Tuesday, August 4, 2015

"Got 'em spotted," Ralph da bear signaled.

Summer-hot howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

Once again: To Quote: "Our Talbot's Peak saga continues. The bad guys have made pests of themselves, and are harassing our beloved mayor, Gil. Well, they just might be real sorry after Operation Crunch."

Okay, how sorry will the bad-guy bureaucrats be having to drive a wolf and saber-tooth mangled car that has also been especially decorated by Miss Cardinal and her bird-shifter friends?

That is, after the bear shifters get done with them

"Got 'em spotted," Ralph da bear signaled.

Kitty couldn't help herself. Her stunned and feline-fascinated gaze glued itself to the super-tech screen Blade Runner had provided. Not to meow out loud, but she kept bending closer observing Carlotta's fast and furious aerial maneuvers.

Yowls, her bird-droppings art on the shifters-gone-wild damaged sedan. Well, amazingly impressive!

Next, the cardinal shifter invited her feathered friends, and Kitty watched in astonished awe as they flew diving patterns, decorating the now mostly unrecognizable car. At some point, Carlotta's leadership turned them into an attack flock. The mostly white splotches and splashes were applied with precision -- as if they'd practiced as a drill team.

Applauding the motley-crew flock's performance, Kitty clapped her hands, but softly so she wouldn't alert anyone outside her office. Oh clawing-yeah, she made up her mind to recruit the fiery-spirited cardinal as one of her *keep Talbot's Peak safe* team leaders. Carlotta was a natural.


"Got 'em spotted," Ralph da bear signaled. Shifted, he spoke in bear-growling language, then tromped loudly toward the two state agents who still ran for their lives. "Those stinky suits are headed your way, Ben."

Ben -- Peak store proprietor and bear shifter -- bark-growled 'he got the message'. He'd brought his entire family to give chase -- and likely to school the young'ns in who the real enemy was. In fact, the family had turned it into an outing, a picnic in the woods.

On sentry duty, Ralph merely listened to the rousing, running din of children-cubs having a real good time. He'd also scarfed down generous portions of their fare, and slurped up the dee-licious berry pie Mrs. Ben brought him. Earlier, he'd plopped his large frame down, and used the base of a huge maple tree as his personal lounger.

Yeah-hell buddy, it only took two good eyes, his alert ears, and a superb sniffer to know when the two human pests intruded.

"Here!" Drolun announced in bear grunts. Obvious as the blue sky above, the cave-dwelling bear shifter, moved on silent paws -- given Ralph hadn't heard his approach. Otherwise known as Tom Jones because he impersonated the performer at the Pleasure Club, Drolun was a master of forest survival. 

With the piss-scent of the revenuers now filling his nostrils, Ralph crashed through the underbrush toward his scared-shitless targets. Intent on driving them back to their mangled car, he roared – although, crapola! his lungs didn't cooperate too well.

Too many late-night movies with pizza and beer, he concluded. Time to get back to the gym and work out like the Rock.

"Got 'em in sight," Ben bellowed. "The missus and the kids are baiting 'em like fish on hooks."

Ralph burst into the scene. The three cubs squealed, and pretending to be afraid, they bolted toward mom. Mrs. Ben reared up and roared her motherly rage.

Frozen in the terror, the two human males didn't even notice his lumbering noisy arrival -- or Drolun who silently slipped through the trees opposite Ralph. Mrs. Ben bared her fangs. Fiercely snarling, she dropped to all fours, and charged. Ben followed, roaring his outrage, which was real enough...but had nothing to do with the safety of his cubs.

Ralph wheezed snarls when the two white-as-a-ghost humans fled in his direction. Summoning his strength, as if he fought the bad guy in a WWF fight, he galloped toward them.

Hoarse pitiful yells burst from their fear-constricted throats, and the two collided as they tried to race in the other direction. For instants, the ape-idjits pummeled each other with their fists, battling to be the first one to run the other way.

If he could have bellowed a belly laugh, Ralph would have sat on his rump, and let one loose. Instead, he advanced, doing his part to herd them back toward the car. NO ONE wanted these two dangerous bureaucrats stranded anywhere close to Talbot's Peak.

"Oh fuck God! There's another one!" the suit in the lead screamed.

