Dancing with Mr. Wilson

Had somebody in the year 1977 told me that the music that blared from just about every self-respecting teenaged youth's speakers, created by the mighty AC/DC would in my lifetime be considered mainstream rock and roll, and good time music I would have told them they were nuts. When we were young and a bit wild, AC/DC was the epitope of hard rock. It would drive our parents crazy, and the louder it got the better we liked it!

I don't think I would have recognized myself had I had the opportunity to climb into a time machine and fast forward thirty-five years. But I definately would have recognized the tunes that the old guy and his dog were dancing to in the living room of their middle-class ranch in their middle class neighborhood, smack dab in their middle ages!

Rock and Roll ain't dead, and neither are we...

The Bell Ringer

The Bell Ringer

The day is a bit frantic, lots to do, and not enough time to do it in. An after dark cup of coffee is just what I

need for the final leg of my journey that began shortly after sunrise. There’s a place near the last place on my list of places to go; a Christmas Shoppe on the week before Christmas. I can hardly wait.

There’s a line at the drive-thru so I park the car and walk in. A couple of teenage boys are the only people in the place and as soon as I enter one of them cuts in front of me and asks the girl behind the counter, “how much for a medium hot chocolate?”

“Two-fifty plus tax,” the girl replied.

“What about the .99 cent special?” asked the kid.

“You need a receipt from before noon today,” she replied as sternly as the kid’s question was surly. He snorted and put his buck back in his pocket and returned to his friend, rejected.

“Can I help you?” asked the girl behind the counter, finally noticing me.  I hate being invisible.

“A medium hot coffee, just milk.” I thought for a moment then said “and two medium hot chocolates.”

“You want whipped cream?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

The boys sat at a little table in the corner, two kids with no money and nothing to do but around the coffee shop. Their uniform of skinny jeans and hoodies didn’t look all that different from mine some thirty-five years ago, only my jeans were faded and an old army jacket took the place of the hooded sweatshirts. One thing had changed though, we used to hang around outside the stores; nobody would let us in

.

“You guys want whipped cream?” I asked them.

They looked back, bewildered.

“Two with whipped cream,” I said to the girl behind the counter, and she went to work. 

“Merry Christmas guys, I remember how it feels to be broke,” I said, and dropped the cups on their table.

The kids were stunned, and though they tried to remain cool could not suppress the delight my small gesture had on them.  It never fails to amaze me how a smile can transform a person; these two went from thug imitators to a couple of regular high school kids who just got an unexpected treat.

They got a hot chocolate, but I got much more. The looks on their faces when they realized what I had done was not at all what I would have thought. There was no suspicion, no uneasiness or sarcasm, just a genuine helping of gratitude that even the angst of adolescent life could not disguise. I think that they were as surprised with their response as I was. I doubt if anything like what just happened to them had ever happened to them before. In a world full of predictability something completely unpredictable had just happened.

Maybe I’m kidding myself and my gesture was no big deal. But maybe it was. Maybe these two kids who were hanging around a donut shop with nothing to do spent a few minutes enjoying their hot chocolate and feeling a little better about the people they share their world with. Maybe the next time they see an older guy coming they’ll hold the door for him, and that guy will get a different perspective of today’s youth, and not think that they are all a bunch of rude, unmotivated, texting, video game addicted creeps with no manners. Maybe that guy will see that these kids are a lot like he was when he was young, and though our pastimes have changed considerably, we are more alike than different.

And just maybe that guy will go home, and see his estranged teenaged son as a person again, and maybe he’ll find the patience he had lost, and maybe he’ll be able to recapture the magic between father and son that always seems to slip away between age 13 and twenty, no matter if it’s 1975 or 2014, or any time there have been fathers growing old and sons growing up.

Yeah, it was just a couple of hot chocolates, and there is a good a chance that the kids thought I was a chump. But there’s something magical about doing something good and decent for somebody else when there is nothing in it for you. You get to think about what you did any way you want, and allow those thoughts to grow into feelings. And it just feels great to think you made a difference.

I brought my good feelings with me to the Christmas Shoppe. I picked up the things on the list my wife had provided, and after cashing out the lady at the register quietly asked if I had “the coupon.”

“What coupon?” I asked.

The lady behind me gave me hers. It was good for ten bucks. I stashed the dough in my shirt, smiled and walked out. When I dropped the ten in the Salvation Army Bell ringer’s pot I realized that forces far greater than myself were at work. And it felt great to be part of it.

Silent Night, Good Girl

It’s time once again for one of my favorite passtimes, telling Ghost Stories! Loren Eaton at I Saw Lightening Fall has provided a creepy, wonderful means for us to tell some good ones. The rules are simple, 100 words, no more, no less, and make it creepy!

