Elaine Faber

Black Cat and the Accidental Angel

An excerpt from a novel by Elaine Faber

What on earth? Thumper lifted his head to peer through the wires of the carrier. For as far as his eyes could see–nothing but the tops of apple trees. Where are we? Last time he’d looked, the car was on the freeway, somewhere between San Francisco and Fern Lake. Headed home.

“Owh. You’re stepping on my tail.” Noe-Noe twisted her fetching feline head and glared. “When can I get out of this wretched carrier?”

Thumper shifted his weight. “Sorry, my precious. Won’t be long now.” The SUV hit another pothole, rocking the cat carrier on the back seat. It clunked against the passenger door.

He lifted his nose, sniffed and pulled back his ears. Dog! How long had it been since Dorian bathed Sam? Dog swirled through the car, stirred by the air conditioner. Would someone please crack a window? He could hear Sam panting, just behind the seat in his carrier. Probably drooling all over the luggage. Noe-Noe was right. This trip couldn’t be over soon enough. “We should be home in an hour, my sweet.”

His companion appeared less than impressed. “Owh! Move over. You’ve got your foot in my stomach.” Noe-Noe laid her head on the blanket and closed her eyes.

Poor thing. She’s exhausted. She certainly wasn’t the sweet kitty he’d fallen in love with in Texas, but then he couldn’t blame her for being cranky after five hours on the plane and another hour and a half hours on the road. Thumper scooted closer to the hard side wall on the carrier and tried to get comfortable.

Noe-Noe opened her eyes. “I had no idea it was so far to Fern Lake. I’ve changed my mind.” She stood and rocked with the swaying car. “Tell Brett to stop this car and let me out. I want to go home.”

Thumper turned toward Noe-Noe. Yowww! “You want to go home now? How do you think you’d get there? Fly? You’re a cat, not a bird!” As if he could tell Brett to stop the car, anyway. His person had never taken driving instruction from him before, not likely he’d start now.

“Maybe this was a mistake. Why did you make me come with you? ” Noe-Noe scrunched her ears and gave him a swat.

“Cut that out. What do you mean, I made you come? You begged me not to leave you behind. Lucky for you, Kimberlee brought you along. Now scoot over. You’re taking up three-quarters of the space.”

“Am not. Move your own fat black butt. You’re poking me. I’m already up against the wall…”

Thumper reached up to scratch his left ear. That blasted dog. I better not have a flea on me. Go back to sleep. It won’t be long now.”

Thumper peeked through the wire door. Outside, the tops of trees whizzed past on both sides of the road.

The screech of brakes and crunching metal filled the car. What the…? The SUV lurched. It careened. Swayed back and forth, flinging the back passenger door open.

Thumper pitched forward. His body collided against Noe-Noe as the carrier toppled from the car. It crashed onto the asphalt, and then plummeted end over end down the twenty-foot embankment. Metal grating against metal drowned out Noe-Noe’s shrieks. The world tipped upside down, then right side up. His world tilted and reeled as the carrier tumbled down, down past the wall of rocks. Noe-Noe?

Wham! His head whacked hard against the wall.

The carrier rocked to the side, and then lurched to a stop. The scent of rotten apples made his stomach turn. A fine mist of dust rose up and drifted in through the wire. He moaned and tried to lift his head. Everything went black.

To read more about Thumper and Noe Noe’s adventure, purchase the e-book Black Cat and the Accidental Angel     http://tinyurl.com/y4eohe5n (3.99)

This is a scene from my cozy cat mystery novel, Black Cat and the Secret in Dewey’s Diary, where Kimberlee goes to Austria in search of a lost treasure in gold coins.  I visited Austria in 1987 and experienced some unusual occurrences. In this story, I was able to have Kimberlee experience these and other unusual events in this otherwise fictional story. The experiences described in this scene in Salzburg are from my own experience. The watercolor described is in my hallway still, a reminder of this wonderful day.

****

As Kimberlee passed through the countryside and the forests, the terrain varied and the road rose and fell. Around every corner, another picture post card vista appeared. With no particular agenda, she stopped frequently to take a photograph.

In some green meadows, the only sound was the tinkling of shiny brass bells, hanging from the collars of a flock of sheep or a small group of black and white cows. In other places, the gentle terrain rose up into a fine mist clinging to the hillside. Hidden in the distant mist, tinkling bells confirmed grazing animals, unaware that their bells could produce such a stirring in the heart of an unseen tourist passing on a nearby road.

