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When Sunny Lytle is evicted for keeping her fur family of thirteen dogs, eight cats, two ferrets, and two rabbits in her apartment in Kentucky, she packs them into a converted school bus and returns to her hometown, DeLeon Springs, Florida. Her dream is to create a no-kill animal rescue, but survival soon takes top priority. Camping in the woods is no longer peaceful as in her teen years, and the brutal demands of nature and the threatening intervention of Rita, a well-meaning veterinarian, create an ongoing struggle. Buck, a quirky homeless man, becomes her brave ally. Reconnecting with her alcoholic father and her high school boyfriend Jason revive fear and desire for Sunny. Relationships for Rita and Jason, and Sunny’s married Kentucky boyfriend Bear, rise and fall along the battlefront between societal values and passionate love for animals. To honor their memories, all animal names used in the novel are of deceased fur friends beloved by their families. True anecdotes of animal-human interaction enliven the scenes. |
Excerpt from Fur People:
Chapter 1: Sunny Lytle Fur—soft, musky, warm—Sunny’s love of it, and the animal beneath, was physical and hardwired. To bury her fingers in the undercoat behind a shepherd’s ears or tilt the snout of a dachshund and massage the silky groove between his eyes brought bliss. She’d tell anyone, fur people were her people.
She was pretty enough to be loved by young men her age, but she didn’t need them. Mostly they lacked understanding. Now curled on the couch, amid purrs and dog snores, soothed by the luxury of fur, she drifted toward sleep . . . walks finished . . . cleaning done . . . food in the cupboard . . . In a dream, koalas and tiger cubs melded. She danced with upright deer and rested in the lap of a ragged grizzly.
Loud knocking jerked her awake. Cats’ eyes opened wide, and a dozen dogs leapt up and sprinted, barks ripping through the apartment like a pack of firecrackers. Rufus, the huge shepherd, lunged to stand with his forepaws on the windowsill, his thunderous woof echoing. The orange tabby, Mr. Manx, sprang from Sunny’s lap onto the coffee table, and Pancho, the hairless Chihuahua, stood shivering on the arm of the couch.
She dodged the commotion to peek out the window. “Shit!” The rent. On the porch the landlord was fingering his ring of keys. In the past, Sunny had always dropped the check at his office to prevent visits.
She opened the door a crack and flashed her sparkling smile. “Fred, I have my check. I just need to cash it.”
His hand palmed the edge of the door as his foot wedged the crack wider. “Lock up those dogs and let me in.”
No more secrets. She herded the big dogs and loud yappers into the bedroom, a couple at a time, struggling to think of a plan, failing. Pancho slipped back out and followed her, his nails ticking across the wood.
She opened the front door a few inches, wedging her leg to fill up the gap, but Fred forced the door wide and pushed past her, sending Pancho skittering. Sunny froze as Fred surveyed the visible number of cats and dogs and the rabbit. His eyes went to the bale of hay in the dining room, to the feed bag, and on to the rubber mat on the floor.
Gigolo, a miniature horse, was to be hers within the week. She bit her lip. Horse gear was the topper to get her evicted.
“What in the name of god? Are you nuts?”
“I’ve got the money, Fred. I’ll just sign my check over so you can go.”
He turned his head slowly, looking from one side of the room to the other, his jaw slack. He cupped his fingers over his nose and mouth. “It’s disgusting.”
“What do you mean?” She looked around, insulted. The fur people were well-fed and calm, the rabbit beans and fur balls minimal since she’d just swept. Clean food dishes and water buckets were lined up straight along the walls. Okay, the couch was soiled, but it was her property. Fred might not enjoy the smell of ferrets, but that was a personal problem. Nothing had been damaged. Nonetheless, she knew it was useless to argue, having been through it all in Cincinnati and again in Indianapolis.
Pancho screeched in his highest pitch. She picked him up, watching the landlord’s face, still hoping for a break, and went for her purse. She’d been in Louisville less than six months, and the apartment complex was a good set up. Her place opened on the back side of the building facing a field and thick woods, quiet enough for visits from deer, and there was a fenced area off the kitchen where she could let the dogs out when she didn’t have time for walks. With crack users on both sides ensured privacy. Why didn’t Fred care about them? Her crime seemed nothing by comparison, but the cops would come to abduct the fur people and charge her with abuse, requiring a huge fine that she couldn’t pay.
She offered her check to Fred, but he shook his head no. “I have your last month and deposit.”
She thought he liked her, had caught him leering at her butt more than once, but now he was all business. “I’ll get rid of the hay.” She fingered her braid and offered her most wide-eyed, innocent face. “No horse—ever. Promise.”