“From your chair by the window, you can see snow sluicing down from a leaden sky, white on gray. The radiator ticks. The eaves creak. Metal clinks against porcelain as you shiver while stirring your drink. The world itself seems blasted by cold, an empty waste of icy earth hard as iron, denuded of life.
But, oh, it is not. Had you eyes to see, you could behold the host of restless spirits moving across this chill tableau, a cloud of unsettled witnesses. Are you sure you want to know what have they seen? Because you are anything but alone. They can tell of the wayfarer huddled in the woods just over the hill whose red right hand turned against his brother. They can tell of the nameless thing that stalks him, desperate to slake its undying thirst. And they can tell of the quiet congregation accreting by your back door.
Come, turn the knob and let us tell you our stories…”
~Loren Eaton

Here’s my contribution…

It’s time once again for one of my favorite passtimes, telling Ghost Stories! Loren Eaton at I Saw Lightening Fall has provided a creepy, wonderful means for us to tell some good ones. The rules are simple, 100 words, no more, no less, and make it creepy!

“From your chair by the window, you can see snow sluicing down from a leaden sky, white on gray. The radiator ticks. The eaves creak. Metal clinks against porcelain as you shiver while stirring your drink. The world itself seems blasted by cold, an empty waste of icy earth hard as iron, denuded of life.
But, oh, it is not. Had you eyes to see, you could behold the host of restless spirits moving across this chill tableau, a cloud of unsettled witnesses. Are you sure you want to know what have they seen? Because you are anything but alone. They can tell of the wayfarer huddled in the woods just over the hill whose red right hand turned against his brother. They can tell of the nameless thing that stalks him, desperate to slake its undying thirst. And they can tell of the quiet congregation accreting by your back door.
Come, turn the knob and let us tell you our stories…”
~Loren Eaton

Here’s my contribution…

- See more at: http://www.rescuingprovidence.com/2014/12/19/where-is-santa/#sthash.vUCPGgnn.dpuf

It’s time once again for one of my favorite passtimes, telling Ghost Stories! Loren Eaton at I Saw Lightening Fall has provided a creepy, wonderful means for us to tell some good ones. The rules are simple, 100 words, no more, no less, and make it creepy!

“From your chair by the window, you can see snow sluicing down from a leaden sky, white on gray. The radiator ticks. The eaves creak. Metal clinks against porcelain as you shiver while stirring your drink. The world itself seems blasted by cold, an empty waste of icy earth hard as iron, denuded of life.
But, oh, it is not. Had you eyes to see, you could behold the host of restless spirits moving across this chill tableau, a cloud of unsettled witnesses. Are you sure you want to know what have they seen? Because you are anything but alone. They can tell of the wayfarer huddled in the woods just over the hill whose red right hand turned against his brother. They can tell of the nameless thing that stalks him, desperate to slake its undying thirst. And they can tell of the quiet congregation accreting by your back door.
Come, turn the knob and let us tell you our stories…”
~Loren Eaton

Here’s my contribution…

- See more at: http://www.rescuingprovidence.com/2014/12/19/where-is-santa/#sthash.vUCPGgnn.dpuf

“I always loved them.”

“Even when you were alive?”

“Even more.”

Bells chime exactly one mile behind them, muted by wind, lights blinking through the squall, a red dot shrouded by a blur of color.

“Hurry, we don’t have much time.”

“Is it always this crazy?”

“Every year.”

Onto the rooftop where few four legged creatures dare, through the roof; silent, just a wisp. Eyes watching, wary, interested. An ear cocks, a head tilts.

“Good dog, sleep now my sweet girl.”

“She seems content.”

“We did our job.”

Back into the night, where a million pets waited.

“Nobody bites Santa!”

Goodreads Giveaway!

In three short days a Goodreads Giveaway featuring Mr. Wilson Makes it Home begins! Ten copies of the book are up for grabs. All you have to do is enter!

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Mr. Wilson Makes It Home

by Michael Morse

Giveaway ends December 27, 2014.

See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.

Enter to win

The Grinch who ate the Birds

"Mr Grinch!" said Mr. Wilson from his comfy spot on the couch, "why are you in the Christmas Tree?"

The Grinch sat upon his perch, surprized that Mr. Wilson had woken up, but not so surprized that he couldn't think up a lie and think it up quick.

"I'm looking for a little birdie who lost his momma," said the sly, mischievous Grinch. "I heard him chirping, and he broke my heart."

"Those aren't real birds you dummy," said Mr. Wilson with a grin. "Come on, I'll show you the real birds!"

Mr. Wilson and his new found friend strolled to the kitchen door and glanced outside. There, as promised were dozens of birds gathered around the feeders.

"If we can get somebody to let us out we can chase them!" said Mr. Wilson.

"And if we catch one, we can eat him!" said The Grinch.

"Oh no, we never catch them," said Mr. Wilson. "We just chase them."

That old Grinch then slivered his way through the crack at the bottom of the door and snuck his way right up to a pair of mourning doves who were happily eating the sunflower seeds that fell from the feeders. Just as his grinchy little fingers were about to snap the neck of one of the doves, Mr. Wilson barked frantically and scared the birds away.