The vineyards on the hills and meadows became fewer as Kimberlee approached Salzburg, an ancient city where Mozart first played his harpsicord and wrote melodies. Hundreds of years later, people still know his name and enjoy his music.

Near the center of town, she parked the car and began to walk. Ancient ivy-covered buildings with sagging tile roofs covered the courtyards along the sidewalk. Church spires peaked out above red tile rooftops of nearby houses. She passed a church with dates carved into the walls reading 1200-1400. How incredible! One church was said to be 1000 years old!

Violin music drew her toward the town square where a street musician stood on the steps of an ancient church, playing Ave Maria. Pigeons flew overhead from rooftop to rooftop, appearing to be as mesmerized by the music as the cluster of tourists gathered on the steps.

Kimberlee paused to listen as the haunting melody echoed around the square. It touched her heart as it carried her away from this world and back into another time. It was easy to imagine the cobbled streets filled with horse-drawn carts carrying a princess and her ladies in waiting, or a knight in shining armor, after a joust with a dragon.

The musician drew his bow across the strings and as he lowered his hand, the final note hung in the air. The tourists stood spellbound and silent. And then the spell was broken and the more generous visitors tossed money into the violin case at his feet.

Kimberlee opened her purse. “That was absolutely lovely! Thank you.” She put money into his case and wandered on.

She ran to catch a tram climbing to the top of the hill where a medieval castle overlooked the city, a cold and barren place with steps everywhere. The rooms were filled with armor, ancient guns, javelins, chains and torture devices. From the balconies, looking down on the valley was like peeking into the pages of a storybook. Rainy mists on the distant mountains beckoned hikers upward into the cold crisp air. Off to the left, rivers, towers, cathedrals, graveyards, and church spires. Off to the right, cobble-stone streets with horse-drawn carriages, sidewalk cafes, musicians, and archways, where street vendors hawked their wares on the street corners.

Returning to the city below, Kimberlee came upon a street artist sitting with his back against the wall, his easel and backpack by his side. The picture drying on his easel was a watercolor of the nearby ancient church steps where the musician had just played his stirring aria. Unable to resist the desire to memorialize the moment, she purchased the picture. She planned to have it framed and hang it near her bedroom, a constant reminder of the musician and his poignant melody.

What a magical city! After a good meal and a very strong cup of coffee, Kimberlee returned to her car. She must locate a pension where she might spend the night. Tomorrow, she would continue to follow the clues from the WWII soldier’s diary, in hopes that they might lead to the gold coins, still hidden so many years later.

****

Black Cat and the Secret in Dewey's Diary is available at Amazon (e-book) for $3.99.  Contact me directly for an autographed paperback version. ($15.00 - Free shipping within in USA)

Readers: Judy Vaughn's book, Strawberry Roan, is a collection of stories starting from her childhood on  a New Mexico horse ranch where she trained horses . As an adult, she became a wife, mother, and a neurologist! She shares interesting events throughout her life in college, traveling through Mexico with an infant, and as a neurologist in a state mental hospital. Once I started reading Strawberry Roan, I found her book fascinating and hard to put down . I think you will enjoy reading my interview with Judy. (Elaine)

"Share something about yourself:"

I’m now into my third generation of a life bubbling over with three adult children and six grandchildren. Strawberry Roan, my memoir, recounts the part of my life spent in New Mexico (as well as several temporary absences for education and service) that too place from the 1950s to the 1980s.

"Tell us about your writing."

After I retired from forty plus years as a physician, I began to write the story of my beloved New Mexico youth. As I wrote, I studied the craft of writing for ten years. I wanted to write the best memoir I could.

I began writing short vignettes of my life in no special order. Once I had the story I wanted to tell, I arranged them into a loose chronology. Slowly I was able to show the roller-coaster of  happiness and disappointment of my life, and how that was shaped into resilience and peace

"Who is the prime audience for your book?"

Horselovers! It's a horse story. Much of it involves the day-to-day details of caring for horses. There is both  joy and sorrow. It will inspire any woman determined to balance an intense hobby, a family, and an unusual care-giving profession.

"Do you have  other books published?"

Not at this time. I plan to publish another collection of stories, including a true family story from Tristan da Cunha, the most remote island in the world.  I wrote A Quiet Little Civil Rights Project in 2013; it's no longer in print. I describe it in Strawberry Roan, Ch. XXI. " Beatrice Made Me Do It”

"How could you recall all the past details from your life, particularly conversations?"

