L. R. Trovillion | Updates

We Are Ready for Our Walk! Gas Masks Required

L. R. Trovillion — Fri, 17 Jul 2026 00:00:00 +0000

But seriously, no dog walks for us today.

Today the air quality here in the Mid Atlantic is Code Red, meaning it is so poor that those with compromised health should stay indoors with windows shut. The Maryland Department of Health issued a Code Purple (I’ve never seen this one) for most of Maryland. This comes after a 3-day heat dome, trapping extremely hot temperatures at ground level both day and night.

It feels like the apocalypse.

I’m sure my dog, Sitka, thinks so. We have skipped her walk for a few days because the heat combined with humidity makes her miserable and the option for an early morning walk was taken off the table due to trapped high heat temps all the time. She ventures out, hoping things have changed, only to slink back to the shelter of the garage and beg to come back indoors.

I am worried about my old/retired horses. They have running eyes and are sweat streaked in with just the slightest activity. They stay indoors with big industrial fan blowing on them most of the day and are hosed off periodically with cool water. However, no relief at night when they go out. Plus, biting flies make life extra miserable.

Canada, our neighbor to the north, is experiencing horrible wildfires, the smoke plume from which has migrated south-east to our part of the country (and others, I’m sure). I heard the Detroit Air Quality Index (AQI) was 600, which is insane. But let’s remember those poor people in Canada who have lost everything due to these fires. We only have to deal with a few days of inconvenience.

I feel for the wild creatures who have no refuge from the heat and smoke. I also feel for the pets who have owners who do not take proper precautions to safeguard their health. You should not be working you horse in this. You should not leave your dog outside.

How is everyone coping? I’ve got a restless Shepsky pup and some miserable horses munching through what’s left of the hay. Anyone have some good ideas for indoor entertainment? )I know I have to finish editing my next novel, The Devil’s Luck, which is due to come out 25 October. (Up for pre-order now). Maybe the heat and smoke will keep me inside long enough to get it done!

No White Dog Walks for a while. :)

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The Waste Land: What an Ancient Legend Says About Freedom and America at 250

L. R. Trovillion — Fri, 3 Jul 2026 00:00:00 +0000

The Ancient Myth That Makes Today's America Feel Uncomfortably Familiar

Happy Friday! Happy Independence Day (tomorrow)!

On the day before our country’s 250th birthday, the temperature here is about 102-degrees F. And humid. Imagine someone soaked a heavy woolen blanket in warm water and threw it over you. There is very little movement in the air and what little there is brings no relief. No, it is more like a giant dog panting on your face without respite.

It doesn’t seem too long ago that I was vowing to never complain about the heat ever again. That was after a solid week of single digit temps, ice storms, and relentless wind. Anyone who has taken care of livestock (this includes horses!) knows how the winter can turn routine farm chores into herculean tasks. Frozen water buckets, pushing a full wheelbarrow of manure through heavy snow, chipping ice balls out of horses’ feet, to name a few.

Summer or winter, I am tired of extreme weather. Is this a cycle that happens every decade or so, or is it here to stay? The storms are more violent. Rain comes in torrents. The wind more ferocious… And not just in my Mid-Atlantic area. Crazy weather is hitting throughout the U.S. with disastrous results: wildfire, mud slides, freezing crops, flooding, wind and tornado destruction.

Meteorologists and other scientists no doubt can point to exact reasons for this change. I believe in science. But I also think there is much more at work in this world than what meets the eye…

Enter, the Waste Land motif.

It is a timeless mythic motif that claims the king and his kingdom are spiritually and physically linked. In other words, the ruler’s health and moral code directly dictate the prosperity, fruitfulness, and health of the land.

When the ruler engages in unchecked greed, tyranny, unjust rule, and moral ambiguity, the people and the land suffer.

Cause and effect. It doesn’t sound that crazy after all.

This “Shadow King” or unjust ruler causes the land to wither into a barren, blighted state. And beyond natural disasters, the consequences of unjust rule (cruelty, bigotry, corruption) on a sociopolitical level lead to economic ruin, social decay, and the suffering of the voiceless, powerless common people.

This motif has played out throughout history as evidenced in Biblical stories such as King Ahab and Jezebel wherein corruption led to draught and disaster (1 Kings 21); the Book of Jeremiah describes how the land mourns due to the wickedness of its inhabitants; The Arthurian Legends, and even in a Dr. Seuss story of a mad king and his green slime, Oobleck.

I’ve strayed a bit from my opening remarks about the extreme heat for our Independence Day celebrations. I hope you’ve followed me through the labyrinth of my thoughts, and if so, I want to close on a note of hope.