Drolun, looking magnificently ferocious -- like a bear should -- charged. His muscles bunched and rippled beneath his thick luxurious coat as he running-stalked the pair. Even his gaze devoured the human pests.

From behind them, Ben and Mrs. Ben roared in chorus, and moved to cut off their escape. Their cubs followed, joining in with their little roars.

Terrified -- Ralph heard their rapidly thundering heartbeats -- the state agents wheeled back in the direction they'd run from. Scrambling to get their footing on the slick foliage, they then took off like hellhounds bit their butts.

Naw, hell bears, Ralph corrected himself. Dang it, he wouldn't mind taking a huge ole chomp outta their fleeing asses. But Kitty -- Dante's love kitten and leader of Operation Crunch -- had been adamant about there being no teeth marks on their despicable hides.

Yeah, yeah, right...no use in bringing in state hunters who'd take aim. Then, they'd have to deal with those podunks.

Ralph mentally chuckled as he pounded after the pair -- was someone timin' 'em? Their land speed had to be a damn record.

Between him, the Ben family, and Drolun, they kept the two suits herded as they attempted to veer off course -- keeping them on course for their wolf-and-sabertooth wrecked of a wreck.

Wow, wowser-powser, who did all the bird-shit decorating???


Wishing you love and passion on the wild side ~ 


Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance

Monday, August 3, 2015

Big Game

The two men in camo crept through the woods, past the many No Trespassing and Private Property Absolutely No Hunting signs posted on the perimeter trees. Both were armed with compound bows and wicked hunting knives. Both knew legal hunting season and legal hunting areas were weeks and miles away. But waiting for the government's okay would take too long. The best bulls would already be gone. And why blow all that money on a license when it could be better used for ammo?

They were miles from anywhere out here. Who the hell was going to know?

"We should nail a turkey on the way back," Jeffries said. "I thought I heard some while we were hiding the truck."

"No turkeys," Clayburn said adamantly. "Not from this part of the mountains. They're protected or something. Didn't you hear about Sully? Went on a turkey hunt, came home and found out somebody'd blown up his house. Nailed a paper to what was left of his garage. Gobble gobble this, ass-monkey. I don't hunt turkeys any more, and today neither do you."

"Fine by me." Jeffries shrugged. "Elk tastes better anyway. I can't wait to sink my teeth into a nice thick steak."

"Sink all you like. I just want the rack. I've got a spot on my wall already picked out."

"Take some meat. Shame to let it go to waste."

Clayburn grunted. "Wolves'll get it. Wish we had time to hunt wolves. I'd love to have one of those tails for my bike."

"Hey! We can use the elk meat as a lure."

"Yeah, there's a thought. Now we have to take an elk. You sure there's a bull up here?"

"All the sign says there is. And this." Jeffries showed Clayburn the photo he'd snapped on his cell. Even blurry with distance, it was clear the elk was a monster. And those antlers … ! Clayburn's belly did a backflip. He'd have to rearrange his other trophies to showcase them.

"Here's to the great outdoors," he murmured. He slipped between the trees, with Jeffries just behind.

# # #

It wasn't long before the hunters spotted their quarry. The enormous bull elk stood alone in a braod meadow, grazing on summer grass. Now and then he'd raise his head, peer left and right, then dip his muzzle to the grass again. Clayburn marveled over how he could even lift his head under the magnificent spread of those horns. Those were record-setters, sure as shootin'.

They crept as close to the bull as they dared. The bull gave no sign it was aware of them. He lifted his head and looked around twice, but never in their direction.

Clayburn moved so that the bull presented a perfect broadside target. He fit an arrow to his bow, a monstrous apparatus with enough tech on it to qualify for inclusion in a Star Trek movie. No rifles for Clayburn, no sir. Bow hunting all the way. Just like the pioneers.

"Say good night, George," he murmured, and took aim.

"Wait a minute," Jeffries said. He was staring at the elk. "There's something weird about—"

There was nothing weird about that rack. Clayburn let fly.

The arrow hit a textbook target, right through the lungs. Clayburn saw the shot strike home and jumped up in a whoop. They wouldn't even have to chase the damn thing. It would probably collapse where it stood.

Except it didn't. The elk continued to graze as if nothing had happened. It raised its head. Looked left. Looked right. Lowered its head again.