He stared toward the bedroom door, the muffled ruckus behind it. “This is pathetic. You can’t keep all these animals here.”
Her eyes filled and she wiped them with the back of her hand, spreading tears across her cheeks. Pancho moved up her shoulder to lick the salt. She tossed back her braid. “Just give me a day to clean up and get on the road.” She set the tiny dog on the couch and started stacking food bowls, looking back at Fred with watery eyes.
“You need help, Sunny.”
“I can handle it.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He backed out the door, shaking his head. “If these animals are still here in the morning, I’ll have to call the cops.”
“How could you? They’re my family!”
He spread his fingers, holding his forehead, as if his head might split. “Look—if you need me to drive some dogs to the shelter . . .”
She closed her eyes and shook her head hard, the long blonde braid whapping side to side, driving him back. Fred pulled the door shut behind him. If he thought she was crazy, that was fine. Make him damned uncomfortable throwing her out. Fuck.
She let the dogs back into the living room and collapsed on the couch, gathering Pancho into her lap. She had never intended to pack so many animals into the small apartment, and it wasn’t ideal, but she couldn’t help it. She was a magnet, drawing every boney, lonesome, injured, fluff-covered creature into her arms and her heart—every pampered pet, as well. She only had to gaze with yearning at a perky pup on a leash, and it would stop dead and turn longing eyes on her.
Life as an animal attractant required sacrifice, but she could live without nice clothes, TVs, computers, cell phones and IPods, the common comforts and necessities of most women her age. Her social life was full at home. She had never resented the lack of a career or living hand to mouth.
Sure, there were a few trips to the humane society that she should never have made, but she gave those animals life. She worked hard, tended bar as many hours as she could get, tried desperately to save money to start a rescue center of her own.
She looked around the apartment. Despite Fred and his world, she was proud of the freshly swept floor and tidy row of clean water buckets, the healthy fur-bodies spread or curled on every shelf, sill, floor, and piece of furniture. Sprawled near her feet on the wood floor were Rufus, his head the size of a breadbox, Schmeisser, another muscular shepherd; and Brindle, the blond lab-mix, swollen with pups. Their faces turned to watch her eyes, feeling her emotion, tails beating when she looked back at them with love. They shared the highest level in the dog hierarchy, after Pancho, claiming spots closest to her. The smaller breeds, Wookie, Devo, Willie, Sugar, Angel, Tulip, Gus, Duke, and Ginger were strung out head to tail mostly resting against the dining room walls. Kiko, the Siamese, hopped up to settle near her, followed by Tazwell, the rex cat. Most of the cats had returned to napping on their shelves and tables.
Rosebud, the Dutch rabbit, wandered from the bedroom, and Pancho hopped down to follow, his nose to her black tuft of a tail. Panchy surely had dachshund in his ancestry, with short legs that made him barely taller than Rosebud. Sunny hoped he wouldn’t get an erection. The last time, his hot pink arrow had grown longer than his legs and stubbed the floor like a kickstand, only allowing him to walk backwards. She’d had to dowse him in the sink.
“Mitter Manx,” she called, baby talking her oldest orange tabby. He stayed on the windowsill eyeing her. Norton, the Scottish fold, held his post on the coffee table, gazing over the couch cats, as if amused. They didn’t know enough to worry.
She took turns rubbing ears, then coaxed the dogs back to the bedroom and let the ferrets loose for a romp with the cats for their last night in the apartment. She loved to watch the ferrets slip under furniture and pop out some place unexpected. When the cats gave up, the ferrets continued to weave, bob, and roll, sparring with invisible opponents. Individual ferret boxing, she called it. Better entertainment than television. She hadn’t owned a TV in years.
She thought of cheaper sections of Louisville, places less likely to call attention to her situation. Or heading to somewhere more forgiving. California. A job in a tourist area. Bear, her best friend—and lover—would help her out some, but it was too far, too difficult, and there would always be landlords.
She was stalling, trying to fool herself. She almost didn’t dare think of one possibility . . . Jason. The only two-legger who felt the same as she did about animals. Leaving him had been a mistake.
A few weeks ago at the library, she’d had to duck behind the computer screen to hide her blushing and shaking, when she found his Facebook page. He hadn’t changed. He was still living in her hometown, DeLeon Springs, Florida.
She hadn’t sent a message, but looked up his address and phone number, just for the heck of it. After ten years, the odds were terrible for getting back together, but she couldn’t let loose of her feelings. Now Fate was lending a push. It would be an adventure to go back home, a challenge. Moving everyone would require a huge favor from Bear, but she knew she could count on him, even though he would be unhappy.
