Danny is a dog who lives with his human, Andrew, on a boat in Florida. He wrote a series of blog posts, and many of the adventures in the book appeared on his blog. This book is a compilation of Danny’s adventures, and how he trained Andrew.
Danny the Dog is a prolific writer. He’s written articles for bloggers around the world and has his own very popular blog where he dispenses his wisdom on a monthly basis. He’s humorous, clever, charming, delightful, and sometimes irascible. Or, as he would phrase it, “I’m a purveyor of wit, wisdom, and words.”
In My Name Is Danny, Danny writes about his real-life adventures living on a boat in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, with his human, Andrew. He tells of their trials and tribulations … and the love they have for one another.
Fans of The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein and A Big Little Life by Dean Koontz will enjoy this book.
The main character is, of course, Danny.
Danny tells his tales in an amusing way, usually at Andrew’s expense.
One cannot help but like this little dog, with his many ‘brave’ exploits.
The writing is good. We get a clear picture of Danny’s character from the tales, and laughs from the many humorous adventures he relates.
Have you read this book? Do you know Danny from his blog?
I would be delighted to hear your thoughts in the comments.
I would also appreciate any reviews of my books, too. Reviews are important to authors as they help let the readers know about them. Millions of books are published each year and getting people to know they even exist is difficult.
If you wish to purchase any of the books, simply click on the cover in the sidebar and you will be taken to a page where you can buy from your favourite store. (The ebook versions of the first in each series is FREE.)
A moving piece by Andrew Joyce. One that should teach us all something the world seems to have forgotten.
I went off to war at the tender age of sixteen. My mother cried and begged me to stay, but my country needed me. I would not see my mother again for four very long years.
Due to my age, I was assigned to field headquarters as a dispatch courier for the first two years of the war. However, by the beginning of the third year, I had grown a foot taller and was shaving. And because men were dying at an alarming rate, I was sent into the trenches.
They say that war is hell. I say hell is peaceful compared to living in a muddy trench with bombs exploding around you at all hours of the day and night, although there were periods of respite from the shelling. Those were the hours when the enemy had to let their big guns cool or else the heat of firing would warp them. I lived like that for two years.
I was at Verdun where I saw the true hell of war. After eleven months, we fought to a standstill. When the dead were counted, almost a million men from both sides had given their lives and not one inch of ground had been gained.
By November of 1918, we were out of food, out of ammunition, and almost out of men to send to the slaughter. The people at home had had enough of seeing their sons and fathers and brothers shipped home in boxes. There were marches and protests against the war. Near the end, the dead were not even sent home, but buried in the fields where they had fallen.
At last, the war was over. I am told that nine million men died in those four years, and another twenty million were wounded. I was there and those numbers seem a little low to me, but what do I know? I was only a private.
This afternoon I’m having a cateract operation and so won’t be able to do much for a couple of days, so I decided to do a reblog for today. Should be back to normal next week.
This is a lovely tale from Andrew Joyce. I thought I’d share it with you instead of my usual Tuesday post.
by Andrew Joyce
I ran into Jimmy in the summer of 1969 when I was hitchhiking to California. I was standing by the side of the road just outside of Gallup, New Mexico, hoping to catch a ride at least as far as Flagstaff before it got dark. As the sun kissed the rim of the earth, turning the western sky a bright, fiery orange, an old beat-up pickup truck screeched to a halt; the driver leaned toward the open passenger window and said, “Where ya going?”
“LA.”
“I ain’t going that far, but I can get you down the road a bit.”
I threw my kit in the back and hopped inside. The guy hit the accelerator, lurching the truck back onto the asphalt, spewing rocks and pebbles in its wake. Before he hit second gear, and with his eyes still on the road, he said, “My name’s Jimmy. Glad to meet ya.”
This is a checklist everyone should think about.
Dragons Rule OK. V.M.Sang (author) 