Sample Illustration by Tim Kannard
IF ONLY MY DOG COULD TALK
A Comedy of Canines for Adults
Have you ever wondered what your dog might say if he could talk? Well, in this book, the dog can talk--and he makes very interesting commentaries on life!
I invite dog lovers, and the friends and families of dog lovers, to support my mission of publishing an entertaining and wonderfully illustrated dog book for adults. Luka and his friends—including a pair of Cornish Rex cats as well as The Other Corgi—have many opinions on a vast array of topics, and they love to share them!
Please check out two samples of the kinds of "conversations" Luka has with his human mom, his housemate, his two cats and a Pembroke Welsh Corgi, then hit the link below to take you to the Kickstarter Campaign for details.
LUKA: “Here, have your eat-a-mommy back."
ME: “My what?"
LUKA: “I don't like eat-a-mommy. I'm not going to eat eat-a-mommy. They are green pod-people. I've delicately pulled them from my bowl and piled them neatly on the floor for your collection thereof, so you may feed them to the sink monster."
ME: “Sink monster? You mean the garbage disposal?"
LUKA: “Yeah, that. Weird name. Though not as weird as eat-a-mommy."
ME: “Not eat-a-mommy, Luka. Edamame! Edda-mom-ay. It's Asian. A vegetable."
LUKA: “I don't care if they're Asian, Australian, African, or Aruban. I'm not eating green pod-people--or mommies, either."
ME: “Cassie ate hers."
LUKA: “Cassie has a garbage gut. I am more discriminating in my dietary preferences."
ME: “Well, left to your own devices, what delicacy would you prefer to consume in place of eat-a-mommy green pod-people?
LUKA: “Cat poop."
LUKA: 'I'm a book? How am I a book? I'm not a dog anymore?"
ME: “No, you are not a book. You are indeed a dog. But you may be in a book."
LUKA: “In a book?"
LUKA: “You're going to put me in a book?"
ME: “If all goes well, yes."
LUKA: < . . . >
ME: “You have your Thinking Face on. What are you thinking about?"
LUKA: “About how painful it will be for you to put me in a book."
LUKA: “I mean, are you sure I'll fit? Will this lead to folding, spindling, and mutilating to make me fit in the book? Or will you just fold up my legs and ears and tail and squash me like roadkill, then stuff me between the covers? You know, like a poor pressed flower, left to mummify itself all unplanned while caught--while trapped, TRAPPED--between two pages, with the weight of all the other pages and the twinned covers keeping me immobile. To be old and faded and crispified, only to collapse into Luka-ash, to be borne away like motes of Luka-ash vortexing--"
LUKA: “--within a single bar of sunlight slicing like Freddy Krueger's claw-glove through parted, dusty curtain panels, or Edward Scissorhands' hands insinuating themselves between parted, dusty curtain panels, or maybe the Wolverine's adamantium claws going snicker-snack through parted, dusty--"
LUKA: “--curtain . . . What?"
ME: “By saying you will be in a book, I don't mean you will physically be put into a book. I mean your name, your words, your image will be in a book. You will be featured in a book."
LUKA: "You mean--like the star of the book?"
ME: “I guess you could say that."
LUKA: < . . . >
ME: You have your Thinking Face on again."
LUKA: “I'm thinking I want a 95% royalty rate."