"Maybe you should stay outside!" he said to The Grinch and ran to the bedroom to tell his dad what The Grinch had done.

"His brain is full of maggots, his breath is like disease Mr. Wilson, stay as far away from him as you can get!" said Wilson's Dad.

Mr. Wilson returned to the door to keep an eye on his friend The Grinch, but The Grinch was gone, leaving only some feathers scattered around the snow at the bottom of the bird feeders.

"Oh Mr. Grinch, what am I going to do with you?"

Mr. Wilson Meets The Grinch!

"Hey Dad, who's that?"

"He's The Grinch. Stay awy from him, he's no good!"

"Come on Dad, how bad can he be?"

"He's a mean one, that Mr. Grinch. He's really quite a heel."

"What's a heel?"

I pointed to The Grinch who dissapeared into the milk pitcher.

"Where'd he go?" asked Mr. Wilson.

"Far, far away, I hope."

But I knew better. The Grinch will be back, and he will do anything to STOP CHRISTMAS FROM COMING!

Mr. Wilson's Bad, Bad Day

I'm having a bad bad day
Its about time that I get my way
Steam rolling whatever I see, huh
Despicable me
I’m having a bad bad day
If you take it personal that's okay
Watch this is so fun to see, huh
Despicable me

Why ask why better yet why not
Why are you marking x on that spot
Why use a blow torch isn’t that hot?
Why use a chainsaw is that all you got
Why do you like seeing people in shock
But my question to you is why not
Why go to the bank and stand in line
Just use a freeze gun it saves me time

I'm having a bad bad day
Its about time that I get my way
Steam rolling whatever I see, huh
Despicable me
I’m having a bad bad day
If you take it personal that's okay
Watch this is so fun to see, huh
Despicable me

Book Giveaway!

Donate $5- (the link is to your right on the desktop, don't know where it is on your mobile device but I'm sure it's there) for a chance to win a signed advance copy of Mr. Wilson Makes it Home!

My latest book will be released on February 3, 2015. I have an advanced reading copy sitting on my desk waiting for me to give it away, but to whom I wondered? Then I realized that today is Giving Tuesday and an idea formed in my head: what if I asked the people who I network with here, on Facebook, Twitter and my "other" blog, Rescuing Providence  to use the Donate button next to this post as a way to raise money for one of my favorite animal rescue groups, NE All Breed Rescue and use the names of people who donate whatever they are comfortable with as a pool to pick a name from, randomly of course. I'll probably have Mr. Wilson pick a name from what I hope is a lengthy list, contact that person, sign the extremely limited ARC (advance reading copy) and send it to the winner on Friday, December 5th.

The following is from the book, I chose a passage that kind of ties my firefighting life in with my pet rescue life. It's a little sad, but was a vital part of the story that has as much to do with the past as it does with the future.


An excerpt from Mr. Wilson Makes it Home, (this is from my original draft, the finished book has been meticulously edited by Skyhorse Publishing)

     We were lying on our bed one day, a rare occasion; idle time at the Morse Mansion is normally spent doing tasks that Cheryl has deemed absolutely imperative, when I discovered Apps. The TV came with a YouTube app., and the fun began. I entered “dog rescue stories” in the search box, and seconds later dozens appeared on our screen. For hours we sat, eyes transfixed on the screen, often tear filled, and watched story after story of emotional dog rescues. There was “Fiona,” a blind homeless dog who had been living near a dumpster in a trash heap. She was 100% blind, and the people who rescued her got her to an appropriate veterinarian who restored her sight in one eye. It was truly a remarkable story, and we watched it over and over. There were stories involving what we learned are called The Victory Dogs, they being the soldiers that fought in football star Michael Vick’s illegal dog fighting ring. Trained fighters turned loving pets, and all through the love of humans who took the time to resurrect their innate goodness, and let them be the dogs that nature intended them to be. Another story focused on a little hairy dirtball who ran away every time the rescuer’s came close, but was eventually captured, and given a haircut and a bath, and when she was done she looked like Mister Wilson’s sister!

     Cheryl was next to me, Mister Wilson was next to us, his eyes rapt with attention as his brethren’s stories were told as the story’s kept coming. It was incredibly moving, and we all felt more connected to each other when we finally had seen enough, more connected to each other, and more connected to the people who dedicate so much of their lives to helping homeless animals.