This country has had its problems in the past to be sure. However, we always were able to look at them, analyze or apologize, then strive to make it better. Lately, we have sunken into a black hole of denial, deception, or despair. We are tearing ourselves apart.

Sweet Land of Liberty, I still wish you happy birthday and pray for healing on this sweltering historical occasion.

Image courtesy of Brigitte Werner, ArtTower, on Pixabay

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Juneteenth Celebration for Everyone: We Must Guard Freedom and Human Dignity

L. R. Trovillion — Fri, 19 Jun 2026 00:00:00 +0000

HAPPY FRIDAY! HAPPY JUNETEENTH!

I thought long and hard about whether I had any authority to write anything about Juneteenth. I am not of African-American descent.

But then I thought, “so what?” This is a celebration of triumph over institutional slavery, over degradation of human dignity, and repression. It is a celebration of freedom won against incredible odds.

We all need to celebrate human dignity and freedom. Especially lately.

Then I thought (especially having just seen the musical SUFFS) that women were enslaved, denied human rights and dignity.

Then I thought about the systematic genocide of Jews and other campaigns against minority peoples throughout the world.

What is frightening is this: in the grander scheme of time on earth, this was not so long ago. My grandmother saw women get the right to vote. There are still survivors of the Holocaust…

And it can happen again.

If we let it.

Take a minute and let that sink in.

We all need to celebrate Juneteenth.

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ALL DOGS GO TO HEAVEN (And Some Have Monuments Devoted to Them)

L. R. Trovillion — Sun, 14 Jun 2026 00:00:00 +0000

This week I want to tell you about a walk during which I met an older gentleman. He approached from the opposite direction along a wooded trail with a walking stick in one hand and a Staffordshire terrier on a leash in the other. I knew Sitka would get excited, so hoping to avoid an incident where my dog might cause the dog to pull him over, I stepped off the trail and put Sitka in a sit.

Instead of walking past, he stopped to chat. His dog was polite, calm, and well trained as mine—quite the opposite—was doing helicopter loops around me. During our exchange, he told me about his dog and how fond he was of the breed. His previous dog was a Staffordshire as well, which he described as looking exactly like Petey on the old Our Gang comedy show, also named Petey. (You very young people will have to look it up.) Before parting, he told me to look for a bench up the path that is dedicated to his beloved dog.

Dedication to Petey

I did find the bench. It overlooks a particularly bucolic view of the reservoir at Piney Run Park. The area held a quiet reverence for nature and was a fitting spot to honor a much-loved pet. And it got me thinking.

How great a love people have for their dogs and other pets. How profound the grief can be when they pass (much too soon with their short lives). I went online and looked up monuments dedicated to dogs and found a wide range: from war hero dogs to movie stars. The most touching tributes for me, however, were the ones to a pet who was simply faithful in love and companionship.

Some of the stories are truly sentimental tear-jerkers. There is the Hachiko statue in Japan honoring an Akita who went to the train station for 10 years, waiting for the return of his owner after a sudden death. Likewise, Greyfriars Bobby in Scotland is a bronze statue commemorating a Skye Terrier who faithfully guarded his owner’s grave for 14 years. And Brownie—a dog without one owner but loved and remembered by an entire town.

Then there are the dogs who dedicated their lives to service. The list is long: Balto, Togo, Laika, and Kabang to name just a few. There is an entire Wikipedia page collating information on dog monuments. Check out their stories.

In closing, I’d say the love connection between human and dog is real. Not a slavish devotion, not master dominance, but one of mutual respect and genuine affection. Anyone who is feeling their life lacks meaning, I recommend getting a dog. Even better, adopt a rescue dog. In return, you’ll have a thousand rewards for getting up every single day.

Did you have a special dog that is remembered in a unique way? Have you created a special monument or marker or place of remembrance for the pet? Please share in the comments.

Here are a few links about famous dog monuments with their stories, pictures, and where to find them:

https://www.bringfido.com/blog/international-monuments-celebrating-our-love-for-dogs/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Category:Dog_monuments

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From Rescue Dog to Spiritual Guide: How my dog forced me to slow down, look around, and enjoy the world around me

L. R. Trovillion — Fri, 5 Jun 2026 00:00:00 +0000

I have a white dog. This is a first for me. According to the traditions and mythology of many cultures around the world, a white dog is a symbol of purity, divine protection—but most importantly, spiritual growth. The white dog represents harmony, divine protection, and inner peace.

That last one really made me laugh.

My white dog is the source not of inner peace, but absolute chaos. I don’t have time to think about my spiritual journey when I’m letting her in and out the door, righting overturned furniture, and generally acting as clean-up crew for a white tornado. Or torpedo. Whatever.