Our brains reconstruct the details if we give them a hint. Most memoirs emphasize story over exactitude, emotional truth over facts. I frequently discussed my recollections with my sisters and others, and wrote the story that reflected our shared truths. Where facts seemed important, I sought documentation in newspapers, hundreds of photos, programs, directories and historical documents.

I sought to speak a child’s voice or a teen’s where needed and to show the author’s own opinions and feelings, both contemporaneous and in reflection,.

In my writing, dialogue was exact when I had a source, such as a letter, otherwise it was reconstructed. Sometimes I consolidated several true events for the sake of story interest.

I show that life was different in the last century. I trained horses with almost no help when I was very young. That was amazing, even to me. Reflecting on that, I recall Mother worrying about me alone at the barn, but I don’t see her jumping in the car to see if I was okay.

The take-aways in Strawberry Roan are often lessons in well-earned humility. The  struggle for understanding continues.

"Where can your book, Strawberry Roan, be purchased?"

Amazon, and Barnes and Noble, Capital Books on I Street, Sacramento, CA., OP Cit Books, Sante Fe, New Mexico, Paper Trail, LasVegas, New Mexico.  It includes over thirty personal photographs. . Also available at Amazon in paperback at  https://bit.ly/StrawberryRoanBook

"Thanks for sharing your stories in your novel, Judy."

I'm sure my readers will enjoying reading your memoir and the interesting aspects of your life.

This is a scene from the dual tale, Black Cat and the Secret in Dewey's Diary. While the cats face their own challenges in Fern Lake, Kimberlee has gone to Austria and Germany where she follows clues to a lost treasure in gold coins, stolen during WWII. One day, while site-seeing alone, she visits Salzburg. The following is her experiences in the city. https://tinyurl.com/vgyp89s (Amazon e-book $3.99)

As Kimberlee passed through the countryside and the forests, the terrain varied and the road rose and fell. Around every corner, another picture post card vista appeared. With no particular agenda, she stopped frequently to take a photograph.

In some green meadows, the only sound was the tinkling of shiny brass bells, hanging from the collars of a flock of sheep or a small group of black and white cows. In other places, the gentle terrain rose up into a fine mist clinging to the side of hillside. Hidden in the distant mist, tinkling bells confirmed grazing animals, unaware of how their bells produced such stirring in the heart of a captivated tourist.

The vineyards on the hills and meadows became fewer as Kimberlee approached Salzburg where Mozart first played his harpsicord and wrote melodies. Hundreds of years later, people would still know his name and enjoy his music.

Ancient ivy covered buildings with sagging tile roofs covered the courtyards along the sidewalk. Church spires peaked out above nearby houses with red tile rooftops. She paused beside a church with dates carved into the walls reading 1200-1400. How incredible! One church was said to be 1000 years old!

Violin music drew her toward the town square where a street musician stood on the steps of an ancient church, playing Ave Maria. Pigeons flew from rooftop to rooftop, appearing to be as mesmerized by the music as the cluster of tourists gathered on the steps.

The haunting melody echoed around the square. It touched her heart as it carried her away from this world and back into another time. It was easy to imagine the cobbled streets filled with horse-drawn carts. Perhaps a princess and her ladies in waiting passed by, or a knight in shining armor, after a joust with a dragon.

The musician drew his bow across the strings and as he lowered his hand, the final note hung in the air. The tourists stood spellbound and silent. Another moment, and the spell was broken and more generous visitors tossed money into the violin case at his feet.

Kimberlee opened her purse. “That was absolutely lovely! Thank you.” She put money into his case and wandered on.

She ran to catch a tram climbing to the top of the hill where a medieval castle overlooked the city, a cold and barren place with steps everywhere. The rooms were filled with armor, ancient guns, javelins, chains and torture devices. Looking down from the balconies into the valley was like peeking into the pages of a storybook. Rainy mists on the distant mountains beckoned hikers upward into the cold crisp air. Off to the left, rivers, towers, cathedrals, graveyards, and church spires. Off to the right, cobble-stone streets with horse-drawn carriages, sidewalk cafes, musicians, and archways, where street vendors hawked their wares on the street corners.

Returning to the city below, Kimberlee came upon a street artist, his back against the wall, his easel and backpack by his side. The watercolor drying on his easel was of the scene where the musician had just played his stirring aria on the church steps. Unable to resist the desire to memorialize the moment, she purchased the picture. She would have it framed and hang it near her bedroom, where it would be a constant reminder of the musician, his poignant melody and the day spent in the magical city.

I just published the fourth cozy Black Cat mystery.

