Author Falls Prey to Dog!

I can’t believe it! I’m sitting here with broken ribs after an Alpha Male encounter with my little bitty puppy. Okay, at 85+ pounds and 17 months he’s not exactly little bitty anymore. If the pain and humiliation weren’t enough, I had to sit through a lecture from my doctor on how I needed to train my dog.

Sailor, the yellow Labrador is a great dog, an enthusiastic dog, and most of all a happy dog. He even got a trophy at DOG OBEDIENCE SCHOOL! (Never mind what the trophy was for, that’s another story.)

He sits, he stays, he shakes, he heels… all of that stuff. He’s just a little resistant to change. Once a pattern has been established, he likes to keep it that way. I’m amazed that within a couple of minutes of straight up 8:00 PM every night, he lets us know that it is time for a Greenie. I’ve never seen it before, but somehow this dog even adjusts his internal clock for daylight savings time. When the time changes come, it’s not 7:00 or not 9:00 but still straight up 8:00 by the clock! Simply amazing. I’m sure that this yellow ball of fur actually knows how to tell time.

Ah, but I digress. The ribs.

My wife (Mrs. Author) loves to read in the early, early morning (sometimes it’s even my stuff she likes to read…) and Sailor the yellow Labrador has become her reading partner. He sits next to her in my seat on the sofa as she reads. In the early, early morning, this is not a problem for me because I am either pounding on my keyboard (creating new stuff for her to read) or sleeping like a normal person at an early, early hour of the morning.

Somehow, Sailor the yellow Labrador refuses look at the clock at reading time. Therefore, he refuses to understand that my seat on the sofa is only his at certain times of the day! I think that Sailor the yellow labrador is somehow genetically connected to either the grasshopper or the springbok (that little African antelope that boing-boings all over the place) because of the distances he can jump from a standing position.

He digresses, again, one thinks as one reads these words. Nope, the jumping is part of the story!

Sometimes, after straight up 8:00 PM, and the Greenie has been distributed, Mr. Author and his wife (Mrs. Author) like to relax on said sofa… together. Perhaps we read, or plug in a DVD, or watch one of the televised autopsy shows. We look at Sailor the yellow Labrador and say to him. “This is our time, this is not reading time. Look at the clock.”

At which point, he immediately begins a completely obnoxious behavior known as Yarking. This obscene cross between a Yip! and a Bark! is one of the most grating, horrible, torturous sounds ever foisted upon mankind by any living creature (second only to the screeching violins from the shower scene in Psycho). Yarking is so bad that listening to it even pisses off the dog, at which point he trans-morphs into the terrifying grasshopper-springbok boinging creature.

Without warning, this hideous mutant is airborne, landing seconds later on the Author’s nether parts, after which, the room fills with the cacophony of multiple, overlapping shouts of the phrase NO! BAD DOG!

On most normal evenings, this cycle only needs to be repeated twenty or thirty times before Sailor the yellow lab decides that he is tired and elects to lay down and sleep. Last Wednesday there were no repeat cycles…

The male human rib is not huge. Maybe 3/4 of an inch in width and 3/8 of an inch in thickness is a good sized riblet. Human ribs are not structurally engineered to support the entire weight of an 85+ pound yellow Labrador retriever focused in the circumference of a single paw. I repeat, human ribs are not structurally engineered to support the entire weight of an 85+ pound yellow Labrador retriever focused in the circumference of a single paw.

The pain pills are good, but the brace is uncomfortable.

‘Be careful,’ said the doctor. ‘There are certain things you cannot do without risking a punctured lung.’

‘What are the things that I cannot do?’ I asked.

‘Any of the things that you would like to do.’

Poor Mr. Author… Poor Mrs. Author…

Ironically, the incident of Sailor the springbok/grasshopper mutated yellow Labrador is not the first time Mr. Author has ended up with broken bones as the result of a cute, fuzzy, lovable family dog.

Many years (and dogs) ago, Mr. Author suffered a compound (e.g. bloody enough for autopsy TV) fracture of the left ankle when a black Labrador, Irish setter mix ran between his legs full speed while still on leash.

Just a few years ago, a brand new, nine week old white lab female, got in between Mr. Authors feet at the top of the stairs. Mr. Author was in a cast for eight weeks over that one, and in the middle of crisscrossing the nation in economy class… (but that is yet another story.)