      I had spent the previous twenty-two years working in the inner city, and seeing the worst of what people are capable of. The things that people are capable of doing to each other are truly frightening. Shootings, stabbings, baseball bat attacks, rapes, and robberies- the list is endless. With all of the human suffering I saw as a firefighter and EMT the suffering of helpless dogs and cats had taken a backseat. Seeing dogs abused, and beaten and litters of puppies left in back stairways to die and worse, far worse, had become commonplace, and when there are people shot, or dying nearby the images of those poor suffering animals needed to be cleared before I could do my job. I had lost my ability to see the possibilities before me. The brain is like a sponge, it absorbs things for as long as it can, and when it is full, it simply stops absorbing. My brain was full, and I became a hard person, not oblivious to the suffering and neglect so many pets were enduring, but worse, seeing it and doing nothing to help. I was convinced that there was nothing I could do. We can’t even take care of each other, how we can take care of all the unwanted pets, I wondered. I had mine, and took good care of them, and the rest? I just couldn’t be bothered; the problem was overwhelming, and unsolvable. Or so I thought.

     I left that job when I couldn’t do it anymore, and slowly my empathy is returning, as is my ability to dream what I once thought impossible. By doing a small part in a bigger scheme, I can help the plight of the animals I had been forced to turn my back on. Because I cannot save them all doesn’t mean I can’t help one. Or two.

     We adopted Wilson, not knowing who would turn up in that truck from Arkansas. Did we get lucky, or are all, or at least most of the pets available for adoption as wonderful as he is? Of course they are! Each animal is its own miracle, and has a lot to offer to anybody willing to accept the gifts they bring. My belief that the universe is a good place, a place where love reigns supreme is re-affirmed every time I’m with Mister Wilson. His place in the universe is right here with us, and if lying on the bed on a lazy Sunday afternoon is where we are, then that is exactly where we are supposed to be. I cannot turn back time, and help the animals that I had to leave behind, but here and now, in the moment I can do my best to never do so again. Dogs live in the moment, I think, and from all I have read are incapable of remembering past events or worrying about the future.

      Knowing this, and believing it for the most part, I can’t stop myself from questioning the validity of  their supposed inability to remember the past every time I see Mister Wilson shy away from me as if I were about  to strike him. Fear was introduced to him by somebody, and he has to overcome that fear and trust that whatever happened to him is not going to happen again, and is simply an ugly old emotion. Dogs may not have the ability to remember the way that we humans understand memories, but hidden in their DNA the knowledge that there is potential for pain every time there is interaction with a human exists. Lack of memory does not negate a dog’s realization that humans can strike out with little or no warning and hurt them, and for them to fully trust their new owners is next to impossible, and the fact that Mister Wilson does so as much as he does is miraculous.

     I wish I knew what happened to him to make him quiver when somebody raises their voice, and to try and shrink into the floor, and not be seen, and become invisible. I wish I

knew how to erase those emotions from him, and let him fully appreciate the moment, and live his life knowing that nobody will hit him, or kick him, or toss him aside like an old rag, or tie him up in a freezing barn surrounded by his own waste, hungry, cold and alone. But I can’t. The only thing that I can do, that any of us can do, is to never let it happen again.

Anyway, the book moves on and a lot of great things happen, and lessons are learned and life keeps coming.

Please take a moment and give a little to the homeless pets and the people who care for them.

Me and Mr. Wilson will be picking a name on Friday, thank you for participating!

No Tricks for Food!~

We have a deal, Mr. Wilson and I; I don't beg when he's eating, and he doesn't beg when I am. It works well, this system I have devised, there is no table side drama, no reprimands, no hurt feelings and no overweight Mr. Wilsons!

Another thing that I do at feeding time is to prepare the meal for the little guy, and even though it's just some dry kibbles, a little hot water and a teaspoon of wet food I make a big deal out of it. When the feast is ready, i walk it over to the feeding place, which is always in the same place and wait for Mr. Wilson to sit. I then place the dish on his tray, and within a few seconds release him from "sit" and let him have at it.

I do not believe in making my pets do tricks for their food. They do not have to perform for cookies. They have jobs to do, nobody gets a free ride, but tricks? I think it's barbaric.

The cats have an easy job, they just have to look pretty and cuddle every now and then. Mr. Wilson has it a little harder, He is the guardian of our property, and is also my partner when we go on our neighborhood watch. To the casual observer it would appear that the tall man walking the little dog is just that, man and dog going for a walk. But if you look closely, and listen well you will find that we are far more than just casual walkers; we are scanning the horizon for crooks, and making sure everything is in place, and keeping wild animals in the woods where they belong!

It's a tough job, and Mr. Wilson does it well. There is no need for him to grovel at my feet at dinnertime.That is his time, and I let him have it. And we all sleep better when we're fed and happy!

I'm Walking the Dog...

I love walking a dog who listens. It gives me time to think, and somebody to hear the thoughts I've been thinking, other than myself. Perhaps what makes dogs such wonderful companions is their abilty to listen without offering opinions of their own. They are silent sentinals - their emotional reactions to the world we share need to be interperted by us, thus making us more in tune with our surroundings, the people we carry in our hearts and the animals at the end of our leashes. Talk is cheap, and nobody knows that better than a dog. They don't worry about idle chatter; their time on earth is relatively short, so they fill their moments with quiet reflection and comfort the people on the other end of the leash with their silent tranquility.

Until another dog crosses their vision, and all bets are off!