Black Cat and the Secret in Dewey’s Diary is a dual tale that takes place in California and also in Austria. While Black Cat and Angel are embroiled in village intrigue and riveting drama along the shores of a No. California resort town, Dorian and Kimberlee seek a long-lost treasure they believe is still hidden in Hopfgarten, Austria.The story moves back and forth between Black Cat’s wisdom and Angel’s snarky wit in Fern Lake, and Kimberlee’s unexpected challenges facing a stalker in a foreign country.

It all started with a message in a WWII diary from a soldier who befriended a German soldier during the battle of Normandy. Following the war, Dewey receives and records in his diary, a mysterious message from his friend… The treasures is in Hopfgarten….touch the feet of the babe…

Kimberlee reads Dewey’s diary just before she and Dorian embark on an Austrian vacation. Of course, they must go to Hopfgarten to follow the clues to a treasure missing for more than 50 years. And also, of course, she encounters a man who has spent the last 50 years searching for this lost treasure. When he overhears Kimberlee talk about a 'missing treasure in Hopfgarten, he begins to stalk the girls... and.. well, if I told you any more, you wouldn't need to buy the book. Amazon $3.99 for the e-book.   http://tinyurl.com/y2tyyeh5

Contact me for a reduced price on the paperback copy.

Kimberlee’s Austrian adventure includes many of my own 1987 personal experiences when I traveled through castles and villages, saw cows wearing bells around their necks, visited 1000-year-old churches in Salzburg, and finally into Hopfgarten where I experienced many of the events included in Kimberlee’s adventure, and first imagined the story of a missing treasure, and wrote the poem in Dewey’s diary.

At last the story is in a novel, something I've wanted to do for years.

If you buy and read Black Cat and the Secret in Dewey's Diary, be sure to leave an Amazon review!

In 1987, my daughter and I traveled to Germany, Austria and Switzerland. I kept a diary during that two week journey. Here are the entries from Salzburg, Austria.

Walking through the streets of Salzburg is like walking back into history. One sees houses with flower boxes, painted scenes on the exterior walls of the buildings, church steeples, roofs of clay tiles and bell towers. The streets are cobbled and many of the windows are made of leaded glass.

There are vineyards up on a nearby hillside and an ancient ivy covered building with sagging tile roof across the courtyard lends a medieval flavor to the view. Church spires peak out above the red tile rooftops on nearby houses and unconsciously we scan the faces of the passersby, perhaps expecting to see Mary Poppins. Dates carved on the churches range from the year 1200-1400. One church is said to be 1000 years old.

A kitty sits atop a nearby rooftop, meowing piteously, as tourists peer up and try to decide if he is stuck, hungry, or just bored and teasing the tourists.

We drive along a river and follow a road up the side of a grape-laden hillside to the very top. Below us, a park follows the curve of the river. We can see the tiny train below and churches steeples scattered among the rooftops. A storm is brewing and the sky darkens with rain clouds as we stand atop the mountain, looking down over the city which for hundreds of years is unchanging.

Yes, as modern times came, freeways and electric wires approached the city, the merchandise sold in the stores has changed, and automobiles replaced the horse carriages, which once clip-clopped along the cobbled streets. The narrow lanes remain the same, the lovely churches, fortresses, palaces, and hillsides are unchanged. The city will tolerate progress but it will not give in to it. Our modern conveniences are an intrusion on its medieval splendor.

Visitors from the United States marvel at the unchanging and apparently timelessness of this beautiful country. The land stretches out unspoiled as we compare it to our familiar busy cities. The mountains beckon hikers upward into the cold clean air. Though there are industrial areas, much of the land is still in its wilderness state, as it was at the moment of creation, lush and green and seemingly immune to modern marvels.

In the town of Salzburg, there is a town square where a street musician plays Ave Maria on a violin. Above us pigeons fly from rooftop to rooftop and the music echoes around the courtyard. I let my mind wander and it is easy to imagine the town filled with people coming and going up and down the tiny cobbled streets in horse drawn carts. Over here would be a peddler selling vegetables, and over there a princess is escorted by her ladies-in-waiting. Over here a group of soldiers march down the street, straight and tall, tired from slaying dragons on the hillsides.

Another day and music might have filled this same courtyard, not from the church but from the house down the street where a thin young boy named Mozart plays the harpsichord and writes melodies that will one day make him famous, even several hundred years later.
Over there a beggar sits by the church wall and begs for alms. Many pass him by, even as today, so many hungry people walk our streets and though we call ourselves “more civilized,” how many of us are guilty of turning away?