This dog I adopted, Sitka (named for the Alaskan coastal city), was unsocialized and not housebroken when we brought her home. I recommend you do not take on the task of housebreaking in February. Standing out in the frozen yard at all hours of the night in freezing temps and blowing snow while being dragged about by an indecisive dervish is no fun. I wonder if my neighbors heard me yelling, “For God’s sake, pick a spot and pee already!” Her energy level could be described as “Run the Iditarod” and still have more to spare. Though not a cuddler, she has ways of making her devotion known.

I spend the majority of every day, all day, with Sitka by my side.

Gradually, we did settle into a manageable routine. Part of that routine was daily walks.

Thus, was born the White Dog Walk.

I don’t like to use ear buds or listen to anything on our walks (mostly because I need to be alert for anything she will react to and be prepared) but also because the walk is a chance to shut down and slow down. Just me and a dog and the woods.

On our walks, I did a lot of thinking. It wasn’t always good. I spent a lot of time just hamster-wheel thinking. By that, I mean everyday what I need to do, or ruminating over how things should have been handled. Not deep thinking. Not contemplative or productive.

Gradually, that started to change. I used the time to good use, not just another task to tick off my never-ending to-do list. I started looking for good, for something to inspire awe, a means of opening myself up to creativity or revelations or anything positive during our walks.

It started to work.

It may be something simple. It may be an uplifting encounter. It may be something tough I’m working through…

But, I know this:

The White Dog of spiritual enlightenment, protection, inner peace is at my side (most of the time :) ). Now I want to start sharing some thoughts, discoveries, or encounters during our walks in regular posts.

I call this thread White Dog Walks. I hope you’ll stick around, maybe follow, and enjoy them with me.

#WhiteDogWalks

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First Book in Exciting Mystery Series FREE!

L. R. Trovillion — Mon, 9 Mar 2026 00:00:00 +0000

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Canine Hoarding: Three Things It Taught Me About Myself

L. R. Trovillion — Thu, 5 Mar 2026 00:00:00 +0000

Whenever I give my Husky mix, Sitka, a high-value treat or one she is not interested in eating right then, she whines and stresses over where to hide it. She carries it around the house, shoving it under sofa cushions, burying it under the bath mat, or sliding it deep under the bed. She’s often not satisfied with the first hiding spot, so has to retrieve it and find a better one.

My husband and I laugh over this curious behavior. “No one is going to take your bone!” we tell her. There are no other dogs in the house. I shake my head, chuckle, and think how silly she is. Until I realized I behave in much the same manner.

How so? A few things I noted in common: 1) Sitka’s high-value treat is like my guest towels, or my special bottle of wine, or anything else I’ve deemed to good to use just for me. Like a demented squirrel, I’ve stored away a trove of “nice things” to be used or eaten at some later, undetermined time. What does that say about how much I value myself? Sure, keep some things nice for special occasions, but when they rot in the pantry or get moth-eaten in the linen cabinet, who are they serving? I’ve made a point to start enjoying nice things for me, too.

Another thing: 2) Sitka hoards treats she doesn’t feel like eating at the moment. No, I don’t bury food to dig up later and enjoy, but I do recognize a certain “scarcity mentality” that drives my stinginess at times (if I’m being perfectly honest with myself). Instead of sharing my abundance, I am more tempted to store it up “just in case.” In case of what? The one-in-a-million chance disaster headed my way? When a food drive rolls around, what am I reaching for in the cabinet to donate? Yup, more likely things I don’t want to eat, lower value items, or food I can easily spare. It’s not a good look and I’m working to change it.

Lastly: 3) When Sitka searches for the perfect hiding place, she whines in distress and anxiety. What is she afraid of? That some other creature will take it from her? That she will be left with nothing? Not likely since she is a very spoiled dog. Are my stingy, miserly attitudes likewise driven by some (irrational) fear? Perhaps. I remember money always being a source of tension growing up and in my family the message was clear that we never had enough. But now my circumstances are better and I’m in a position to enjoy some sense of security and comfort that basic needs will be met. Yet… Old instincts die hard. I have to remind myself that I am not a Siberian husky in the harsh tundra garnering scare food resources… I am a (rational) person who knows she has to shrug off those old insecurities and trust more in the future.

See—we have a lot to learn from our animal companions.

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Someone is Always Listening...and it Might be Your Dog!

L. R. Trovillion — Sat, 24 Jan 2026 00:00:00 +0000

Do you ever wonder just how much your dog actually understands? I’ve long suspected it’s far more than she lets on—and that obedience is, frankly, optional.

This week, I got proof.

