I spoke at a book club event this past week and a nice lady who organized the meeting at a local public library took me to task on not releasing a new book in the Red River Series in the last year or two. She caught me the moment I walked into the building.

“I’m tired of waiting.”

The event began at two o’clock, and I walked in ten minutes early. She sounded like my late father-in-law who insisted being at least thirty minutes early to everything.

I squinted at her, trying to see if there was some family relationship. “I would have been here earlier if you’d asked.”

“That’s not what I meant. I want another Red River book. I like those the best, then your other series, even though one of them was about Tom Bell in the 1930s. You need to hurry up and bring everyone back in the next one. I want my adopted family.”

“Ah.” I turned the tables on her. “So what do you like best about that series?”

Her face brightened. “They take me back to when I was a kid.”

“These books are a time machine, then.”

“I suppose.” She led me into the meeting room. “The way you write is so…familiar. I feel comfortable with all of your characters and the music in there is what I listened to back you’re your history is accurate, and I love everything about those books, except that you kill animals in almost every one of them.”

That second zinger caught me by surprise. “Well, you realize no animals are harmed in these novels. They’re fiction. I made them all up.”

“But I love dogs, and now that you mention it, you killed a cat in one of those Sonny Hawke novels.”

I couldn’t let that go. “Again, we’re talking fiction here.”

“But I don’t like to read about animals being hurt or injured.”

I neglected to bring up the subject that some of my most heart-wrenching newspaper columns involved the loss of dogs, and I always hear from readers who say I touched something deep inside them, and thanked me for it.

In fact, just this past weekend I helped my little brother bury one of his dogs, because he was
both physically and mentally unable to do it by himself. You see, he lives out in the country and rural life is hard on animals.

The dog he cared for wasn’t his. Rocky (and that’s his given name) granted an elderly man’s dying wish that he look after Tig after Charlie passed. The old dog insisted on staying at the empty house down the road, because that was his home and he refused to move in with Rocky who fed and watered him for three years.

When a car sped by this past weekend, going way too fast on an asphalt county road, Tig hadn’t completely crossed the road. His back was broken, and the poor dog was so mangled that Rocky had to do what country folk have done all their lives to end suffering.

So we buried Tig, another in a long line of faithful companions I’ve had to lower into the ground.

As he and I were finishing up, I thought back about that book club lady and pondered a strange thought. Thrillers and mysteries are filled with murder and mayhem. I can kill a hundred people in one of my books (all made up, of course), and readers seldom say anything about the body count.

But if an animal dies, folks gather up torches and pitchforks to chant in front of my house, hoping to toast some marshmallows as my computer goes up in flames. Even the spouse of one of my oldest friends refuses to read any of my books, because she’s afraid I’ll waylay her with a deceased animal.

When fictitious animals “die” in my novels, it’s to advance the plot, or to allow the reader, in the case of my aforementioned Texas Ranger to show this character was under a great deal of stress and dealt with running over a feral cat that darted out in front of his truck with tears and a near emotional breakdown.

But at the same time, the Book Club lady loves to think about those days when she grew up in the country. But doesn’t want to dwell on the reality of life itself.

In my view, animal deaths are not off limits as long as they aren’t gory and serve the story.

Come on, Old Yeller and Where the Red Fern Grows wouldn’t be classics without these events.

So authors, have you killed off an animal in one of your novels?

And readers, what are your thoughts on this very real part of life in a fictionalized world?