June & July 2024

This isn’t going to be a happy newsletter, so if you’re easily depressed (and who isn’t these days?) you might not want to read it.

I’ll start with some good news. Just got the cover art for Celluloid Angels and I like it a lot. Here it is:

Pre-order here.

There’s actually more good book news in the offing, but I’m not allowed to share it yet. No, I’m not being held hostage or tortured or anything. It’s only that plans aren’t firm yet. I’ll let you know what’s up as soon as I can.

Now for the rest of this newsletter. I couldn’t bear to write about it until now. It’s all about Jazzy, the Beautiful Blue Wiener and Queen of all She Surveyed. Past tense, because she died on May 15. The ides of May, if you will. Or even if you won’t.

The following is Jazzy’s story.

Jazzy came into my life by accident one day. Approximately ten years ago Jacob L. Torres, who breeds and shows Chihuahuas and Papillons (https://www.facebook.com/Torro-Chihuahuas-Papillons-109524651734599/), turned up at my door one fall evening around 6:00. I peeped out the door’s window and saw him standing on my porch holding a dachshund puppy. After first muttering, "Oh sh*t," I opened the door and let Jacob in. The puppy in his arms was Jazzy, who was the most beautiful dachshund I’d ever beheld. She was also blue-and-tan, a combo I’d never seen before.

Jacob, who was a veterinary tech at the time, had found her when he was driving to (or maybe from) Ruidoso, New Mexico, and saw a gray streak at the side of the highway. When he pulled his Jeep over, Jazzy gaily ran up to him, happy as a lark and also collarless, tagless and chipless. Jacob took her home with him, figuring whoever had originally bought her (she must have cost a fortune) clearly didn’t care enough to keep her safe. Jacob and I might be maligning perfectly nice people (because I agree with him), but I doubt it.

Jazzy

At first Jacob intended to keep Jazzy because she was so gorgeous. Soon, however, he realized she was perhaps the least little bit out of plumb. Idiosyncratic. Definitely Type-A. For one thing, she kept attacking his standard poodle, Lucas. Lucas was a gentle soul and didn’t instantly kill Jazzy for this impudence, but Jacob couldn’t seem to train Jazzy. That’s because Jazzy had a head full of cotton fluff but we didn’t know it then.

Anyhow, because I’ve had dachshunds all my life (I swear, this isn’t my fault. They just appear in my orbit pretty much like Jazzy did), Jacob brought her and her paperwork to me. Nobody knows the date of her birth except the people who bred her, so that part of her paperwork is missing. However, Jacob registered her with the AKC, and I had her spayed and chipped and made sure wore a collar at all times.

Mind you, when Jazzy came to live with me, I wasn’t bereft of dogs.

I had Scrappy, a Chihuahua mix. I’d received a panicky call from a friend of mine telling me that a friend of hers had just rescued an “emaciated dachshund puppy” from a dairy outside of Roswell. I called the chairperson of NMDR (New Mexico Dachshund Rescue). I asked if it was okay for me to take in an emaciated dachshund puppy. I was given the go-ahead, and I drove to Roswell’s City Hall, where he was reclining on a blanket next to the mayor’s secretary. As soon as I saw him, I realized my friend’s friend was two-thirds correct. Scrappy was an emaciated puppy, but he wasn’t a dachshund. He was a teeny little Chihuahua with about three pounds of fleas living on him. The NMDR folks told me to take him to the vet before taking him home to be sure he didn’t have parvovirus, heartworm or any other noxious condition. So I did. The vet got rid of the fleas but Scrappy remained a Chihuahua mix. Therefore, he became part of my family. He’s still with me, 17 years later.

Scrappy

At the time Jazzy came into my life I also had Giblett, who had come to me to foster through New Mexico Dachshund Rescue. He had a genetic malformation that made him walk like a duck, and I wish I’d taken a video of him running because he was funny! When Jacob came to the house to cut all the dogs’ toenails, including the toenails of my neighbors’ dogs, Giblett would hide under the bed. The way he hid was to stick his head under the bed and leave his butt and hind legs sticking out. He never escaped having his toenails cut, but he tried awfully hard. Giblett was a bully and a coward. He came to me along with his female pal Poki from the scene of a murder/suicide in Albuquerque. He bore his name with him, so I didn’t change it. Giblett and Poki had already experienced enough trauma, you know? We managed to find Poki a home, but I was pretty much stuck with Giblett, bless him.

