Not a filmmaker, just a reader and writer. I think a film honoring the kids is in order, as well as showing the damage absent parents cause. But people who do wrong often then don’t do right. I believe the grandfather had mercy, but I was disappointed he didn’t take more action to help stop the neglect.
When I finished the book for some reason I thought of Bob Dylan’s song I Pity the Poor Immigrant.
For me, your book is right up there with Harper Lee’s TKaM.
What a moving story! For many years I have fantasized about almost this exact thing happening-a big white dog just walking into my life as if looking for me. How wonderful to hear this happened in real life! Just magical. 💛
Nice chapter of this continuing dog/person tale. I wonder what Traveler thinks about his journeys and his people?. He’ll tell you eventually, and you’ll share it with us when the time is right. Have a good Thanksgiving.
Gosh, when animals find you... a baby squirrel followed me around the yard; I stuffed it in my bra and sent a pic to my kids. My son immediately came back: We can keep him!! I took it to a rescue-- apparently it was raining baby squirrels. Once on my way to a patient's house I saw a fuzzy yellow duckling in the gutter trying to jump a curb... skidded to a halt and chased it through a couple of yards to a blind corner and caught it, put it in a box that should have been tall enough, but those little guys can gain some altitude! A rescuer/rehaber said it would have been the last egg to hatch and the mother didn't wait for it, took the others to a water source somewhere-- I actual went looking for her, unsuccessfully, and arrived late to my appointment... thankfully people have warm fuzzy feeling for ducklings. But the dogs. Omg stray dogs. Jasper and Rio were black and tan mixed breed hound puppies who found us looking for a fishing spot on the south branch of the Potomac River in West Virginia, where folks have a different view of whether a dog is a family member or has work to do and earns its keep. We polled nearby neighbors who denied knowing anything about them-- puppies...hmmm. They grew to 65 pounds; Jasper developed a seizure issue. We had them about 10 years. Sasha barked at our front door after midnight one night, wouldn't let me get near her so I said: Suit yourself-- and went back to bed. She was more amenable to males and let my partner feed her in the morning. It was Election Day; we posted a 'stray dog, female black & white' notice at the exit of the local school where people were voting, also notified the dog warden but no one came looking for her. She had a docked tail and ran like the wind. She was young, about 10 months; I think she was intended to be a hunting dog. We should have named her Bone Head or Bullet-- she calmed down after 6 or 7 years and lived to 17. She loved Jasper. She was a smart, wonderful companion-- dog #3. Lizzie ambled up the dirt road not long after Sasha came, sat in the front yard and looked pleadingly toward the house, probably smelled the other dogs. She was dark brown, including her lips and eyelids, like she was wearing makeup, had a bald mark around her neck where someone removed her collar before they left her on the road. She was stressed, covered in ticks, had hook worm, and didn't want to pee outdoors but I could wait longer than she could hold it. She was not a good dog, but adored baby-talk about how wonderful she was and encouraged as much of it as I was willing to offer. We named her Lizzie; I called her B-Wacky Brown Doggie, 'Brown' for short-- dog #4. Now all the dogs are gone, I have temporary custody of my daughter's cat while she's in grad school but pretty sure he's gonna stay here even when she's finished :) As you've described so poignantly, we become so easily attached.
This pierces my heart. Thank you SO much for giving us the next chapter. There's something about a white dog. He's a phantasm. A vision. Like the sacred white buffalo calf who appears, now and then. Please put your three posts together and make an essay out of this. It'll be fantastic.
The Georgia woods, neighbors, dogs who get lost and found, and the newest member of the family.
The Woods of Fannin County will always be a perfect book for me, not the suffering, but the spirit and will of the kids. It would make the kind of film I would love to watch.
I still love this story, and that dog.
Thank you, Kat. Me too!!!
Not a filmmaker, just a reader and writer. I think a film honoring the kids is in order, as well as showing the damage absent parents cause. But people who do wrong often then don’t do right. I believe the grandfather had mercy, but I was disappointed he didn’t take more action to help stop the neglect.
When I finished the book for some reason I thought of Bob Dylan’s song I Pity the Poor Immigrant.
For me, your book is right up there with Harper Lee’s TKaM.
I've always read that many dog breeds choose "their person" and I think Traveler's story suggests they choose their "place" as well.
Such an interesting idea!!!
Loved going on the journey of the white dog, Traveller.
Ahh, dogs. They sure take a piece of your heart. So many stories.