She put the ferrets back into their crate and opened the bedroom door to get started on the packing. Ears perked up. She took Pancho into her arms and sat on the bed. His brow wrinkled and his eyes questioned as if he wanted to know what she was thinking. If dogs ever learned to talk, he’d be the first. She lowered him to the pillow. As she went to the closet, the big dogs tilted their heads and slapped their tails on the wood floor. Pancho stood on the comforter, half-turned away, and stared back over his haunches, as if he knew what was up and that he wasn’t going to like it.
Chapter 1: Sunny Lytle Fur—soft, musky, warm—Sunny’s love of it, and the animal beneath, was physical and hardwired. To bury her fingers in the undercoat behind a shepherd’s ears or tilt the snout of a dachshund and massage the silky groove between his eyes brought bliss. She’d tell anyone, fur people were her people.
She was pretty enough to be loved by young men her age, but she didn’t need them. Mostly they lacked understanding. Now curled on the couch, amid purrs and dog snores, soothed by the luxury of fur, she drifted toward sleep . . . walks finished . . . cleaning done . . . food in the cupboard . . . In a dream, koalas and tiger cubs melded. She danced with upright deer and rested in the lap of a ragged grizzly.
Loud knocking jerked her awake. Cats’ eyes opened wide, and a dozen dogs leapt up and sprinted, barks ripping through the apartment like a pack of firecrackers. Rufus, the huge shepherd, lunged to stand with his forepaws on the windowsill, his thunderous woof echoing. The orange tabby, Mr. Manx, sprang from Sunny’s lap onto the coffee table, and Pancho, the hairless Chihuahua, stood shivering on the arm of the couch.
She dodged the commotion to peek out the window. “Shit!” The rent. On the porch the landlord was fingering his ring of keys. In the past, Sunny had always dropped the check at his office to prevent visits.
She opened the door a crack and flashed her sparkling smile. “Fred, I have my check. I just need to cash it.”
His hand palmed the edge of the door as his foot wedged the crack wider. “Lock up those dogs and let me in.”
No more secrets. She herded the big dogs and loud yappers into the bedroom, a couple at a time, struggling to think of a plan, failing. Pancho slipped back out and followed her, his nails ticking across the wood.
She opened the front door a few inches, wedging her leg to fill up the gap, but Fred forced the door wide and pushed past her, sending Pancho skittering. Sunny froze as Fred surveyed the visible number of cats and dogs and the rabbit. His eyes went to the bale of hay in the dining room, to the feed bag, and on to the rubber mat on the floor.
Gigolo, a miniature horse, was to be hers within the week. She bit her lip. Horse gear was the topper to get her evicted.
“What in the name of god? Are you nuts?”
“I’ve got the money, Fred. I’ll just sign my check over so you can go.”
He turned his head slowly, looking from one side of the room to the other, his jaw slack. He cupped his fingers over his nose and mouth. “It’s disgusting.”
“What do you mean?” She looked around, insulted. The fur people were well-fed and calm, the rabbit beans and fur balls minimal since she’d just swept. Clean food dishes and water buckets were lined up straight along the walls. Okay, the couch was soiled, but it was her property. Fred might not enjoy the smell of ferrets, but that was a personal problem. Nothing had been damaged. Nonetheless, she knew it was useless to argue, having been through it all in Cincinnati and again in Indianapolis.
Pancho screeched in his highest pitch. She picked him up, watching the landlord’s face, still hoping for a break, and went for her purse. She’d been in Louisville less than six months, and the apartment complex was a good set up. Her place opened on the back side of the building facing a field and thick woods, quiet enough for visits from deer, and there was a fenced area off the kitchen where she could let the dogs out when she didn’t have time for walks. With crack users on both sides ensured privacy. Why didn’t Fred care about them? Her crime seemed nothing by comparison, but the cops would come to abduct the fur people and charge her with abuse, requiring a huge fine that she couldn’t pay.
She offered her check to Fred, but he shook his head no. “I have your last month and deposit.”
She thought he liked her, had caught him leering at her butt more than once, but now he was all business. “I’ll get rid of the hay.” She fingered her braid and offered her most wide-eyed, innocent face. “No horse—ever. Promise.”
He stared toward the bedroom door, the muffled ruckus behind it. “This is pathetic. You can’t keep all these animals here.”
Her eyes filled and she wiped them with the back of her hand, spreading tears across her cheeks. Pancho moved up her shoulder to lick the salt. She tossed back her braid. “Just give me a day to clean up and get on the road.” She set the tiny dog on the couch and started stacking food bowls, looking back at Fred with watery eyes.
“You need help, Sunny.”