A horse cart clip-clops by, bringing me back to today as the last beautiful strains of Ave Maria fade into the sky. We give the musician money and move off down the street where we buy a watercolor painting of the church from a local street artist.

OWNEY –The Globe-Trotting Mail Mascot - I ran across an interesting story the other day about a little mutt dog that became the nation’s Post Office mascot from 1888 - 1897. Owney, a little mixed terrier, traveled for nine years across the nation’s railways on mail trains, always returning to Albany, PA, a key division point on the New York Central railroad system, one of the two largest railroads in the U.S. at that time. Over the years, he was given medals and citations by various organizations, as the country marveled at the little dog’s dedication to the mail service.

Once, it’s said, that a mail bag fell from a delivery wagon. Owney jumped off the wagon and guarded the bag until a postal worker missed him and the mail bag and returned to find him sleeping on top of the bag, preventing anyone from touching it except a postal worker.

OWNEY’S MEDALS: Over the years, post workers around the country where Owney visited, hung medals on his collar until he had accumulated hundreds of medals. It was necessary to give him a vest on which to pin the medals. He jingled like sleigh bells when he walked.

Occasionally, Owney would jump on an outbound train and disappear for weeks or months until he would reappear in the Albany post office. A train trip into Canada got him into trouble once, when he was detained by the Canadians and held for ransom, demanding charges for his board. The Albany postmen pooled their money and bailed poor Owney out of Canada. He was returned once more to the Albany post office.

EUROPEAN TRAVELS: It is documented that in 1895, Owney traveled via steamship and rail, riding with mail bags throughout Asia and across Europe. He was fed and tended by postal workers along the way. The Emperor of Japan awarded him several medals bearing the Japanese Coat of Arms. His triumphant return to American was covered by newspapers nationwide. He became world famous after the trip.

As the years progressed, Owney’s eyesight and health failed. On orders of the local postmaster in Toledo, Ohio, they detained him (I suppose they thought for his own good) and kept him tied in a basement. The report is that he became aggressive (probably from despair at being held against his will). He allegedly attacked a postal worker and bit him. He was shot and killed on June 11, 1897.
PRESERVED AND HONORED: The nation’s postal workers refused to bury their beloved mascot. They asked that the dog receive the honor of being preserved and taxidermied. His remains were sent to the Post Office Department Headquarters and eventually to the Smithsonian Museum. His remains required an extensive taxidermy makeover by 2011 when the USPS issued a stamp honoring Owney.
Owney has been the subject of five books. His remains now stand in a glass case in the Smithsonian Institute in the National Postal Museum atrium in Washington D.C., wearing his harness and surrounded by many of his tags.

MORE INFORMATION: You can find more information about Owney in Wikipedia and other internet online resources.

Through the wonders of time-travel and internet technology, today I’m interviewing American author, Ernest Hemingway.

Elaine: “What is the most memorable thing you recall about your childhood?”

Ernest: “My parents had a summer home near Walloon Lake, Michigan when I was four years old. My father taught me to hunt, fish and camp in the woods. This experience instilled in me a passion for outdoor adventure and living in remote places. I guess it set the tone for my need to live an adventurous life.”

Elaine: “What was the first job you ever held?”

Ernest: “I worked as a cub reporter for the Kansas City Star for six months right out of high school. They gave me a Style Guide which became the foundation of my writing. ‘Use short sentences and short first paragraphs. Use vigorous English. Be positive, not negative.’ See the entire Kansas City Style guide here:

http://www.lostgeneration.com/includes/Hemingwaystylesheet.pdf
Elaine: “Tell us about your first publication.”

Ernest: “After returning from WWI in 1919, I took a fishing trip with high school friends into Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. The trip inspired the short story, Big Two-Hearted River, where Nick Adams takes to the country to find solitude after returning from war.”

Elaine: “I understand you were influenced by a number of famous people. Can you tell us about them?”

Ernest: “My first wife, Hadley and I moved to Paris in 1921 and I worked as a foreign correspondent for the Toronto Star. While there, I became friends with Gertrude Stein, James Joyce, Ezra Pound and F. Scott Fitzgerald. Gertrude became my mentor and introduced me to a number of artists and writers - Pablo Picasso, Joan Miro’ and Juan Gris. We collaborated on a book called In Our Times.”

Elaine: “I understand many of your books were inspired by your travels and adventures.”

Ernest: “A safari in East Africa in 1933 inspired Green Hills of Africa and several short stories. To Have and Have Not was published in 1937 while we lived in Spain.”