Clayburn's whoop died away. "What the fuck?" he said.

Jeffries was already trotting over the grass toward their unmoving target. He stopped within spitting distance of the elk, which totally ignored him. When nothing bad happened to Jeffries, Clayburn also moved forward. He nocked a second arrow to his bow, just in case.

Jeffries shouted something. "What?" Clayburn yelled back.

"It's a robot!" Jeffries yelled. "A freakin' robot! Look, you can see the joints on the neck and the head." He lowered his volume to conversation levels as Clayburn drew nearer. "Like those things they have at Disneyland. The whatchamatronics."

Now that he'd gotten up close, Clayburn could see what Jeffries was talking about. The elk's body was a hide stretched over a frame. Straw stuck out here and there along its form. When it raised its head, he heard the whirrs.

The "rack" was made of painted Styrofoam.

"Are you kidding me?" Clayburn said. "Who the hell would do this to people?"

"Us," a voice said from behind them. "Howdy, boys."

The hunters whirled. Two men had stood up from a dip in the contours of the meadow. Huge men, with bulky muscles, straggly chestnut hair and long, horsey faces. Naked men, in breechcloths like Native Americans of centuries gone by. Unlike the Native Americans of centuries gone by, they carried modern rifles, both of which were trained on Clayburn and Jeffries.

"Tsk tsk," one of them said. "Hunting out of season, and on posted property, yet. Didn't you guys see the signs?"

"And bringing bows to a gunfight." The other shook his head. "What passes for brains these days?"

Jeffries automatically held up his hands. "This isn't what you think it is."

"Oh, I'll bet it is. It's called poaching, and we take a dim view of that here in the Peak. Now how about you lose those weapons, boys?" He cocked his rifle.

The hunters tossed their bows and knives away. Clayburn also had a pistol, for close-up work. He wasn't close enough to beat a rifle. The pistol joined the bows and knives.

"Now your clothes." The spokesman gestured with his gun. "If you'd be so very kind."

When the men had stripped down to their undies, the spokesman started counting. The hunters took the hint and ran for the woods.

The two with the rifles exchanged looks, and grins. "I love this part."

His partner nodded. "It's hunting season, bro."

They ditched their breechcloths and shifted into their elk forms. The twin bulls charged after the hunters. Their horns were large and very real, and eager to taste poacher butt.

# # #

Afterwards, with the hunters successfully driven off, the elk returned to pick up their decoy and examine the haul. Phil took charge of the bows. "The Turkles will want these," he said. "The pistol, too."

Jake was going through the clothing. "They've already got bows and pistols."

"They can use 'em for trade, then. Who gets the knives?"

"We can probably get a few bucks for 'em at the sporting goods store. Hey hey!" Jake picked up Clayburn's cap and twirled it on his finger. "I'm keeping this. Maybe I'll start a trophy room."

"Suit yourself." Phil was trying to judge the size of Jeffries' camo trousers. "My nephew's got a birthday coming up. You think these'd fit him?"

For Cecil

Saturday, August 1, 2015

A BIt Of Saturday Silliness


 I made it through to the end of the month finishing my work load at work.  No extra duties put on though I worked overtime first part of month. Some this last week.  Now my allergies are giving me fits so my voice is raspy.  I'm tired and ready to pull covers over my head.  Then I realize I need to redo parts of my WIP so that the time frame works out better.  With that in mind, Pris and I are busy with that and resting up so I don't catch a summer cold.  Enjoy the funnies below.  The You Tube link is to one of my all time favorite skits with David Steinberg.  Dick Clark's improve along with Steinberg's will have you giggling and feeling better.  Have a great weekend gang!



Dick Clark's Live Wednesday Show 07 David Steinberg comedy performance1

Friday, July 31, 2015


Nick looked up from the editing project he’d undertaken, unsure of what he found so disconcerting.  The article was shite which was a surprise considering the writer was quite reliable, but that wasn’t the most troubling thing to tweak his conscience.   Perhaps it was that this was not the second or third article he’d found this way, but the fourth — all in one day.

Four articles, four different employees and four steamy piles of crap.

What was happening to his staff?  He wondered, rising from his chair and moving towards the door.  It wasn’t Spring fever as they were well into Summer and Fall/Winter were well loved by the shifter populace of Talbot’s Peak.  This blip had to be about something else entirely.

