By Dean Koontz
Dean Koontz’s first ever nonfiction booklet, the deeply relocating tale of his existence along with his reliable puppy Trixie
Dean Koontz is understood for exploring the darkish facet of human nature in his fiction. yet his softer, playful aspect comes out whilst he talks approximately his cherished puppy, Trixie, a golden retriever.
Trixie had a distinct position in Dean's middle. And now, during this, his first non-fiction e-book, Dean opens his middle to his readers to provide us stories of Trixie, of the wonderful puppy who replaced him and adjusted his lifestyles.
Read Online or Download A Big Little Life: A Memoir of a Joyful Dog Named Trixie PDF
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Extra resources for A Big Little Life: A Memoir of a Joyful Dog Named Trixie
The violin went back in its case and was returned to my great-great-uncle Alf. I didn’t mind. I had more time to play conkers (chestnuts) or collect cigarette cards. In those days, packets of cigarettes had cards inside from which, by collecting or swapping them, one could make up a ‘set’ of famous people, football stars, cricketers, film stars and motor cars, and the like. They became schoolboys’ currency. We’d play card flicking in the playground too. A card would be placed at an angle against the wall then, from a few feet away, you’d flick a card at it, and whoever knocked it down won the card.
As far as I was concerned I had never seen him any different and he was the kindest man I knew. His best friend, Dick Wilde was a carpenter and worked at the Elephant and Castle, an area of South London not far from Stockwell, and the birthplace of Michael Caine. Dick had been born with a club foot and as a consequence had spent his entire life with a built-up boot, leaving him with an uncomfortable hobble. Dick was a communist, a real radical who firmly believed that the red flag should be flying over Buckingham Palace, and I’m sure he must have been under observation by the Intelligence Services.
I was taken on my own to a rather smart house, with Tudor-style beams and a red-tiled roof. The owners had two sons a little older than me. We were walking down a road on my first Sunday morning–it was sunny and windows were open–and I heard the voice of the prime minister on the radio, saying that a state of war now existed between Britain and Germany. As if to punctuate that statement the air-raid sirens started to wail. What, up until then, had seemed like only a game, became a reality. The sirens were a false alarm.