Liking Humans

People who like animals more than people worry me. Animals are great, there is no doubt about that, they seldom let you down, are generally good spirited folks, are cute and cuddly, or stoic and watchful. Can't say enough about them, they really are great. But they don't speak. They don't have the ability to communicate with us on an equal level. They  are easily controlled.

People on the other hand present endless challenges, and infinite possibilities. It's work maintaining a relationship with other people, and the work includes far more giving and compromise than a relationship with an animal. It's easy to be in control when dealing with a dog, or a cat, not so much with another person.

And while I'm on my soapbox, when is the last time you heard about a random pet rescuing and fostering a human? Sure there's seeing eye dogs, and search and rescue dogs, but I've yet to have one fix me my dinner. Except of course, my cats, who have been known to deliver a random snake, bird or rodent to my door as some kind of primitive gift. The gesture is always appreciated, but I always get the feathers stuck in my throat when I try and eat the birds.

Whenever I watch YouTube videos about animal rescues I can't help focusing on the people doing the rescuing rather than the animals being rescued. The people are the real heroes, and I find myself drawn to them, and find that they are more inspiring than the people who have abused and neglected the animals who need rescue are repulsive.

I guess I'm just proud to be part of the human race.

Honest Mike's People Training Tips

Hello all, it's time for the first installment of Honest Mike's People Training Tips! Today's segment touches on a touchy subject; Dogs and people on a leash.

First things first:

1 Walking your dog with a leash attached. 

It is important to teach your dog how to behave while tethered to you. Zak George is a real dog trainer, as opposed to Honest Mike who just thinks he knows everything, so I suggest you follow the link and train yourself how to act when you furry little friend is attached to you.

Now that you have learned how to walk with your dog on a leash, it's time for the next step. And here's where Honest Mike will undoubtedly ruffle some feathers:

2. Walking with your dog without a leash.

Let me be clear, I love my dogs and want nothing but the best for them. Occasionally I let them off the leash, but only in places that I believe are safe to do so. Is everyplace safe? No. There are distractions and danger everywhere. But I know that the dogs in my life are truly alive when allowed to run free. We share a bond stronger than nylon or chains, and in the appropriate place the freedom that I allow makes our bond even stronger. Little gives me more satisfaction than watching my dogs running wild, and then making the choice to come back to me.

The dogs run, and explore, and dig things up, and feel what it is like to be wild and free, but with the comfort of their protector close by. By establishing proper pack order, and creating an invisible bond between us their ancestral roots and impulses are allowed freedom of expression, and they are better dogs for it.

3. Bringing them home.

Walks are great, but coming home is even better. Allowing your dog freedom of choice, even if just for a few moments will establish you as a good, fair and competent leader in the dog's mind. He needs to trust you without doubt, and be willing to spend his entire life under your command.

To the dog, you are everything. You are the world, the sun and the stars. You owe it the the living, breathing, thinking and feeling being who is devoted to you to be the best leader possible. Taking time to establish the bond, and knowing when to let go will make the time you have together something to cherish. Their time with us is short. Make the best of it for both of you.

Pawprint Press

Michaiah and Abigail Kojoian are two local kids whom I have never met that have taken the time to create The Pawprint Press. I was Pet Supplies Plus getting food and stuff tor Lunabelle, Victorie Mae and Mr. Wilson and saw some copies of the newsletter, had a minute so I thumbed through, not knowing quite what to expect.

There were pictures and stories of homeless pets for adoption at the Cranston Animal Shelter, some tips on keeping fleas, tics and mosquitoes at bay and a nice story about an animal rescue written by Michaiah. The stories that accompanied the pets for adoption were great, as was everything about the newsletter.

Have you ever been taked by surprize by a well of emotion while in a public place? Well, I have, and it happenned right there while I waited my turn in line. It wasn't the homeless animals that got to me, rather it was the two kids whose faces are a mystery to me who took the time to visit the shelter and create from nothing a newsletter that exists soley for the purpose of finding these animals a home.

Some people say the youth of today is lost, spends all day playing with their devices and have lost their soul. I say BALONEY! The evidence of a generation of people who have the heart and soul needed to keep our world a beautiful place for the next is right in front of us if we choose to acknowledge it.  If these two kids are any indication our world will continue to be inhabited by kindness and grace, and I'm happy that I found out about them, and hope to someday tell them how awesome they are in person!

