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We traveled for two weeks with a pickled hippo.

Sara Gruen

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Sara Gruen
Age: 55
Born: 1969
Born: January 1
Author
Novelist
Writer
Vancouver
British Columbia
Pickled
Hippo
Traveled
Weeks
Week
Two

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Jacob: I've never seen so much manure. Wade: Baggage stock horses. They pack'em in 27 a car. Jacob: how do you stand the smell? Wade: what smell?
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I stare at her for a long moment. I want to kiss her. I want to kiss her more than I've ever wanted anything in my life.
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You work hard on a book and throw it out there and then it's beyond your control.
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Dear God. Not only am I unemployed and homeless, but I also have a pregnant woman, bereaved dog, elephant, and eleven horses to take care of.
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I stroke her lightly, memorizing her body. I want her to melt into me, like butter on toast. I want to absorb her and walk around for the rest of my days with her encased in my skin. I lie motionless, savoring the feeling of her body against mine. I'm afraid to breathe in case I break the spell.
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He stares at me, and then leans back in his chair. He's ill, Jacob. I say nothing. He's a paragon schnitzophonic. He's what?! Paragon schnitzophonic, repeats Uncle Al. You mean paranoid schizophrenic? Sure. Whatever. But the bottom line is he's mad as a hatter.
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I hate this bizarre policy of protective exclusion, because it effectively writes me off the page.
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I tend not to think about the reading public at all, or the business, when I'm writing.
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I want her to melt into me, like butter on toast. I want to absorb her and walk around for the rest of my days with her encased in my skin. I want.
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Life is the most spectacular show on earth.
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They grew fat and happy--the horses, not the children, or Marlena for that matter.
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Although there are times I'd give anything to have her back, I'm glad she went first. Losing her was like being cleft down the middle. It was the moment it all ended for me, and I wouldn't have wanted her to go through that.
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When two people are meant to be together, they will be together. It's fate.
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Why the hell shouldn't I run away with the circus?
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Do you have any idea how much an elephant drinks?
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With a secret like that, at some point the secret itself becomes irrelevant. The fact that you kept it does not.
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Even when I look straight into the milky blue eyes I can't find myself any more. When did I stop being me?
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I am further back, surrounded on all sides by wailing men, their faces shiny with tears. Uncle Al promised three dollars and a bottle of Canadian whiskey to the man who puts on the best show. You've never seen such grief-- even the dogs were howling.
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