet him, (2) keeping this dog who supposedly never wanted to leave his side with him, or (3) seeking the help of an experienced dog behaviorist -- I suppose because he fancies himself to be a dog behaviorist. His track record is pretty poor - he never seems to stop being a reactive owner, and doesn't control Orson's environment so he can be successful. Katz the gentleman farmer would rather have his farm function as a community crossroads and petting zoo. Gee, a border collie acting out when strangers and workers are coming and going all the time, particularly with loud vehicles and power tools and such? Umm, isn't that why he thought he needed to bring his dog up from the suburbs? For him to be shocked by Orson's behavior shows he wasn't watching the dog all along, or wasn't taking warning signs seriously. This title has substantial overlap with his previous books, which I own but about which I had mixed emotions all along. The book falls apart over the course of the chapters, getting shorter, more clipped, stretching for material - until the killing section followed by the it's-ok-my-Shaman-says-he's-happy-now. I'll be getting rid of the books now. Some thanks Orson got for leading Katz to fame and fortune and a happier life. And how much money is he giving to his neighbors after all that he wasn't willing to invest in Orson? It's one thing to give up or euthanize a dog when you don't have the resources to deal with it. He had a huge farm and money to spare. Orson needed training and a fence, not a 'shaman' or an owner more concerned about story than day-to-day care of his dogs. Katz is fundamentally inconsistent. He rants against people anthropomorphizing animals, but is more guilty of it than an dog writer I have read recently. He imposes expectations on his animals rather than genuinely meeting them as individuals and assessing what they need. He cautions people to be careful what they're getting into with dogs, and in other books/interviews he tells people there is no right way to get a dog. I guess this is to rationalize his continued acquisition of purebreds, and rejects from breeders rather than shelters or rescue groups. He went about it entirely the wrong way with several of his dogs - didn't educate himself about the breed, or was in denial about his dog training and exercise abilities, was not logistically prepared for it, didn't consider the effect on his current dogs, didn't introduce the new dog(s) to his current dogs and then acted surprised when they were not great buddies, etc. etc. If he must have dogs, he should stick to pet-and-show bred Labs and stay away from real working dogs (border collie, hunting lab, or other). Now there is a movie in the works - more money for Katz on Orson's back. Great, there will be a whole 'nother round of border collies bound for rescue in the years to come after people see them in the movies (see post-Babe- and post-AnimalPlanet-effects). I hope Katz puts a disclaimer at the front of all his books and the movie that he killed Orson.
AJ_bookworm More than 1 year ago
This was the second book of Jon Katz animal stories that I have read. I love the way he writes about his life with his animals. I understood completely the agonizing decision he had to make, been there done that myself, and no one should judge or criticize him for that. He truly did all he could for Orson just like Orson did all he could for Jon. Bravo Mr. Katz. Please keep the stories coming!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This is the first book of katz's i've read, and it was amazing. It really shows you the true love and bond people have with their dogs and the tough decisions people have to make. Animals have a real impact on our lives and this book shows just how big that impact can be.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This is an important book for anyone who loves dogs. People who think they know dogs and think they are good with dogs don't REALLY know dogs until they try to help a large, fearful, dominant-aggressive dog that bites people. Anyone who believes that Jon didn't love this dog with all his heart and didn't do all he could for this dog, doesn't know dogs. Loving and woking with a dog that has aggression issues is emotionally, financially and physically draining. When it comes to the safety of other people, especially the elderly and children, Jon did the only truly responsible thing. Some dogs just don't/can't live up to the human expectations that we impose on them and they can't just live as ferral animals. I love these half-wild, dominant aggressive dogs and feel deeply for their and their owner's plight. We just live in a world that doesn't understand them and cannot accept them for who they are because they are a danger to themselves and others. A tear jerker, this is a must read for anyone who loves dogs.
babyboy161 More than 1 year ago
I absolutely loved this book. It took some time for me to read because of me being so emotional. If you love animals or even if you don't, it teaches a life lesson between human and animals.
4thepets More than 1 year ago
This book hit so close to home it was like Jon Katz wrote about my life with my dogs. I enjoyed listening to this heartwarming and touching story of a man a dog and the help they gave each other. I totally recommend Jon Katz and Bedlam Farm.