Mr. Wilson Gets Some Reviews

The book, Mr. Wilson Makes it Home is already getting some attention from some people whose work I admire:


"Mr Wilson Makes It Home is an enjoyable story that touches on far more than training; it helps us understand just how important sharing our lives with our pets is and how best to get the most of every moment we spend with them." —Zak George, Animal Planet dog trainer and producer of YouTube's #1 Dog Training show "Zak George's Dog Training Revolution"

"Reading Mr. Wilson Makes It Home was not like reading a book at all—it was like having lunch with Michael Morse. And now that I have finished the book, I find myself missing him, his wife, and of course Mr. Wilson! I wish I could walk next door and see them again. This is a wonderful story of puppy love, adoption, the importance of spay and neutering, and of course falling in love with Mr. Wilson. Anyone who has ever had a dog and who is an animal lover will love this book." —Ellie Laks, author of My Gentle Barn

“A gentle book that grows more powerful with each chapter. Adopting a rescue dog can help transform your life into a thing of beauty you can be proud of, simply by changing the way you think. As you turn the pages, Mr. Wilson and his unforgettably resilient humans will sneak inside your heart and teach you how to live again—even while they ‘love you up!’” —Martin McKenna, author of The Boy Who Talked to Dogs

"This is a heartwarming story written with passion and love. Michael Morse is a gifted writer and an amazing storyteller." —Michael Corrente, award-winning film director and producer

"Mr. Wilson Makes It Home tells the story of how one little dog can turn a troubled home into a good one. Morse bares his soul in this moving tale and, in the process, stumbles upon solutions to issues that long tethered his life to heartache, illustrating again the benefit of the love that only pets can contribute to our lives. This book highlights the opportunity to save the lives of rescue dogs across the country and holds out hope that, in so doing, our own lives will improve." —Bruce R. Coston, DVM, author of Ask the Animals and The Gift of Pets

 http://www.amazon.com/dp/1629145734

 
The book will be available on February 3, 2015. Mr. Wilson says it's pretty good too!

Winter is Coming

"Dad, remember when it got cold? That's not going to happen again is it?"

"Sure is Pal. It's up to us to make the best of it."

"Easy for you to say, you pee inside."

"Come on now, it's not so bad."

"Think about it for a minute. My legs are short and the cold white stuff gets tall."

"Hmmm."

"The white stuff is kind of fun to run through though."

"It sure is. Before you came along I hadn't played in the snow for years."

"We're gonna have a lot of fun this winter, aren't we dad?"

"Of course we are Mr. Wilson."

"Thanks Dad, will you wake me up if it snows?"

"You bet. Goodnight Wilson."

"Goodnight Dad."

Letting him in...

He keeps an eye on us, and worries when things are not the way they are supposed to be. In Mr. Wilson's world everything is about walks, naps, cookies and playing with the various toys he has named; The Green Caterpillar, The Purple Sock Monkey with the Short Leg, The Red Devil, Sir Rat,and Bruce's Sister to name a few. He loves it here, and this is where he calls home.

I never felt as if my house was my home until Mr. Wilson arrived, some seven years after we moved in. This is the downsized version of our dream home, the one we had to sell because it was too big, and too difficult to maintain. Little things you don't think of when you sell your place and move on made it hard to accept the new house. The biggest was our loss of sense of place, and family history. We correlate the passing of years with our surroundings, and trying to latch on emotionally to four walls without the memory of the kids growing up, the pets we loved while we lived there, the parties, Christmastime or simply life unfolding around us was more difficult than we ever thought it would be.

An empty nest is one thing, an empty nest in unfamiliar territory quite another. Home may be where the heart is, but leaving your heart in the home you know best makes it difficult to move on, and embrace new surroundings. We do our best, and a lot of our "stuff" came with us, but most of our things just looked out of place, and a lot of it ended up in the basement, eventually at various consignment stores and ultimately in somebody else's home.

When we adopted a dog we had no idea that in doing so we would begin letting go of the old life and begin moving on. That little critter named Mr. Wilson has turned our house into a home, and when our kids stop by, instead of feeling as if they are visitors at Mom and Michael's house, they are comfortable, and the best ambassador in the world welcomes them, and brings us all closer.

So come on in everybody, and make yourselves at home!

.

Reviews and Giveaways

Production behind the scenes of Mr. Wilson Makes it Home is in full swing, and the promotions department has been busy sending advance copies to people who we think would enjoy the book. It is extremely gratifying to have people whose work I respect and admire read my book and offer their endorsement.

"Reading Mr. Wilson Makes It Home was not like reading a book at all—it was like having lunch with Michael Morse. And now that I have finished the book, I find myself missing him, his wife, and of course Mr. Wilson! I wish I could walk next door and see them again. This is a wonderful story of puppy love, adoption, the importance of spay and neutering, and of course falling in love with Mr. Wilson. Anyone who has ever had a dog and who is an animal lover will love this book." —Ellie Laks, author of My Gentle Barn

"MISTER WILSON MAKES IT HOME" is a heartwarming story written with passion and love. Michael Morse is a gifted writer and an amazing storyteller"-Michael Corrente, an American film director and producer. His films include A Shot at Glory, American Buffalo, Outside Providence, 

Thank you Ellie and Michael, very much appreciated!

Ten copies of the book are up for grabs at Goodreads. The promotion doesn't start till around Christmas, but don't be afraid to follow the link and join the fun!

Thanks as always for reading.

