About Rowan Wolfe

                                                           Born in England, Rowan Wolfe is now a U.S. citizen.  She was "bitten by the writing bug" while living and working as the marketing director for a corporation in Connecticut.  A former journalist with degrees in marketing and graphic design, Rowan moved to Annapolis, Maryland, in 1998, and won the Maryland Writers' Association Annual Fiction Contest in 1999.  A few months later, she began sponsoring midshipmen at the United States Naval Academy. Rowan says that although crime writing was originally her area of expertise, combining a military storyline for the books seemed so natural.
     Both plots for the Trial of Evan Gage and Incident at Tybee Island are based on actual events. This theme will continue in the next two planned sequels of a four (maybe five) book series. 

     Rowan and her Welsh Pembroke Corgis now live in Savannah, Georgia.

The Welsh Pembroke Corgi

     Most often associated with the British Royal Family, Pembroke Welsh Corgis rocketed to popularity in the 1950s when Elizabeth II became Queen.

                                                         Although it is believed their ancestry dates back to the tenth century when Vikings brought Swedish cattle dogs to Pembrokeshire, Wales, legend has it that fairies used to ride them, and that's how the breed got its distinctive saddled- shaped marking. It wasn't until the 1920s that Corgis were recognized as purebreds; in 1934, the breed was formally recognized by both the English and American Kennel Clubs. Even today, Pembrokes are still used for herding cattle and sheep, but are equally adept as family companions and guardians.

     Pembrokes are highly intelligent and sensitive, and with patient handling, they're easily trained. They also have a stubborn streak. Bored Corgis are like bored kids - they can both be trouble.

     Rowan Wolfe grew up with a Corgi, and has owned them ever since... or is that the other way around?


Warning: The photographs that follow are graphic and could be disturbing to some people.

               
              A Cautionary Tail (that’s not a typo)

     This is what happens to a beautiful purebred dog whose owner refused to admit to a flee problem. When it gets this bad, mange takes over. Add one Veterinarian who should be working in a fast food restaurant, rather than practicing medicine of any kind, and this is the result. But please read on. There is a happy ending.

      I stay in contact with my Corgi breeders, and during one of those calls in August of 2002, I heard of Duke’s plight. He’d been the pick of the litter, but at only four, he was about to be put to sleep. I don’t know where it came from, but I immediately said, “No. I’ll take him.”   
     After many frantic telephone calls, I drove to collect him the following Saturday, with no clue as to what I was about to find. With Duke now safely in my possession, I returned to my Maryland vet, and after a thorough examination she announced “It would be better to put him out of his misery.”
     There was no doubt that he was in tremendous distress, and the fact that he’d stopped eating is a death knell for a Corgi (a breed known for their voracious appetites). He was virtually unable to walk, covered in bleeding open sores, his skin was falling off, and my veterinarian killed seven live flees in the little tuft of hair he had left between his ears. But from the moment Duke and I met, he never left my side, and when I lifted him into my car and we left his owner behind, he never once looked back.
     During the two hour trip to Maryland , he also never took his eyes off me. So in answer to my vets recommendation, I replied, “No, we fight.”  As far as I was concerned, Duke had survivor written in those wonderfully expressive eyes, and the least I could do was give him a fighting chance. The above photographs were taken an hour after we eventually arrived home. If you think his claws look awfully long, you should have seen them before they were clipped. A Parrott would have been proud.
     And so the fight began. My Alpha male Corgi, (as it turns out, Duke’s half-brother) and Duke’s little sister, accepted him without any fuss. That first evening, Duke watched as I prepared their dinner, and as I suspected, he ate like the starving dog he was. At that moment, I knew he was going to make it, regardless of the very poor prognosis.
     For the first seven days, Duke ate and slept, wrapped in cotton sheets to keep him warm, with his sister by his side. And I still don’t know how she knew they were related, as there’s a three year age difference. It took a tube of Neosporin and two hours wearing surgical gloves to coat him from nose to tail on a daily basis. He was prescribed a very radical and powerful course of medicine, which he took without complaint. His immune system was so broken down, I was told that even if he did partially recover, the chances of his fur growing back were not good, and that he’d probably have to take maintenance medication for the rest of his life.
     By the time we all went to Tybee Island for more research in December 2002, Duke’s sores were healed, he was definitely gaining weight, but he still had no fur. A trip to PetsMart solved that. Duke arrived in Georgia wearing a warm sweater. He was terrified of open spaces, and had obviously never seen the ocean. After many attempts, his siblings finally persuaded him into the water for the first time. These days, Duke swims like a fish, and is always first into the water and the last out.
     When almost nine months after arriving in my home, my doorbell rang and Duke barked for the first time, I knew he finally felt interrogated into the family. Now, he never shuts up, and talks all the time.
     Throughout his pain and suffering, he never once growled or attempted to bite me. My original idea, as soon as he was better, was to find him a good home. Friends tell me, I did.
     As I suspected, being so near to death himself, Duke has great affinity with sick humans. In the spring of 2005, he passed the doggy equivalent of ‘The Spanish Inquisition’ to become a certified Therapy Dog. For more than three  years, we have visited the residents of a local nursing home on a weekly basis. Duke was also one of the founders of our local library’s ‘Dog Days’ program, where once a month we sit with young children and help them to read. And if you think that sounds weird, I can attest, along with the parents, that it really works.
     The moral of this story: Check for flees on a regular basis. Make sure your pet is on a flee medication that works in your area. The brand I used in Maryland is useless in Georgia. So I switched. And if you think your vet’s recommendations aren’t working, get a second opinion. Or a third, if necessary.
     As to the therapy dog program; just because you have a well-behaved dog, doesn’t make it a candidate. Duke’s half-brother goes on TV, accompanies me to book signings and lectures, and behaves in public like the Royal Corgi he truly is. But he’s not a therapy dog, and neither is Duke’s sister. However, Duke’s niece, the black Corgi in the home page photograph, probably will be, when she’s older.
     Duke’s current health: I stopped giving him his prescription medicine in 2004, and so far there’ve been no relapses. All he takes now are his heartworm prevention pills, the flee, tick and mosquito control, plus a really good diet.  All my Corgis are groomed at least once a week, and checked more often for flees. That’s Duke, home page again, far right, taken at the end of 2005.
     By the time I moved from Maryland, Duke’s vet referred to him as “the miracle dog.”
     See, miracles can happen, and now I can’t imagine life without him.

     For anyone interested, the author does book signings for pet rescue organizations and donates part of the proceeds from the books. Contact her at: rowanwolfe2003@yahoo.com

                                    Duke in 2007