Elaine: “You love cats, right? You’re a man after my own heart.”

Ernest: “LOL. I learned to love cats when I lived in Cuba with my second wife, Pauline. My first cat was a gray Angora named Princessa (middle cat in photo). Two addition males were purchased and I wrote extensively about one of the kittens named Boise. At that time I was writing For Whom the Bell Tolls (1940) based on my experiences during The Spanish Civil War.”

Elaine: “Wasn’t that was your most famous book?”

Ernest: “It was nominated for the Pulitzer Prize in 1940 and sold half a million copies within months. That makes it one of my favorites.”

Elaine: “And then in 1954, you won the Nobel Prize in Literature for ‘mastery of the art of narrative and the influence exerted on contemporary style’ as demonstrated in The Old Man and the Sea. That’s pretty impressive, too.”

Ernest: “I felt that Carl Sandburg, Isak Dinesen or Bernard Berenson deserved the prize more than me, but the prize money was welcome.”

Elaine: “You’re too modest. Here is what you wrote in a speech to be read in Stockholm, as you were not able to attend to receive your prize. “Writing, at its best, is a lonely life. Organizations for writers palliate the writer’s loneliness but I doubt if they improve his writing. He grows in public stature as he sheds his loneliness and often his work deteriorates. For he does his work alone and if he is a good enough writer, he must face eternity, or the lack of it, each day.”

Elaine: “You have led an exciting life. Can you leave us with any words of wisdom for writers and to regular folks?”

AUTHOR CORNER: “There is no rule on how to write. Sometimes it comes easily and perfectly. Sometimes, like drilling rock and then blasting it out with charges.”
E. Hemingway.

EVERYDAY FOLKS: “I have learned a great deal from listening carefully. Most people never listen.” E. Hemingway

*Source: Ernest Hemingway - Wikipedia:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ernest_Hemingway

WHAT MADE THE GRAND CANYON? The Grand Canyon is 277 miles long, up to 18 miles wide and is over a mile deep. While the specific process and timing that formed the Grand Canyon are subject to debate by geologists, recent evidence suggests the Colorado River established its course through the canyon at least 17 million years ago. Since that time, the Colorado River continued to erode the earth and form the canyon to its present day configuration.

A NATIONAL MONUMENT: President Theodore Roosevelt was a major proponent of the preservation of the Grand Canyon. He visited it on numerous occasions to hunt and enjoy the scenery. On January 11, 1908, President Roosevelt declared the massive Grand Canyon a national monument. It is considered one of the Seven Wonders of the World.

VISITORS: Every year, a staggering five million people flock to Arizona to see the Grand Canyon’s sweeping views, hike the trails, shoot the rapids in rubber rafts and hop on a mule for a trip through the vast canyon.

MULE RIDES THROUGH THE CANYON: This summer, for the first time in more than 100 years, mule riders will be able to take in the breathtaking vistas while traveling along a new East Rim Trail built by the National Park Service.

WHAT ABOUT THOSE MOLLIES? A mule is the offspring of a male donkey and a female horse. While mules can be male (Jacks) or female (Mollys), they cannot reproduce another mule. However, a female mule can be crossed to a horse which produces a Hinnies. Female mules are generally used on the Grand Canyon trail rides due to a more gentle temperament. While horses may tend to daydream as they walk along a trail, a mule knows exactly where they are going to put down each foot because their eyes are located on the outside of their heads, allowing them to see all four feet, which comes in handy on narrow trails, 6000 feet above the canyon floor.

Mules are the animal of choice for trail rides as they are more patient, sure-footed, hardy and long-lived than horses, considered less obstinate and more intelligent and possess a strong sense of self-preservation. I think there is a lesson here?
(For more information about mules in general, check this website: http://luckythreeranch.com/website/mule-facts/

AUTHOR CORNER: Keep an eye on all four feet around you. Keep a correct balance between your writing and your promotion. Don’t daydream like the horse and lose sight of your perspective. Keep an eye on industry trends, communicate with other writers and maintain your social media presence. Don’t be discouraged and take your eyes off the trail.

REGULAR FOLKS: Like the Grand Canyon mule, be steadfast, less obstinate, sure-footed, and intelligent. Maintain a sense of self-preservation. Keep informed of things around you. Don’t let the mundane things of life get in the way of your plans for the future. And if you ever get to the Grand Canyon, after you’ve hiked the trails, and shot the rapids, be sure and check out the mule rides along the East Rim Trail. Let me know if you’ve ever done anything quite as adventurous.