 
 

    Goodreads Book Giveaway
 

   

       
   

   

     

          Mr. Wilson Makes It Home
     

     

          by Michael Morse
     

     

         
            Giveaway ends December 27, 2014.
         

         
            See the giveaway details
            at Goodreads.
         

     

   

   

      Enter to win

Is your dog affectionate or obsessed?

"Why the long face, Mr. Wilson?"

"I don't know, Dad, I've been feeling a little dis-connect between us lately."

"Don't worry about that, old pal. Sometimes people who love each other need a little space, that's all."

"But why can't I be with you every second of every day?"

"Because what kind of a life would that be? There's birds to chase, cats to torture and mailmen to bark at, and Mom to love and all sorts of other things to do."

"But I want to be with you."

"You're always on my mind little buddy, I just can't take you with me every where I go."

"Well, it's not fair!"

"Maybe not, but it's for the best, you'll see."


I'd like nothing more than to keep Mr. Wilson all to myself, and let him follow me around when I'm home, and sit by the window waiting when I'm gone. Having another creature absolutely committed to me is a big boost to my ego, makes me feel like the king of my castle. But its no way for a dog to live. We all can train our dog to sit, and stay, and maybe even roll over and play dead. We can teach them to come, and fetch and not pull on the leash. But how many of us are willing to do the work needed to teach our companions the importance of "alone time," and how to thrive away from us.

Psychological training is every bit as important to raising a well adjusted dog as behavioral training. Living with anxiety is a terrible sentence to impose on a poor little critter who doesn't have access to medications or therapy. Teaching our pets by modifying our own behavior is the best way to get the message to them that we are not the center of their universe. Doing so without handing control back to the dog is tricky, but with time and patience obtainable.

This is a good article, it helped me:
http://moderndogmagazine.com/articles/healthy-affection-vs-obsession/760

Just a Dog

Okay Mr. Wilson Fans, here's a fun little fact about Mr. Wilson:

He is just a dog.

JUST A DOG! What do you mean, just a dog!

Allow me to elaborate:

Mr. Wilson will be Mr. Wilson no matter whom he spends his life with.

Family A. has little time for a dog but goes to the pet store looking for a lizard, little Johnie sees Ole Mr. Wilson sitting in his cage behind the glass and is instantly smitten. Little Johnie's mom is tired, and gives in to her boy's whims, and they go home not with a lizard like planned, but a little Schnoodle named Wilson. It's all fun and games for a week, but things get old, and the novelty wears off, and before long Wilson is getting little or no attention.

So he does things to get the attention that all living creatures crave. He barks at nothing. He jumps on people.  He chews things that are expensive. He pees inside when he can't hold it any longer. He runs away, and doesn't come back until he's hungry for love, food or just the comfort of home-any home.

Before long he's a chore, then a pain, then a pest. He becomes a "bad dog."

But he's not a bad dog at all. He's just a dog.

Family B, consisting of the beautiful and kind Cheryl and the equally kind but not so beautiful Michael find a little lost soul on Petfinder and bring him home. This isn't their first pet, and they knew exactly what they were getting when they agreed to take care of another living, breathing, feeling and helpless little fella. They researched how best to train the new dog, how to socialize with him, how to create a proper pack order.

Mr. Wilson arrived, tested the water, peed on things, chewed things, jumped on people and tried to take over the household as Alpha Male of the pack. The kind and benevolent people who adopted the little fiend were prepared, and there was a training crate in the home, and lots of toys to be played with, and somebody who was in charge, and acted like the boss, not a plaything.

It didn't take long for Mr. Wilson to figure things out, and to relax, and let his guard down enough to be comfortable with his role as a valued member of the household, and not a bad dog at all. He is, after all, just a dog. But he's our dog, and to us, he is everything a dog could be, and more.

By changing the way you look at things, the things you look at change. It is up to us to see the goodness and beauty in the world around us, and the creatures that make our lives more colorful and rewarding.

The dogs are the same, it's how we see them that matters.

Creating the Fabric

Where do the years go,
each one passing more quickly than the one before
Days drag, decades fly
small changes unnoticed
each moment bringing the next
never acknowledging
the passing of time

then we age
and look backward more than a few inches
the inches grow to feet
then yards
before we know it
we carry a thousand miles on our face

We yearn to live for the moment
and appreciate the now
without mourning the passing of time
and embrace the lessons that create the wrinkles
while hoping for a future
better than the past

There is comfort in knowing
that through it all
every moment, every yard
every mile and every day
we are alive
and able to wonder, able to question, able to move on

each moment may be great
or not
the accumulation of those moments
each one a thread in the story of our lives
strengthens the fabric
and leaves our imprint long after we are gone.

The Boy Who Talked to Dogs on Mr. Wilson

Martin McKenna is a bestselling author and Australian Dog Communicator.  His latest book, the boy who talked to dogs tells his story, and from what I have read it is an amazing one.