Sailor the yellow Labrador is not so great at telling time after all. He may know when it is Greenie time, but he has no comprehension of when the far end of the sofa belongs to me!

ttfn, rlc

Made it uptown

Being a good kid, I called my mom to wish her happy mother’s day.  I learned that my aunt, who lives in the famous Dakota in NYC, picked up a copy of my first book, Kiss the Breath of Sunset, in an upper west side bookstore.  How cool is that?

Now, if her neighbors would each buy a copy… heh, heh…

ttfn, rlc

Love Your Eyes – An Excerpt from Kiss the Breath of Sunset

I was fortunate enough to know Tommy Bolin as a teenager in Boulder. Many years after his death, after finishing a screenplay called “Love Your Eyes”, I was working on a piece of music suitable for the opening credits. For some reason, bits and pieces of Tommy’s style came to mind, and this is the result, from Kiss the Breath of Sunset.

Love Your Eyes

Her smile, will bring a man to his knees,
Her style can get her anything she’ll please
One look makes you want to take a chance
There’s a book being written with every glance
She’s so cool, she’s so cruel
Want to escape the stories and lies,
I can’t get away ’cause I love your eyes.

That walk, can make any light look dim
When she talks to another man, you gotta envy him
But watch out, there’s no truth in any thing she says
You’ll find out, she’s a woman of a thousand ways
She’s so cool, she’s so cruel
Want to escape the stories and lies,
I can’t get away ’cause I love your eyes.

She’ll turn her back then she’ll walk on by
She’ll burn you, every night, a new alibi
She’s a teaser, she loves nobody but herself
She’s a pleaser, she’ll bend you ’til you don’t know yourself
She’s so cool, she’s so cruel
Want to escape the stories and lies,
I can’t get away ’cause I love your eyes.

Stuck in Telluride – an Excerpt from Kiss the Breath of Sunset

Nothing much to take apart with this one. If you’ve been there, you’ll understand.

Stuck in Telluride


Once on a Saturday night not so long ago,
I was feelin’ mighty fine, as those feelin’s go.
I saw a little lady, tried my best to impress,
I thought maybe later I could get her undressed.

She looked at my clothes, although I tried to hide ’em
I said it wasn’t really me deep down inside em
I said come on with me girl I’ll show you a good time
She said let me see your wallet son, before I cross that line.

Sittin’ on the mountain, cookin’ in the sun
Sleepin’ in a bag, when the day is done
Haven’t got a car, can’t afford the fun
I’m stuck in Telluride without a trust fund

Pinchin’ pennies, while everyone else
Is packin’ their noses with hundred dollar bills
I’m scrapin’ together nickels and dimes,
To buy some diet pills.

While they are drinkin’ Stoly or Bombay and Roses Lime
I spend a buck and a quarter for some Red Mountain Wine
It’s tough to be so broke, while surrounded by the rich
I’ll puke on the seat of your Porsche, you spoiled little son-of-a-bitch

Why Bother? an excerpt from Kiss the Breath of Sunset

I was a little surprised the first time I saw the ‘Young Adult’ or YA label on my book Kiss the Breath of Sunset; but there it was. It didn’t take me long to realize that the booksellers who applied that tag were right on the money. Many of the pieces in the book speak directly to the angst and trepidation of the teen and early adult years; including the challenges and difficulties that litter the road to maturity. Here’s one of those pieces, that has been received rather favorably; and was featured on William F. DeVault’s internet radio program “From the City.”

Why Bother

Frankie, Tom, and Leroy thought they knew it all
Like the three musketeers, they were always walkin’ tall
They made it through a rite of manhood
By petty theft and kickin’ butt
They said they were never understood
They just couldn’t make the cut 

Why bother, there are too many rules
Why bother, play along and be a fool
Why bother, ‘cos there ain’t no goddamn jobs
Why bother, that’s why you’re bein’ robbed

Frankie started dealin’ so Leroy took up smack
And Tom he went his own way, shot a cabbie in the back
Leroy’s sleepin’ in the street
Like a little puppy stray
In prison Tommy was just new meat
So he blew himself away

Three guys never intended to be bad
Three guys never learned the dance
‘Cos three guys never opened their eyes
Three guys thought they never had a chance

Frank’s the only one livin’ now, one night Leroy died
Where these guys could have gone, if only they had tried
It’s always easiest to blame
Everyone else who’s livin’ pretty
Growin’ up you hide your shame
In the gutters of the city

Captured in Ink, the Journal of the Solace Creek Stories

January, 2005


The ninety or so minutes that my wife, Monica, and I spent in the fine art gallery of the Bellagio Hotel in Las Vegas several years ago were destined to be defining moments.  I was completely awed and overwhelmed by the vast exhibits of talent displayed in the classic masterpieces, while simultaneously being reminded of the phrase that “art is in the interpretation” by other works.

