If you’ve read my books, I’m sure you’ve come across a number of dogs.
That’s because I’m a dog person sprung from a long line of dog people. My mom couldn’t remember a time her family didn’t have a dog and I suspect the same was true of her mom and hers and back to a time when my ancestors were living in a cave somewhere.
My dad was not a dog person but resigned himself to fate the day my Grandmother brought my parents an abused puppy she’d more or less stolen from the neighbors and asked us to keep it “over the weekend. Until I can find it a good home.” Sunny ended up staying seventeen years. After her came a succession of dogs, always well-cared for, always loved, indeed, true members of the family. To this day, every single blessed one of my family has at least one canine companion. In fact, my daughter is the director of a dog rescue, Secondhandhounds.
Dog people can tend toward the odd. We have a pathological certainty that our furry friends ought to be included in all family celebrations…including Christmas. Now usually this means nothing more than a few K-9s embellished with reindeer antlers and/or bows milling about the maelstrom of wrapping paper created by a flurry of kids desperate to get through the packaging to the presents. But last Christmas ….
We’d finished the feast, cleaned up the dinner table, and stowed the leftovers in the refrigerator except for the #25 turkey carcass. This I stuck in a giant stockpot and, since it simply wasn’t going to fit in the fridge, put it out in our three-season porch.
Unfortunately, I neglect to tell anyone. Two hours later, as the adults lounged about in tryptophan induced stupors and the children ran riot with their latest weapons, er, toys, and carols blared from the stereo, someone let the dogs out. Through the porch.
A canine riot erupted outside, drowning out Bing Crosby wishes for a White Christmas. We sprang from our chairs and ran to the window to see what was the matter and it wasn’t Santa. Instead, seven dogs, ranging in size from ten pounds to ninety, were chasing through the snowy yard playing capture the flag with my turkey. Pieces of turkey were flying everywhere, dogs were rolling over each other, howling and barking, the Havanese was yapping, the Springer Spaniel was racing in circles around the main contenders, two pit mixes and a shepherd, and the goofy Great Dane puppy, though clearly having no idea what was going on, was going to do it at a dead run.
We bolted out the door and dove for the dogs, most of us ending up face planting in the snow as the dogs continued their merry pursuit of what was left of the turkey. And that’s when I realized it: We’d become the Bumpkuses from A CHRISTMAS STORY.
Are there any Bumpkus moments in your life? Please tell me there are!
About the Author:Connie’s early years are shrouded in mystery. What we do know is sketchy and incomplete but will be presented here in lieu of another way to fill space.
Brockway claims to be a native of either Minnesota or New York. Neither has been confirmed. She also claims to be thirty-two. No one has even bothered looking into this.
We do know she was attending graduate school at the University of Minnesota when she became involved with medical student, David Brockway. At some point they apparently legalized the relationship because when next she surfaces, she is sporting a new surname and a daughter.
A decade of relative anonymity ensues– except for the infamous alien encounter photographs which have, of course, now been debunked. No substantiated records occur until 1994 when Brockway published her first book, PROMISE ME HEAVEN.
Since then she has written over twenty full-length novels and anthology stories, bringing the current number of her books in print to over 1,500,000 published in thirteen countries.
Brockway has twice received coveted Publishers Weekly starred reviews and unqualified recommendations from Library Journal, as well as two starred reviews from the Library Journals organ, BOOKLIST. Her 2004 title, My Seduction was named one of 2004s top ten romance by that same industry magazine.
An eight time finalist for Romance Writers of America prestigious RITA award, Brockway has twice been its recipient, first in 1998 for My Dearest Enemy and in 2002 for The Bridal Season. Her books regularly appear on national and regional bestseller lists and are frequent Doubleday/Literary Guild selections.