She Ate the Neck of the Chicken (And Said She Preferred It)
When Jim and I saw the round red target staring up through its cellophane wrapper, we snatched the package and scampered up the attic stairs. I never imagined the cigarettes belonged to anyone. I thought they were left behind and long since forgotten...

Before World War II, at big family gatherings in the country, I found glory in acting big, romping with my brother and cousin, challenging a banty rooster, braving a treacherous bridge, taming a wild kitten, jumping from a haymow, and other country adventures.

Compared to those Sunday highlights, life in our cramped three room house in Windsor paled. Mom tried to make a nice home and spice up her kids' lives, but as often as we could, my brother and I burst from that house to make our own fun slaying enemies, building architectural marvels, and eluding the Rivvel Woman.

In this book, I muse about my grandmother's late nineteenth century life, travel through my 1930s and 1940s childhood, face childhood's end, then step into the twenty-first century and peek at the last days of the few aunts and uncles left from those big family gatherings.

If You Can't Train Them, Love Them: The Dogs in My Life
One stormy winter night, mysterious whimpering alarmed Mom. When Dad opened the door, he found a shivering puppy on our snow-whipped porch. The puppy grew to be a large, authoritative dog who appointed himself to guard us kids from roads, bonfires, outhouse holes, spankings, and other perilous things.

From stories of this marvelous guardian of my childhood, this collection moves to Alaska and the escapades of my willful huskies. Serious dog trainers take warning: Reading these stories might trigger apoplexy. This book is for dog-lovers, not dog trainers.

In these pages, readers will taste a bit of my life in Alaska while I worry about, laugh at, love, and mourn my huskies as they romp through the book getting caught in traps, ravaging ski parkas, killing dog beds; tangling with geese and mules; confronting a grizzly bear; dealing with a bull, running off with their sled, escaping pens, almost getting me reported to the Humane Society, and disappearing in an isolated British Columbia forest.

About the Author
Betty Jo Goddard traveled a packed road since her birth in Windsor, Illinois. While on that road, she acquired a BS from Illinois State, an MA from University of Colorado, and twenty-five years of teaching’s bruises, successes, smiles, and love. Betty Jo retired from teaching in 1983 and now lives on a ridge top in Alaska with her three errant huskies.

Since retiring from teaching, she’s taken up writing as a hobby. This hobby gives her fun, and, when she tosses her lines in the publishing world’s waters, enough bites to keep her dogs well fed.