Yesterday morning my mare came in missing a shoe. This is not rare. She has perfected the art of pulling them off, and my farrier—who possesses the patience of a saint—usually comes out to tack it back on. That is, if I find the shoe. If I don’t, we’re looking at a more expensive and time-consuming remake.

Naturally, the morning it happened was bitterly cold and howling with wind. I scoured the field, checking all the usual “shoe-sucking” hotspots: by the gate, on the hill, near her favorite rolling zones. Nothing. So I escalated.

I grabbed a metal detector (which tells you everything you need to know about my life) and began a second, highly disciplined grid search of the same three acres I’d already covered. Still nothing. Zero. Shoe: vanished.

The forecast promised a foot of snow and ice within 24 hours. If I didn’t find that shoe soon, it would be lost until spring—or possibly absorbed forever by the earth itself. That night at dinner, I lamented my fate and expressed serious doubts about ever seeing the stupid thing again.

At this point, my dog Sitka—who is always nearby—lifted her head as my husband laughed and said,

“Too bad you can’t teach Sitka to retrieve lost horseshoes. Now that would be a useful trick.”

The next morning, with a major storm looming, I headed out to feed horses and prep the barn. From inside, I heard Sitka barking nonstop on the back deck. I assumed she’d decided warmth was preferable to farm labor and had abandoned me for the fireside.

When I went back into the house, we discovered Sitka had dropped the missing horseshoe neatly by the door.

Coincidence? Maybe. Perhaps it smelled interesting. Or perhaps—just perhaps—she’d been listening the whole time and decided to help.

I’ll never know. But she received enthusiastic praise, multiple treats, and a permanent promotion to Most Useful Creature on the Farm.

And I’ll never again underestimate what my dog understands—especially when there’s a problem to solve and snacks on the line. 🐾

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What it Means to be a Descendant of a Salem Witch

L. R. Trovillion — Thu, 13 Nov 2025 00:00:00 +0000

I recently learned that Dorcas (Galley) Hoar, a woman accused of witchcraft during the notorious Salem Witch Trials, was my 10th great-grandmother (according to Ancestry.com).

The revelation couldn’t come at a more appropriate time than the beginning of October, Samhain, Halloween, and the witchy season. Of course, poor Dorcas was not a witch, although she ended up copping to the charge in order to save her neck. Instead, she was a woman who did not fit in with the Puritan community and ideals, so she became the perfect victim.

Dorcas Hoar (you have to love her name!) was not without her faults. After digging into the records, I learned that she was head of a burglary ring that included her own daughters and was known to steal from her local minister. I think that’s a go directly to hell, do not pass go sort of charge. She also was known to read fortunes—not a safe vocation in Puritan New England where neighbors saw the devil behind every tree and shrub.

As the record states, Dorcas Galley was born around 1640 in Beverly, Essex County, Massachusetts which was adjacent to or sometimes part of Salem. Her parents, John Galley and Florence Isabella Ingham*, were not married, so she came into the world with that strike against her. Dorcas married William Hoar, had a number of children, and died 1 February in Ipswich where she was living with a son-in-law and subsisting with the aid of community charity.

Dorcas ran afoul of the law prior to the witch hysteria. According to the 1692 Salem Witch Museum website:

One of the most fascinating people caught up in the witchcraft delusion of 1692 was Beverly’s Dorcas Hoar, who lived near Reverend John Hale on what is today Hale Street. The Central Cemetery now occupies the site where her house once stood, at approximately 66 Hale Street.

In 1692, when accusations began to spread from Salem Village to surrounding Essex County towns, Dorcas Hoar was a prime target, a “usual suspect.” For many years she had been known to tell fortunes, an activity her minister, Reverend Hale, suggested she abandon. He was under the impression she had given up the practice but he was mistaken.

Years before the witchcraft trials, Dorcas Hoar was the leader of a burglary ring, a group of people that included six of her children and numerous servants in households around town. Among those working with her was 17-year-old Margaret Lord, a live-in servant for the Hales. According to Edward Brown in his book Thieves, Cow Beaters and other True Tales of Colonial Beverly, Lord “shamelessly stole money, jewelry, clothing and food in abundance from the Hale household, aided and abetted by her friends the Hoars, who were the primary beneficiaries.” Although this thievery initially went unnoticed by Reverend Hale and his wife, the Hale children were aware of what was happening in their home. They remained silent only because Lord threatened to harm them.

Fourteen years before the witchcraft hysteria, in 1678, Hale realized he was being robbed and, after questioning his children, filed a complaint charging Dorcas Hoar and several of her “gang” with robbery. Among those charged were two of Dorcas’s children and Margaret Lord, the latter of whom fled the area and escaped punishment. During the Hale children’s testimony, it was also revealed that the Hoars and Margaret Lord often hosted parties, or “merry bouts,” with singing and dancing. This was not the Puritan way.