One of the Giblett memories I hold most dear is the time I had to babysit, only overnight, a little black Pekingese puppy named Bella. Because there have been two other Bellas in my various packs, Ann Lasky (neighbor) and I called her Black Bella to distinguish her from Good Bella and Bella-the-Biter. As soon as Black Bella entered my house, Giblett growled menacingly at her. Well! They don’t call Pekes lion dogs for nothing. The tiny four-pound ball of fluff who was Black Bella roared back at Giblett and rushed him, barking and swearing. I didn’t realize so young a dog could know so many bad words. Giblett was terrified. He turned and ran. Black Bella chased him all over the house until he ended up in a crate in my office. He didn’t leave the crate for a full hour. Black Bella eventually found a fabulous home in Santa Fe, NM. I wish NMDR would find ME a fabulous home in Santa Fe, but whatever.

Gibblet

Poki

Black Bella the Bold

Also living here at the time of Jazzy’s arrival were Bella-the-Good and Bam-Bam. They came from a puppy mill in Big Spring, Texas. I drove to Tatum, New Mexico, and a lovely woman whose name I no longer remember put Bella and Bam-Bam into the crate on my front passenger seat. Bella was a soft, roundish, lovely red dappled dachshund (that means she has darker splotches in her coat). Dappled dachshunds and piebald dachshunds have different coat colors, but I won’t get into that here. Anyway, Bella relaxed in the crate. Bam-Bam on the other hand, stood to attention over Bella. He didn’t move from his on-guard position until I got the two of them home. Bam-Bam, a black-and-tan wiener with some white dappling on his head, looked like a dog skeleton covered with a velvet cloth. You could count his ribs and his vertebrae he was so skinny. Both dogs bore the emotional scars of their less-than-happy childhoods. 

Because Bam-Bam and Bella (Good Bella) were a bonded pair, NMDR wasn’t able to find homes for them. Anyhow, they were both scared stiff of people. Once when a couple of dachshunds were dropped off for me to foster for one single day (do you see a pattern emerging?) Bella actually screamed. I think it’s because all the other times strange dogs had been introduced to her, she was expected to be mated with them against her will. I also think, although I’m not sure, is that Bella was Bam-Bam’s mom. Anyhow, hearing a dog scream is unnerving to say the least. 

Bella-the-Good met with an untimely end in 2016. It was a hideous experience. I figured Bam-Bam would need psychological pampering for a while, but he was just fine thank you. I was the one who required therapy. 

To this day, Bam-Bam is terrified of men. He doesn’t like strangers in general, but men petrify him. That’s not much of an exaggeration. Every time his Uncle Jacob comes over to trim doggy nails, during Bam-Bam’s turn on the table he sits stone-still, stares off into space and pretends he’s somewhere else. Bam-Bam’s a senior wiener now, at about 15 years old. He has low liver function, so he takes a steroid pill every other day and eats a diet of Royal Canin Hepatic dog food, which requires a prescription and costs $123/case. Good thing he’s the only one eating it because his mommy (me) is in dismal financial shape.

Bella and Bam Bam

Anyhow, that was my herd of mixed wieners when Jazzy came to stay with me. I was interested about her coloring, never having seen a blue-and-tan dachshund before, so I talked to a few knowledgeable people about the breeding of blue-colored dogs. Turns out the gene that gave her the gorge0us color is dilute and recessive. It’s not a color most breeders aim for (nor should they), because it can cause health problems, including alopecia and they weren’t sure what else. Jazzy had alopecia and was pretty much bald on her back. Fortunately for her, her skin was also blue, so she didn’t look too weird.

Shortly after Jazzy came to live with me, I picked up what was supposed to be a dachshund mix named Cookie. Cookie had been brought to the Roswell Animal Control Services Kennel along with her pal, a pit bull (if you can believe it). The pittie was adopted so when I visited Cookie, she was alone and miserable in her cage. I bailed her out (cost a whole dollar because I belong to a legitimate rescue organization). Then I took her next door to the Roswell Humane Society (I was on the board of the RHS at the time). The kennel manager, Krystle, gave Cookie her puppy shots and said she looked like a “poor-bred” dachshund. Cracked me up. Cookie, however, wasn’t truly a poor-bred dachshund. She belongs to a special purebred breed of New Mexico street dogs. They all look alike and have bowed front legs. I call her a mixed-terriorist. For good reason. Mind you, Cookie is a great dog, but she doesn’t take guff from anyone. 

Originally I’d planned to have Cookie placed through NMDR. It soon became clear, however, that Cookie and Jazzy were best buds. Jazzy had been annoying my herd of wild wieners for a month or so because she was young and frisky and they weren’t, Cookie was a blessing in the guise of a mixed terriorist. Jazzy and Cookie got along famously, so I adopted her myself. The two dogs loved to play. They played tug-of-war and romped all over the place together. I called them the Fighting Gladioli, which was a play on the word for female gladiators. Yes, I know female gladiators are gladiatrices. I don’t care. They had a grand time together, and I came to think of Cookie as Jazzy’s companion animal.