“Penny,” he called, stepping from his office, only to find an empty chair where his receptionist should have been.  He walked to the rail and looked down at the, also empty, bullpen.  “What the hell.”

At the end of the hall was Ziva’s office and hideout.  Maybe the staff had all taken a break to check out the new pictures of their twins.  Heck, that was definitely it, how could they not want to see the cutest babies in the world?

Nick pushed the door to Ziva’s domain open and found…nothing.  It was as empty as the bullpen.
“Lupa’s balls!” he growled and slammed the door before continuing around the upper deck of the office.

“Dayum.” Came a male voice from the conference room.

“Oh baby.” His receptionist agreed, whole-heartedly.

Yeah, his kids were awesome.  He smiled at the thought of family…

“Have you ever seen a tighter ass than that?”

“No, but don’t tell Jamie.”

“I’m right here, Lamar.”

What? Startled by the unexpected question launched by his mate, Nick growled, then threw open the conference room door.



“Not now, huh.”

Nick glared at the group surrounding the table, all watching a bare-assed stud -- yeah, he could admit it, to himself anyway -- the guy was good-looking, and the female he was pleasuring, she was hot.  Yet, here his employees sat, wasting time.  “So, anyone feel like working today?”


“Come on, sss,” Lamar hissed, not even looking at the door.  “Have a heart, we’re busy here…”

“What the hell’s so wonderful about this show?”  Nick huffed at his employees.  Sure, the sex was pretty hot, but a good porn would show you mo…

The scene changed on the flat screen and he was riveted by what was happening.  This incredible woman was shifting.  Honest to Lupa, shifting on TV, and it was astounding and quite life-like.

Okay, he could see it, maybe.  It had action, sex and violence, plus wolf shifters.  Perhaps he needed to give it a longer perusal, work could wait.

“So,” he said, pulling out a chair and dropping into it. “Who’s calling for steak delivery?”

Have you had a chance to check out this show?  If not, I'd highly recommend it.

Have a wonderful weekend!


Wednesday, July 29, 2015

New story idea for the blog

So I had a new story idea for the blog, a good thing since I just hadn't had any writing inspiration in weeks. I hope you like it.



Samantha parked her 1989 Toyota whoopty car in the last open spot at the strip mall just off the highway and sighed. She had a degree in business, more than a decade worth of experience in corporate accounting. And she was delivering pizza in the middle of Nowhere, Montana because this was where her car, dubbed the Crappy Corolla by her boss, had broke down six months ago. It wasn't even a real town. There was a real town down the road a few miles, called Talbot's Peak, but this was where the only motel was, so here is where she'd stayed.

That fateful day, back in February, she'd had high hopes for a job interview in Kennewick, Washington, which she hadn't made it to. She'd had two-hundred dollars in her pocket, which hadn't been enough to fix the clutch on the Crappy Corolla. She had had plenty of clothes, though, since everything she'd owned had been jam-packed into the trunk and back seat. She might have cried about her lot in life that day, but hadn't bothered wasting her energy. As a product of the South Dakota foster care system, she'd been through worse and had learned how to land on he feet.

The first thing she'd done was get a room at the motel, and then she walked up and down the strip mall looking for a job. She'd found one slinging pies at the pizzeria. Six months later, she was still working there, only delivering pies now that the Crappy Corolla was operational again. She kept telling herself that it was only until she had enough money saved up to make another push for civilization. It wasn't exactly a lie. She had had car repairs to pay for, and room and board to pay for, but she'd managed to save up almost five-hundred dollars, more than twice what she'd had when she first arrived, but experience had taught her that the more money you had, the easier it would be to relocate. High hopes were not enough.

A knock on her window startled her, and she quickly rolled it down. Her boss, Jerad, was leaning over, peering in at her with a frown on his withered, craggy face.

"You ok, girl?" he asked, his gravely voice pinch with concern. "You been sitting out here a while."

"I'm fine," Samantha sighed. "Just have a bit of a headache tonight." She squinted, trying to read the cheap clock on the wall of the pizzeria, a task that would have been easier if the window hadn't been fogged over with years of grease, grime, and fingerprints. Jerad kept a clean store for the most part, but like most guys who had no women in their lives, he never seemed to notice things like dirty windows. If she wasn't mistaken, it was a quarter to ten. Only an hour and fifteen minutes to closing time.