What a moving story! For many years I have fantasized about almost this exact thing happening-a big white dog just walking into my life as if looking for me. How wonderful to hear this happened in real life! Just magical. 💛
You never know. It could very likely happen to you. Make sure you look for my number on his collar, LOL
Nice chapter of this continuing dog/person tale. I wonder what Traveler thinks about his journeys and his people?. He’ll tell you eventually, and you’ll share it with us when the time is right. Have a good Thanksgiving.
I hope you & E had a great Thanksgiving, Jeff. Much love.
Gosh, when animals find you... a baby squirrel followed me around the yard; I stuffed it in my bra and sent a pic to my kids. My son immediately came back: We can keep him!! I took it to a rescue-- apparently it was raining baby squirrels. Once on my way to a patient's house I saw a fuzzy yellow duckling in the gutter trying to jump a curb... skidded to a halt and chased it through a couple of yards to a blind corner and caught it, put it in a box that should have been tall enough, but those little guys can gain some altitude! A rescuer/rehaber said it would have been the last egg to hatch and the mother didn't wait for it, took the others to a water source somewhere-- I actual went looking for her, unsuccessfully, and arrived late to my appointment... thankfully people have warm fuzzy feeling for ducklings. But the dogs. Omg stray dogs. Jasper and Rio were black and tan mixed breed hound puppies who found us looking for a fishing spot on the south branch of the Potomac River in West Virginia, where folks have a different view of whether a dog is a family member or has work to do and earns its keep. We polled nearby neighbors who denied knowing anything about them-- puppies...hmmm. They grew to 65 pounds; Jasper developed a seizure issue. We had them about 10 years. Sasha barked at our front door after midnight one night, wouldn't let me get near her so I said: Suit yourself-- and went back to bed. She was more amenable to males and let my partner feed her in the morning. It was Election Day; we posted a 'stray dog, female black & white' notice at the exit of the local school where people were voting, also notified the dog warden but no one came looking for her. She had a docked tail and ran like the wind. She was young, about 10 months; I think she was intended to be a hunting dog. We should have named her Bone Head or Bullet-- she calmed down after 6 or 7 years and lived to 17. She loved Jasper. She was a smart, wonderful companion-- dog #3. Lizzie ambled up the dirt road not long after Sasha came, sat in the front yard and looked pleadingly toward the house, probably smelled the other dogs. She was dark brown, including her lips and eyelids, like she was wearing makeup, had a bald mark around her neck where someone removed her collar before they left her on the road. She was stressed, covered in ticks, had hook worm, and didn't want to pee outdoors but I could wait longer than she could hold it. She was not a good dog, but adored baby-talk about how wonderful she was and encouraged as much of it as I was willing to offer. We named her Lizzie; I called her B-Wacky Brown Doggie, 'Brown' for short-- dog #4. Now all the dogs are gone, I have temporary custody of my daughter's cat while she's in grad school but pretty sure he's gonna stay here even when she's finished :) As you've described so poignantly, we become so easily attached.
My goodness, Julie, every one of these could be a story in itself. What a bounty of stories you have. *!*
This pierces my heart. Thank you SO much for giving us the next chapter. There's something about a white dog. He's a phantasm. A vision. Like the sacred white buffalo calf who appears, now and then. Please put your three posts together and make an essay out of this. It'll be fantastic.
xoxo
I’m crying. Thank you for this beautiful story.
If I made you cry, Katie, I did my job. :) (To be honest, I cried a bit writing that story. Not sure why that white dog gets me like that.)
The Georgia woods, neighbors, dogs who get lost and found, and the newest member of the family.
The Woods of Fannin County will always be a perfect book for me, not the suffering, but the spirit and will of the kids. It would make the kind of film I would love to watch.
Janisse, you are one wonderful woman/writer.
And are you a filmmaker by chance? :)
Holy schmoly. That is a powerful testimony. Wow wow wow. Thank you, Michele.
I'm so glad to learn what happened to Tank/Traveler! Such a sweet story.
Definitely can’t pass up the new class! ❤️
Yay, so glad. We have a year to do it, so it'll be an easy pace. Grab your knapsack!
A brilliant story and a brilliant offer! I have to wait two days for the credit card cycle to turn then I’m upgrading!
Awwww I love this ❤️ Big Boy Tank Traveler is a beauty. And congratulations on the new baby!
Thank you, Dottie. Hope the painting is going great.
Beautiful story, and the photo at the end makes even better. I think you should call him Tank tho; you may not like it, but he knows it.
I hear you, Susan. Hope you're doing great.