Incoming! Incoming! Grab the helmets and flak jackets! RED ALERT! Cuz Her Crankiness is on the warpath today! Like, Super-Duper Cranky.

Why? Cuz yesterday she received her *promo* copy of a book she contributed an article to about Yours Truly. It’s an anthology called When Love Wags a Tail: Inspiring Stories of Love, Loyalty, and Laughter.

And we Totally Hate it.

What the “author” did to our story ranks right up there with pre-chewed bacon.

Talk about mangled. This chick turned our story into something it’s not. Screwed up the timeline. Messed with the dialogue. Blew the transitions. Didn’t even get the title right. She totally re-wrote our ending, which tucked in the tail nicely. The *ending* she substituted? Talk about “thud.” It lands like a brick. Worse, she completely the missed the point of our submission: Empty nester rescued by the love and loyalty of a brilliant rescue dog, Yours Truly. And there’s no personality in the published puff piece. It reads like a cardboard cut-out.

Did we mention we hate it?

So forget that tail book thingy. Here’s the real story, as written:

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The Scirocco on Four Feet

By Her Momness

The dual departure was abrupt. Unexpected. It left a mom-sized hole in my heart. A hole that only a dog can fill.

We live in a small rural town in Washington state. The local economy is sluggish at best. Jobs are few and far between. Two of my sons moved out last summer in search of greener job pastures. One followed a job offer to South Carolina. (That’s the End of the World in Mom Speak.) The other joined the navy (the other End of the World in Mom Speak). Both chose to keep their plans mum from Mom.

“We knew you’d be sad, Mom,” said Nathan and Sam. “We didn’t want to upset you more with long goodbyes.”

“Long goodbyes”? How does ten days’ notice for Sam and less than forty-eight hours’ notice for Nathan grab you?

I know. I know. Many adults of a certain age crow about the “joys” of being Empty Nesters. The freedom. The solitude. The ability to pack up and go any time you want.

But last summer, all I could think about was the eerie curtain of quiet that suddenly settled over the house. The empty rooms etched with decades of memories. Echoes of laughter and love. The sudden quiet wrapped around my heart like a funeral shroud.

If I’d had more time to adjust to the whole empty nest thing, it may not have hit me so hard. But the suddenness left me feeling bereft. Gasping for breath. Tossed into the spin cycle of an emotional washing machine. Reminded of another loss of the furry kind.

The dearest and truest friend I’ve ever known was my best girl, Eve. A gentle Yellow Lab with a coat the color of toasted marshmallows and the personality of Pooh Bear, Eve thought everyone was her best friend. Eve brought out the best in and thought the best of everyone. She was loyal, loving and generous. Even when every other family member scattered to the four winds with work, school, sports or other pursuits, I was never alone. There was always Eve, a palomino sirocco on four feet.

When Eve passed away in 2013, it was one of the worst days of my life. Some losses are too deep for words.

The house seemed eerily empty and unnaturally quiet without the welcoming bark of my “best girl,” the jangle of her dog tags. The ears pricked at the sound of my voice. The warm amber eyes following my every move.

But Evie was gone. So was a large chunk of my heart.

It was two years before I could even think about getting another dog. It was another year before I found Kimber.

Fast forward to August 2016. A friend of mine put us in contact with the local dog rescue organization. When Deb sent me a photo of a sweet border collie mix puppy, my heart melted. But my head hesitated. After all, there could never be another Eve.

“How old is she?” I messaged Deb.

“She’s ten weeks old. Up to date on all her vaccinations. House and leash-trained.”

“Do Not Want a Puppy” was my constant refrain of the last three years, post-Eve. I’d never had a puppy before. Only adult dogs. So I was wary about getting a puppy, mostly because I didn’t know a thing about raising or training a puppy. It seemed so daunting.

But that sweet furry face…!

“Would you like to meet up at the park?” Deb asked. “I’ll bring the puppy and you can get acquainted. We’ll’ go from there.”

So we met at a local park. “Would you like to hold her?” asked Deb.

Well. Who can resist that?!

I took Kimber into my arms. And immediately turned to mush. In about a nano-second. That’s how the smartest member of the family joined us after all the requisite adoption paperwork was completed. And I got a crash course in raising and training a puppy.

Kimber hasn’t left my side since. So when my sons moved out to begin new careers, Kimber seemed to sense my distress. My dual emotions of exultation that my boys were independent and making their own ways in the world tempered with soul-crushing loneliness and loss. Kimber was there. Every morning. Staring into my face with those deep amber eyes. Joyously greeting each new day with her Kimber-patented “I love everyone, ain’t life grand?’ effervescence. Kimber’s champagnesque personality rescued me from the slough of despond. Buoyed my sagging spirits. She lifted me up with her unconditional love and eternal optimism.

Just as Eve never left me alone, neither did Kimber. On days when I didn’t want to get up, Kimber gently nudged me awake and prodded me out of bed. Kimber waited patiently next to her leash for our next walk. Kimber got me out of the house. Persuaded me to play ball. Toss the frisbee. Garden. Take long walks on the beach.

On days when I didn’t feel like going out because I was thinking about my sons and missing them mightily, Kimber insisted otherwise. Together, we re-connected with friends and neighbors.

I doubt I would’ve had the motivation to do any of the above if it hadn’t been for Kimber. I soon started listening for the welcoming bark of my best girl, the jangle of her dog tags. The ears pricked at the sound of my voice. The warm amber eyes following my every move.

I still miss my sons. I think about Eve as December rolls around. But that mom hole in my heart? It’s becoming whole again. Thanks to the Kimber-sized scirocco on four feet, the new “best girl” who rescued me.

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So there!