Almost hidden away, was a moderate sized impressionist painting that depicted a crowd of people around a roulette table by the French artist Jean Baptiste Beraud.  I walked by it twice, then three times, and was not moved, nothing jumped at me to say,  “This is a great work of art.  I had seen Beraud prints available in some of the mall poster shops, they were interesting pieces of showing life in the streets of Paris, but there was nothing about them to help me understand why this particular piece was here, and why it was worth a king’s ransom.

The fourth time by it, I noticed a solitary figure near the right side of the painting, and looked closer.  It was a man sitting on a bench, head in hands, absolutely exuding the misery of having lost everything.  Intrigued, I looked closer at some of the other people in the work and discovered that all of them, I am guessing fifty to a hundred of them; all carried incredible emotion in their faces.  Some were happy, some sad.  There were people who were angry, others completely at peace.  I looked at face after face, and my most amazing discovery was that none of them was neutral.  None of them was simply adding a nose, eyes and mouth, some hair and a few clothes, to help fill in the background.


The emotion in their faces told their stories.  Their presence at “The Casino at Monte Carlo” at this one fixed point in time was something serendipitous.  Every one of them had a life, hopes, and dreams before they entered this casino; and each of them would have a life, perhaps a changed one, when they left.  For many of them, like for me observing this instant, this was a defining moment.

I have been struggling with story lines and concepts, experiencing a dozen false starts, having a few successes, a few failures, but for the most point having a lot of stuff on the plate, that just was not going anywhere.  The Casino at Monte Carlo provided me an epiphany.  A single event, a single place, a single point in time became the driving focus.  There would be people whose lives would begin, people whose lives would change, and people whose lives would end; at this defining moment.

The place is the fictional town of Solace Creek, Colorado, which would exist somewhere in the Boulder, Denver area. The event is yet to be determined.

Come with me on the journey!

Ron Lynch Chalice, January 2005.

Decomposition – Message From

Message From, an excerpt from Kiss the Breath of Sunset.  This is one of the pieces in the book that was set to music right away, and comes from the Mary Jane Bann’d era 1967-72.

Melody Dee is on my mind
Baby, we haven’t got much time
I know our love is going fine
Say goodnight, say goodnight
Say goodnight, not goodbye

Don’t let those people make us fight
Racial contempt puts you uptight
Our love is more than black and white
Say goodnight, say goodnight
Say goodnight, not goodbye

When I am with you I can fly
Our love will last if we just try
Please don’t ever say goodbye
Say goodnight, say goodnight
Say goodnight, not goodbye


This is a really early piece.  I was impressed by Janis Ian’s song “Society’s Child” and was moved to do a piece in the same vein.  This song came together in Bob Griffin’s living room, I was messing around with the chord progression on my Gibson J-45 and it just sort of took off.  Seemed like the words and music fell into place all at once.

The name Melody Dee came out of nowhere, and just sounded nice.  The second verse seems very naive at this point, but to our young fans at the time it was a message they felt was important.

I still have a great passion for the chorus, “say goodnight, say goodnight, say goodnight… not goodbye” and still have a lot of fun with it.)

I’m Not as Spooky as it May Seem

The picture at the top of this page is an old picture, but it fits the mood. Preparing for the future, we’ve segmented from ChaliceMedia LLC. This allows Ron Chalice (me) to focus on being me, and leave the business to those other ‘personalities.’

Hang on for the ride, we don’t know for sure where this is going to take us, but we’ll certainly have visitors….

Police Lieutenant Catherine Combes – a tough Boulder-Springs cop

Perseus Cade – Founder of Acolytica, and Gleaner of Souls

Detective Bobby Vasulka – on the road to being a concert pianist when a stray bullet changed his life forever

Andrea Bellows – a clinical psychologist practicing in the upscale community of Solace Creek.

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