My name is Andrew Joyce and I write books for a living. Jenai has been kind enough to allow me a little space on her blog to promote my new book RESOLUTION: Huck Finn’s Greatest Adventure. I think it’s a good book, but what do I know? Anyway, I’m kinda shy about tooting my own horn. So I think I’ll turn things over to my dog, Danny. He always has an attitude and usually does not speak highly of me. But please understand that we co-exist as the old Soviet Union and the United States once co-existed. We tolerate each other. So without further ado, here’s Danny.
Andrew dragged me away from an interesting documentary on television about how dogs were originally domesticated. He wanted me here to speak for him. For a person that works with words for a living, he has very little to say in real life. He wants me to tout his book for him, but I don’t think I will. Instead, I’ll tell you about our latest adventure. We’re always having fun adventures and I like to write about them. And everything I write is 100% true.
I’m Danny or to my fans, Danny the Dog. Today, I’d like to tell you what happened one recent morning after I walked Andrew. We live on the Asun; that’s the name of our boat. She’s named after my friend Suni. Andrew wanted to call her the Andrew, but I nixed that idea. I mean how narcissistic can you get? Well, in his case, quite a lot.
Before I can get to the events of two mornings ago, I have to preface my story by telling you what happened three days ago. I outsmarted Andrew and earned myself an hour of freedom. In addition, while running free, I came across a delicious treat and ate it. I’m not sure if it was the treat or what, but that night I got sick. So I was a bit out of sorts for a day. Andrew made a big show of insouciance and told me it was my karma. He even went so far as to say God was punishing me for running away. By the way, don’t blame me for using big words. Andrew makes me learn a new one every morning before he’ll give me my daily hot dog.
Anyway, after being a little under the weather for a day, I was feeling frisky that morning. When we got back from our walk, Andrew drummed a new word into my head. That day’s word was enfilade. I’m a dog—when am I ever going to need to use a word like that? If he taught me a word like bratwurst, now that is something I could use. I think it’s German for hot dog. And speaking of foreign languages, why can’t he teach me French? I’d love to go up to a pretty mademoiselle and say, “Je voudrais un hot dog.”
I’m getting away from my point. I was feeling pretty good and felt like playing. But would that old fart Andrew play with me? No, he wouldn’t! He sat there at his computer writing some silly story while I lay on the bed and begged him to come over and play. I gave a low growl to get his attention, then barked one bark. He looked at me and said, “If you want to play, come over here, and I’ll scratch your head.” I didn’t want a scratch on the head. I wanted Andrew to get on the bed and roll around with me, and maybe rub my tummy. For twenty minutes, every few minutes, I’d give out with a single bark, all to no avail. But in the end, I did win. He gave me a hot dog just to shut me up.
That was in the morning. At mid-afternoon, I still wanted to play, but Andrew was napping. Old people nap a lot. I let him sleep then, but the next time I’m going to jump up on the bed and lick him on the face until he wakes up and plays with me. At the very least, I’ll get a hot dog. By the way, tomorrow’s word is vociferous. He hasn’t told me what it means yet, but he did say my actions that morning inspired him to teach it to me. Maybe it means hot dog in French.
That’s about it from Dannyland for now.
Oh yeah, I almost forgot—go out and buy Andrew’s new book and make the old guy happy.
This is Andrew again. On behalf of Danny and myself, I would like to thank Jenai for having us over. It’s been a real pleasure.
It is 1896 in the Yukon Territory, Canada. The largest gold strike in the annals of human history has just been made; however, word of the discovery will not reach the outside world for another year.
By happenstance, a fifty-nine-year-old Huck Finn and his lady friend, Molly Lee, are on hand, but they are not interested in gold. They have come to that neck of the woods seeking adventure.
Someone should have warned them, “Be careful what you wish for.”
When disaster strikes, they volunteer to save the day by making an arduous six hundred mile journey by dog sled in the depths of a Yukon winter. They race against time, nature, and man. With the temperature hovering around seventy degrees below zero, they must fight every day if they are to live to see the next.
On the frozen trail, they are put upon by murderers, hungry wolves, and hostile Indians, but those adversaries have nothing over the weather. At seventy below, your spit freezes a foot from your face. Your cheeks burn—your skin turns purple and black as it dies from the cold. You are in constant danger of losing fingers and toes to frostbite.
It is into this world that Huck and Molly race.
They cannot stop. They cannot turn back. They can only go on. Lives hang in the balance—including theirs.
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