Jazzy and Cookie

Fast forward a few years until April 4 of this year. After feeding the pack in the morning, I always open the side gate to the bigger part of the backyard so they can race out and see the “great, green out-of-doors.” They inspect the yard for cats and other critters and do zoomies and so forth. On the fourth of April, I opened the side gate and Jazzy and Cookie rushed out. Bam-Bam’s too old to rush, so he’s been waiting until later to inspect the yard. Halfway to the boundary fence, Jazzy screamed and fell down. Her back legs had gone out on her. Cookie, who takes her job as a hunting dog seriously, then attacked her. This is what dogs do: attack weaklings in the herd. 

So that left Jazzy and me both screaming. At this point in my life I’m crippled thanks to having broken my femur a couple of years back, so it’s difficult for me to get around. Nevertheless, I hobbled as quickly as I could to Jazzy’s side and shoved Cookie away from her. Then there I was: sitting in the dusty yard cradling Jazzy, unable to get up or help Jazzy (except for keeping Cookie away). I will be forever grateful that Barry Lasky, neighbor and Ann Lasky’s hubby, was in his own backyard feeding birds at the time. He came over to see what was up. I told him what had happened and asked him to pick up Jazzy. So he did. That enabled me to crawl to the side of the house and haul myself to my feet again. Whew! 

Anyway, when Barry, Jazzy and I got indoors, I called my usual vet. He couldn’t see her until the next day. I will always regret that. But I called another vet, and Ann Lasky and I took Jazzy to him. He diagnosed Jazzy with a herniated disk and gave her steroids. She got better, although her back remained hunchy. She saw the vet (not my usual) again and then once more. On the last visit he cut Jazzy down to ½ of a steroid pill per day. 

Then I don’t know what happened, but Jazzy began declining. I finally became so alarmed that I took her back to the vet who’d prescribed the steroids. He was pretty alarmed too. She was lethargic, and when he palpated her belly, she moaned. He took some blood and came back to tell me her liver and kidney enzymes were elevated and her electrolytes were wonky. I know all about wonky electrolytes, because I had wonky electrolytes two or three years ago and nearly died. He wanted to keep her overnight, try to deal with her bloating, electrolytes and so forth. He said she might have pancreatitis, which is a Very Bad Thing. So I gave Jazzy a hug and left her there. I knew they’d be good to her, although they were pretty much strangers to her. 

I can’t help but wish I’d taken her to my regular vet during her time of travail, but I didn’t. Anyhow, I had another appointment to keep that day, so I left Jazzy at the vet’s office. During my second appointment, my phone rang. I answered the call, and it was the steroidal vet. He sounded awful and I thought oh dear, this isn’t good. It wasn’t good. He’d been in surgery while his vet tech was at a table working with Jazzy and her electrolytes. Suddenly Jazzy fell over. She was dead.

Now I can’t be sure if Jazzy’s breeding had anything to do with her death, but it wouldn’t surprise me. Responsible breeders do genetic testing to make sure the dogs they breed have healthy parents with a solid gene pool behind them. I’ve heard from other owners of blue dogs including Jacob, who had a blue-and-tan Chihuahua named Jetta. Jetta too had alopecia. She was only eight years old when she suffered the same calamity Jazzy did. Her hind legs went out, she went on steroids, got better for a while then went downhill. Jacob made the decision to give her a painless death with him at her side. Jazzy took the choice out of my hands 

The thing that bothers me the most is that she truly was out of my hands at the end of her life. Barring two exceptions, I’ve always been there for my dogs at the end. Unfortunately, Jazzy is one of the exceptions. I left her with a bunch of strangers when she felt rotten, and she died without me there for her. I may possibly be making more of this than I should, because we all tend to anthropomorphize our pets, but I don’t think so. 

Bless Jacob’s heart, he told me I’d given Jazzy at least ten happy years when she might have been hit by a car on the highway to (or from) Ruidoso. Guess he’s right, but I sure wish I could replay Jazzy’s ending. 

The point to all of this is that poor breeding practices lead to heartbreak more often than we realize. Jazzy was beautiful, and now she’s dead. My son-in-law rescued two double-dapple dachshunds and had them until they died. They were also beautiful. Double-dapple, however, is a genetic catastrophe in dachshunds. Both of his dogs were born without eyes and one of them was deaf from birth. I have friends in other rescue organizations that have had to place blind white shelties and other “poor-bred” dogs, some of which are unwell from birth. My daughter Robin (the one who’s married to Gilbert) has one of those unhealthily bred dogs, Gracie. Gracie was a runt and would probably have died as a puppy if Gilbert (he keeps showing up here too, huh?) hadn’t adopted her along with her brother, George. George is fat and happy, but poor Gracie is now blind and deaf and has diabetes. 