Many Beverly neighbors ended up complaining of the burglaries in town, among them the founder of Salem, Roger Conant. He testified that he suspected two Hoar daughters of stealing some canvas from his home a few years before. Others told of the thefts of clothing, money, and oil.

The burglars got away with a very light sentence, only having to pay the costs of what they stole. Historian Edward Brown speculates that Reverend John Hale may have shown them mercy. The Hoar family was not grateful for the leniency. In fact, some of the children beat two of Hale’s cows, one to death, in an act of revenge.

Dorcas Hoar was certainly a perfect candidate for the charge of witchcraft when the accusations began to spread in 1692.

At least five Beverly residents were accused of witchcraft in 1692: Dorcas Hoar, Job Tookey, Susannah Roots, Mary Morey and Sarah Morrell. We know the most about Dorcas Hoar, who was arrested at the end of April and questioned at Ingersoll’s ordinary in Salem Village on May 2. Abigail Williams claimed that Hoar was “the woman that she saw first before ever Tituba Indian or any other.” Other afflicted girls said the Devil could be seen whispering in Dorcas’s ear. Hoar called them all liars but, when convicted in September and scheduled to hang with eight others on the 22nd of the month, she confessed to witchcraft the night before she was to be hanged, and named others as witches. Her last-minute confession saved her life. Reverends John Hale and Nicholas Noyes, along with two schoolmasters, asked for a reprieve of “one month’s time or more to prepare for death and eternity.” Chief Justice William Stoughton granted the stay and, by the time a month had passed, the trials were over.

Hoar remained in jail for eleven months, finally being released in the spring of 1693. She ended her days in poverty, taken care of by public funds paid to a son-in-law with whom she lived.

Dorcas was certainly a troublesome woman so a perfect candidate for persecution. Indeed, the majority of people accused of witchcraft were women (approx. 78%) and at the time, the prevailing Puritan culture believed that women were more inherently sinful and susceptible to damnation than men. Of course, Dorcas was a thief and should have been charged appropriate to the crime, but instead was tried, convicted, and sentenced to hang for witchcraft. In the end, however, she played the game and begged for time to make peace and amends with God. She was granted a delay in her execution, during which time the witch hysteria died down so she managed to escape the noose.

I’m not sure how I feel about learning I am distantly related to Dorcas Hoar, but I am glad that it prompted me to go back and read more about the Salem Witch Trials. What it means to be a descendant? It is to realize this truth: It is important to be ever watchful over yourself as well as others because that sort of hysteria can happen (is happening) again. It won’t be witches perhaps, but nonetheless it will sweep up marginalized people and individuals without power on the edge of society. We must guard against another Witch Trial.

*Nicholas Ingham is listed as my 13th great-grandfather. Ancestry research courtesy of my sister, who tipped me off to the Dorcas Hoar connection.

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Without Writers, Hollywood Is Speechlessmber

L. R. Trovillion — Fri, 24 Oct 2025 00:00:00 +0000

I recently learned that one of my favorite authors, Paulette Jiles, passed away on July 8, 2025. The news hit me harder than I expected. Jiles—brilliant chronicler of both history and humanity—gave us News of the World (later made into a film), Enemy Women, Stormy Weather, and The Color of Lightning. Her words could transport you straight into the saddle, the storm, or the heart of another century. And as a fellow horsewoman, she earned my admiration twice over.

Her death came during a week when headlines were crowded with the losses of icons like Robert Redford, Diane Keaton, and Gene Hackman. Newsfeeds overflowed with tributes and clips celebrating their unforgettable performances. But as I watched, I couldn’t help thinking—what about the people who wrote the lines that made us fall in love with those characters?

Without writers, there would be no Jay Gatsby to brood in his mansion, no Annie Hall to charm us with neurotic grace, no Popeye Doyle chasing down criminals in The French Connection. Every scene we quote, every moment that sticks in our memory, began with someone alone at a desk, wrestling words into being.

Actors bring the magic to life, yes—but it’s the writers who conjure the spell. They create the worlds, the dialogue, the hearts beating behind the camera. Yet too often, when one of them leaves us, the news barely ripples.

The next time I’m glued to a great film or binge-worthy series, I’ll do something simple: stay for the credits. I’ll look for the writer’s name. Because before any actor steps into character, before the director calls “Action!”, it all begins with a blank page—and someone brave enough to fill it.

Let’s give the writers their standing ovation, too.

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