He wrote the following endorsement after reading an advance copy of my book, Mr. Wilson Makes it Home. 

Thank you, Martin for the kind words and for understanding the heart of the book. 

MR WILSON ENDORSEMENT by Martin McKenna

Michael Morse is a retired Rescue Captain from Providence, Rhode Island Fire Department and for years was the first to arrive at emergency scenes responding to desperate 911 calls – so he’s learned to recognize a miracle unfolding before his eyes when he sees one.

When Mr Wilson, a cute-looking schnoodle (schnauzer-cross-poodle) arrives across country from a dog rescue service – Michael has a powerful epiphany. As he holds this once abused dog in his arms for the first time, he realizes miracles may be small things that happen to you. It’s just that they manage to pierce through ordinary life and touch the soul profoundly.

As comically mustached Mr Wilson becomes part of their lives, he continues to work his instinctive dog wisdom on those around him. Suddenly the big dreams of fancy cars and lavish vacations that never happened aren’t worth mourning. The niggling issues in his relationship with his wife are unimportant. And the trauma Michael has been carrying around from his years as a Rescue Captain begins to feel lighter.

Ultimately, Michael and his wife come to realize their life together is a wonderful success in the deepest sense – they have lived a good life worth living. It just took Mr Wilson to help them see the truth.

This begins as a gentle book and grows more powerful with each chapter. It’s about how adopting a rescue dog can help transform your life into a thing of beauty you can be proud of, simply by changing the way you think. As you turn the pages, Mr Wilson and his unforgettably resilient humans will sneak inside your heart and teach you things – even while they ‘love you up!’

Footsteps in the Sand

I clip the leash onto his collar, his favorite one, even though his team is in last place.

"Maybe next year," I say, and his hair falls over the Red Sox logo. The air is crisp, a welcome relief from summer's humidity. This is the time of year we live for, the dogs and I. The oppressive heat is gone, I can add more clothes and be comfortable, the dogs can simply wear their coats without overheating. It's a long walk to where we're going, and Mr. Wilson leads the way. He knows the path now, and seldom veers from the course. He knows when to take a right, and when to take a left. He even knows well before I do if we're going to take the longer way or not.

The other dogs come and go; Zimba, the biggest of them all, half wolf, half Alaskan malamute, as regal as a prince, and just as pertinent. Lakota, the husky, her half blue-half brown eyes focused on whatever distracts her, and the distractions are many. A person, a car, a bunny or her favorite, a squirrel. She runs straight, so fast my eyes go out of focus before she starts breathing heavy, and has to turn around and come back to me. Shannon, the Irish Setter, her golden red hair as soft as a cats. She would take a bullet for me, and seldom leaves my side.

Mr. Wilson is oblivious of the others as we make our way to the beach, he's just happy to be alive, happy to be with me, and glad to be outside. Don't get me wrong, he likes nothing more than to sleep all day on the velvet chair, or his "bed on the bed," but say the magic word, "walk" and nothing else matters. I taught him to walk on the leash without pulling, and he pushes it to the end, and the slack tightens, and the second before he feels the pull on his neck he stops, and sits until I catch up, and we do it all over again.

I can smell the low tide long before the water peeks between the homes that line the shore, and so can the dogs. The pavement under my feet is sturdy, and makes walking easy. We leave no evidence of our passing as we make our way to the water's edge. The sand that waits will give as the weight of our footsteps lands on it, leaving marks of our journey behind us as we travel the shore.

At the bottom of a thirty foot drop, made easy to travel thanks to wooden steps buried in the sand by some soul long gone is Narraganset Bay. Mr. Wilson and me take our time navigating the tricky decline, the others are long gone, already exploring. Shannon will swim, Zimba and Lakota will race along the water's edge as if the devil himself were chasing them, then suddenly stop, turn around and come back to us. Shannon shakes her velvety hair and the five of us walk together along the shore. There are crabs in the sand, stranded by the tide, oyster shells, clams galore, seaweed, bugs and random sticks, perfectly sized for a game of fetch. I lean over and pick one up, it's heavier that I thought, and waterlogged. I throw it into the ocean and watch it float for a while.

The walk to and from the beach is far longer than the actual time spent there, unless I stop and sit on a log where last night some neighborhood kids had a fire. The log looks tempting, but movement more so, so I keep on trucking, Mr. Wilson by my side. He never asks to go off of the leash, content to stay next to me, and the six feet that the nylon cord gives him is enough. We have rounded the point, and a shorter span of beach waits. It's an invigorating walk, and it feels good to feel the salt air in the wind as it brushes my skin, and the warmth from the sun on my back. There's a break in the vegetation that protects the dunes, and we walk toward it, knowing that this is the way back to the road that will take us home.

Mr. Wilson stays with me as we leave the beach, and I look back at our footsteps, a man and a dog, side by side, two feet and four paws, over and over again. I don't have to call the others, they never leave me, and neither will Mr. Wilson.