And then there are the various “doodles.” Come on guys, poodles are great dogs, smart, and most people aren’t allergic to them. But you don’t have to breed every other dog breed in the world with a poodle! I had a friend here in Roswell, now deceased, who paid $1,200 for a labradoodle. In other words, she paid over a thousand dollars for a mutt! I know several dog breeders who don’t really like rescuers. I understand their reasoning. If there are always homes for them, people will continue to let their dogs have puppies. I don’t honestly think rescuers have much too with too many dogs being born, though. I’ve heard more than one person tell me, “Oh, I’ll have her spayed (or him neutered) after we have a litter.” Why? See below:

 Can you tell this is a subject dear to my heart? Let me tell you another story, this one about dachshunds in general. I have owned two red-and-white piebald dachshunds and one black-and-tan piebald dachshund. I was curious about not seeing piebalds at dog shows, so I asked a guy who was showing dachshunds at a Rio Pecos Kennel Club Dog Show about it. Know what he said? “Because they’d be dead in the hole!”

After thinking about it for a minute, I still didn’t have a clue what he meant so I asked him. He reminded me that the AKC and similar organizations in other countries breed dogs to conform to a certain standard. Dachshunds were originally bred to go into badger holes and haul out badgers. Badgers aren’t the friendliest of creatures, and they have long and vicious claws. If a dog is going after a badger in its lair and the badger sees a dog clad in glaring white coming at it, it’ll claw the dog and its white-spotted hide to bloody chunks and shreds. 

Gulp. Okay, so his explanation made sense to me. I understand, however, that some local dachshund clubs are allowing piebalds to enter if they meet the other qualifications for dachshund-hood. They’d better not run around after badgers, however, or they’ll be dead. 

Don’t forget, too, that when you rescue a dog, you never know what problems will come with the dog. They’re generally in rescue because they were either relinquished to a animal-human organization, or were picked up as strays. Also, believe it or not, not all dogs can be saved. I’ve had to put down dachshunds that wouldn’t stop biting people, and I have a warehouse of horror stories about dogs attacking other dogs and/or humans, cats, etc. My opinion about some dogs being beyond reclamation isn’t universally popular. Some people claim any dog can be saved if it’s loved enough, but I don’t buy it. As a dear friend of mine once said, “I didn’t understand crazy until I joined dog rescue.” 

She and I have both fostered dozens of dogs, and we understand the limits of love in the reclamation of antisocial dogs. Also, never forget that two dogs can be a pack, and pack behavior can lead to terrible things, including the deaths of pets, children and adults. The only person I know who loved a feral dog into a tame-ish animal is Peter Brandvold of Western-novel fame and the person who gave me Lou Prophet for my Daisy books. Mean Pete is definitely one of my heroes, but don’t tell him that because it’ll embarrass him. 

Then again, I think there are people who shouldn’t be allowed to live. I fact I’d say the world would have been a much better place if Jeffrey Dahmer, Charles Manson, Richard Ramirez and Ted Bundy had been drowned at birth. So sue me.

It’s a good thing I’m not in charge of the world, isn’t it? 

All right, now back to your regular programming. I offered a book-giveaway in March and Bam-Bam, my winner-picking wiener dog (may he live forever), has selected the following wieners: 

Kat Sadi and Virginia Winfield will be sent Kindle copies of Spirits Adopted when the book is released. Debby Guyette will get a copy of A Gambler’s Magic as soon as I can get it sent to you, Debby! 

If you’re on Facebook, why not join Daisy Daze? Anyone who has an interest in the 1920s will probably find Daisy Daze interesting, at least sometimes. As mentioned earlier, Daisy Dazers even give me plotting advice sometimes. Often even. Daisy Daze was founded by Iris Evans and Leon Fundenberger, both of whom like Daisy and Mercy. Daisy Daze is a great place for Daisy Gumm Majesty Rotondo and Mercedes Louise Allcutt fans to hang out, as well as anyone who is interested in the “Roaring Twenties.” We concentrate pretty closely on the Pasadena and Los Angeles areas, because the books are set there. We also cover a lot of stuff relating to early motion-pictures, because both Daisy and Mercy have friends in the biz. Daisy Daze is fun, it’s educational and if you’d like to be a member, check it out here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/905100189878318/

If you’d like to visit my web page, here’s the link (thanks to Lyndele von Schill): Home | Alice Duncan . If you’d like to be Facebook friends, please go here: (20+) Alice Duncan | Facebook. 

Here’s a link to my author page at ePublishingWorks: Alice Duncan Author Page (ebookdiscovery.com) 

Thank you!

Alice