Guest More than 1 year ago
After I read this book, I broke down for hours. I think it is a horrible misunderstanding to look at Mr. Katz as a person who gave up. I truly believe that what he chose to do was incredibly hard, and extremley personal. I have a two year old Border Collie, and as I read this book, something came over me and the way that I see my dog Luca. He (Luca) is a combination of both Rose and Orson, and I felt, as crazy as this may sound, a higher connection with my own dog. Jon had these moments with Orson that were so internal and spiritual, and as I write this now, I am still so emotional, and I kept telling myself that their bond was so much more than the world we live in today. I believe him when he says that Orson was troubled, and the fact that he wanted to help him, doesn't that account for anything at all? I couldn't help but wonder what Orson's life was like before, and it broke my heart when he had the Shaman read his auorua. Whether you believe in that or not, if you read this book and really understood the relationship that this wonderful and beautiful dog had with Jon you know that Orson's life dramatically changed for the better. I see my Border Collie in a completley different way, and this book gave me perspective of my own life, my downfalls, who I really am. I am a young woman (36) who was diagonosed with an awful auto-immune disease, who does maybe seek comfort when I am with my dog. I think that Mr. Katz and Orson had something that so many people never have their whole lives, even if when think they do,which is a true,honest,and completley unconditional love. I have never been so moved by a story as I was with this one. I do think about Orson now all of the time, and I know that that may be ridiculous seeing that he was not even my dog, and I can only imagine the turmoil and emotion he must of felt before Jon Katz became the most important part of his life. I really believe in my heart that he had the time of his life on that farm, and with Jon as well. I believe that Orson's life will always be a huge part of Mr. Katz, and it really brought the reality of just how incredibly special my dog Luca is to me. I belive in connetions to a higher level, and I hope that Orson's spirit will always be there for Jon.
Guest More than 1 year ago
How many of your readers know that you GAVE UP on Orson and killed him? A dog would never give up on his human...but a despicable human would give up on a dog. Shame on you Katz. I hope you write an addendum (an explanation) in your 'GOOD DOG' book.
Maggie1NY More than 1 year ago
Enjoyed the book, but not as much as his book Rosie!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
SO CUTE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Muzzy More than 1 year ago
This story will make you appreciate your dog more , and give him/her an extra treat.
taffyJC More than 1 year ago
I must admit, Jon, that I wanted to call you up and curse you. When you destroyed a perfectly good border collie that you LOVED, I cried and cried all day. I was so mad at you for making that decision. I could never have done that. I don't think I could live without my border collie. I don't care WHO he bit. There WERE other options. However, I DID really enjoy the book. It struck emotion deep in the heart. A border collie lover.
BoboBR More than 1 year ago
I love this book. It is the best book I have ever read! It gets a little sad att the end but it is not too bad. I would recomend this book to any dog loving person.
clzt More than 1 year ago
After reading a Dog Year, this one was really hard for me. However, I know that times with our dog friends always come to an end, is extremely difficult and how is not really a factor. Faced with the same situation, I don't know what I would do. This took strength of character.
dgainey More than 1 year ago
Jon Katz is my new favorite author. As an animal lover and someone approaching the mid-years of life, I very much appreciate Katz' search to find happiness in life, and his great integrity in loving and respecting his dogs and other animals, putting what is best for them first-- even when that causes great personal sorrow. His relationship with Orson was truly a love story, with all of the highs and lows that accompany any great relationship. I laughed out loud at times....and wept at others. A wonderful book for any dog lover, or anyone searching to find their place in the world.
Guest More than 1 year ago
Katz is right on the nose with is book. Real,accuate,life,and so on. Jon thank you for a beautiful book.Thank you moving on to your next book:)
Guest More than 1 year ago
I am a nurse in an ICU, and so it came as a surprise to me that I found myself sobbing uncontrollably (no book has ever done this to me), with Jon Katz's touching story of his dog, Orson. I could see into my own border collie's eyes as Jon considered the love for his beloved Orson through so many situations. A beautiful and accurate account of the way a border collie can affect your life and hold your love so completely. I would recommend this book to anyone who is considering getting a border collie, or is simply weighing the pros and cons of respondsibilities in caring for a dog.
Guest More than 1 year ago
An unbelievably hard book to have finished. After taking the reader on a trip of discovery with his dog Orson, Katz seems all too quick at analyzing and considering his options when the dog starts biting visitors. Although I found his discussion about the importance of safety worthwhile, I could never get past the ultimately simplistic way he deals with the problem. Katz spends the book, and in effect the dog's lifetime, insiting that he is seeking to delve into a deep understanding, meaning, and a broadening of his personal vistas. Yet, his choice rather horribly exempliefies the 'throwaway' society we find ourselves in, and leaves the reader frustrated and angry. I ended up wishing someone else had adopted Orson! A Good Dog will be unforgettably upsetting for compassionate people, and even moreso for animal lovers.
Guest More than 1 year ago
Katz played with unproven methods to improve his dog's behavior, but I am appalled to find out he was so weak and uncaring for his so-called 'lifetime dog' that he didn't use science 'maybe Cesar Milan' and become pack leader and fix the problem, instead of taking the easy way out and destroying something he supposedly loved 'but probably did not'. Too engrossed in his own ego, he failed to care for something that cared so much for him. I was too disappointed to recommend any further books of his to anyone.
Guest More than 1 year ago
Good Dog was a good read, in that, it struck so many cords with me. It exemplifies what animals of all kinds and temperments can mean in a person's life. The actions and interactions with others are different with each animal. As with people, relationships with our pets who have had painful experiences in the past can be both frustrating and rewarding. I would like to thank Jon Katz for writing this book. It came into my life at a time when I truly needed it. Just as the critters in my life have.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
KAT bottles of ink, dusty old novels, pens pencils paper ab nd a desk with a great veiw outside
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