“I can handle it.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He backed out the door, shaking his head. “If these animals are still here in the morning, I’ll have to call the cops.”
“How could you? They’re my family!”
He spread his fingers, holding his forehead, as if his head might split. “Look—if you need me to drive some dogs to the shelter . . .”
She closed her eyes and shook her head hard, the long blonde braid whapping side to side, driving him back. Fred pulled the door shut behind him. If he thought she was crazy, that was fine. Make him damned uncomfortable throwing her out. Fuck.
She let the dogs back into the living room and collapsed on the couch, gathering Pancho into her lap. She had never intended to pack so many animals into the small apartment, and it wasn’t ideal, but she couldn’t help it. She was a magnet, drawing every boney, lonesome, injured, fluff-covered creature into her arms and her heart—every pampered pet, as well. She only had to gaze with yearning at a perky pup on a leash, and it would stop dead and turn longing eyes on her.
Life as an animal attractant required sacrifice, but she could live without nice clothes, TVs, computers, cell phones and IPods, the common comforts and necessities of most women her age. Her social life was full at home. She had never resented the lack of a career or living hand to mouth.
Sure, there were a few trips to the humane society that she should never have made, but she gave those animals life. She worked hard, tended bar as many hours as she could get, tried desperately to save money to start a rescue center of her own.
She looked around the apartment. Despite Fred and his world, she was proud of the freshly swept floor and tidy row of clean water buckets, the healthy fur-bodies spread or curled on every shelf, sill, floor, and piece of furniture. Sprawled near her feet on the wood floor were Rufus, his head the size of a breadbox, Schmeisser, another muscular shepherd; and Brindle, the blond lab-mix, swollen with pups. Their faces turned to watch her eyes, feeling her emotion, tails beating when she looked back at them with love. They shared the highest level in the dog hierarchy, after Pancho, claiming spots closest to her. The smaller breeds, Wookie, Devo, Willie, Sugar, Angel, Tulip, Gus, Duke, and Ginger were strung out head to tail mostly resting against the dining room walls. Kiko, the Siamese, hopped up to settle near her, followed by Tazwell, the rex cat. Most of the cats had returned to napping on their shelves and tables.
Rosebud, the Dutch rabbit, wandered from the bedroom, and Pancho hopped down to follow, his nose to her black tuft of a tail. Panchy surely had dachshund in his ancestry, with short legs that made him barely taller than Rosebud. Sunny hoped he wouldn’t get an erection. The last time, his hot pink arrow had grown longer than his legs and stubbed the floor like a kickstand, only allowing him to walk backwards. She’d had to dowse him in the sink.
“Mitter Manx,” she called, baby talking her oldest orange tabby. He stayed on the windowsill eyeing her. Norton, the Scottish fold, held his post on the coffee table, gazing over the couch cats, as if amused. They didn’t know enough to worry.
She took turns rubbing ears, then coaxed the dogs back to the bedroom and let the ferrets loose for a romp with the cats for their last night in the apartment. She loved to watch the ferrets slip under furniture and pop out some place unexpected. When the cats gave up, the ferrets continued to weave, bob, and roll, sparring with invisible opponents. Individual ferret boxing, she called it. Better entertainment than television. She hadn’t owned a TV in years.
She thought of cheaper sections of Louisville, places less likely to call attention to her situation. Or heading to somewhere more forgiving. California. A job in a tourist area. Bear, her best friend—and lover—would help her out some, but it was too far, too difficult, and there would always be landlords.
She was stalling, trying to fool herself. She almost didn’t dare think of one possibility . . . Jason. The only two-legger who felt the same as she did about animals. Leaving him had been a mistake.
A few weeks ago at the library, she’d had to duck behind the computer screen to hide her blushing and shaking, when she found his Facebook page. He hadn’t changed. He was still living in her hometown, DeLeon Springs, Florida.
She hadn’t sent a message, but looked up his address and phone number, just for the heck of it. After ten years, the odds were terrible for getting back together, but she couldn’t let loose of her feelings. Now Fate was lending a push. It would be an adventure to go back home, a challenge. Moving everyone would require a huge favor from Bear, but she knew she could count on him, even though he would be unhappy.
She put the ferrets back into their crate and opened the bedroom door to get started on the packing. Ears perked up. She took Pancho into her arms and sat on the bed. His brow wrinkled and his eyes questioned as if he wanted to know what she was thinking. If dogs ever learned to talk, he’d be the first. She lowered him to the pillow. As she went to the closet, the big dogs tilted their heads and slapped their tails on the wood floor. Pancho stood on the comforter, half-turned away, and stared back over his haunches, as if he knew what was up and that he wasn’t going to like it.