"Well, how about you take one more run for me and then call it a night," Jerad said gruffly. "I've got enough people to cover the closing shift."

Samantha smiled wanly up at the old coot who'd given her a chance six months ago and nodded her thanks. Because here was the real reason she was still in Nowhere, Montana: people who actually gave a damn if she was feeling ok.

Tuesday, July 28, 2015

Miss Cardinal's Bomb Squad

 From ~digital-art-gallery.com~

Almost Full Moon howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

Yes, it's been a busy day, so once again: *Continued from last week, a short flash scene 'cause that's all I can manage.* ... To Quote: "Our Talbot's Peak saga continues. The bad guys have made pests of themselves, and are harassing our beloved mayor, Gil. Well, they just might be real sorry after Operation Crunch."

Okay, how sorry will the bad-guy bureaucrats be having to drive a wolf and saber-tooth mangled car that has also been especially decorated by Miss Cardinal and her bird-shifter friends? 

Note: Pat Cunningham introduced Miss Cardinal in one of her previous flash scenes.


Miss Cardinal's Bomb Squad 

Madder than a wet hen, even though she was a cardinal, Carlotta streaked through the sky. Another job interview had gone sour, south, whatever... because gosh, gee whiz, what the bird crap... the potential employers were always looking for 'crap' on the chair she'd occupied. The birdbrain idjits couldn't even grasp the fact that when in human form, her body actually acted human.

Soaring over the highway out of town, Carlotta seethed, so hot with anger she wondered if she was about to internally combust... or, instead of spontaneous human combustion, it would be spontaneous bird combustion while in flight. Her grim mental chuckle followed that thought.

Wanting to wing faster, wanting to be impressively dangerous with a wicked beak and wicked talons, Carlotta wished she could temporarily morph into a bird of prey... an eagle, a hawk, a falcon, any raptor would do. But no, oh noooo... she was a mere cardinal, a songbird to be preyed upon.

What the...!!! A UFO parked on the highway... Carlotta screeched to an aerial halt... well, almost. Her wings fluttered rapidly as she braked, and attempted to hover at the same time.

Okay, she'd heard rumors about there being an ET residing at the Pleasure Club, who *get this* had his own disc craft. Curiosity grabbed Carlotta, and she flapped her wings to steady herself, then flew to investigate. After all, she doubted Dante and his super team, would allow a bad-guy ET to land in Talbot's Peak territory.

Well, not without a battle. And no such fight seemed to be happening. Instead, as she closed in, two shifter bikers she recognized as Durk and Zeo, were attacking a car. Most savagely attacking.

Now Carlotta winged faster, her curiosity piqued beyond bearing.

Ah-ha! The state bureaucrats who'd made pest of themselves, it was there taxpayer-paid-for ride. Circling above the fang-ripping action, Carlotta realized the two state agents where nowhere to be seen.

Inside she cheered Zeo and Durk on, and wished deep inside she could mount her own ferocious assault. But no...she was only a small cardinal girl... even shifted to human, she was small, delicate in appearance. There was nothing intimidating or fiercely dangerous about her.

Frustration whipped through Carlotta. But WAIT! She did have a way to express her displeasure with the bureaucratic harassment the Peak had been experiencing of late.

Yep, cheepers creepers -- as she liked saying -- she had a way to help 'decorate' the car, too. 

Bombs away, bird style.

Carlotta mentally smiled. And why not invite a few friends, any bird shifter in the range of her shrill rallying calls.

Once Durk and Zeo backed away, and began changing to their human form, Carlotta dived. With a new determined fierceness owning her, she dive-bombed the car.

Plop! Plop! Plop! She let loose.

Soon, she wasn't the only bird 'letting loose'. The sounds of steady plopping became a vengeful and beautiful music to Carlotta's ears.

She soared high to get a better view. Noticing the white-drippy unevenness of their attack, Carlotta mind-squawked, 'Tactical flock, everyone.'

Immediately, she and the other bird shifters became a  flock. Flying upward, they coordinated their flight, then circled above the car. With strategic precision, they dropped their poop bombs. Ploppity, plop-plop!


Wishing you love and passion on the wild side ~ 


Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance