Can a pet lead you down the path to self-discovery? Julie Klam shares three poignant stories rescued dogs and their effects on her life in Love at First Bark: How Saving a Dog Can Sometimes Help You Save Yourself.

                Klam opens her home – and heart – to unwanted canines. First, she describes how finding a stray pit bull tied to a sign post led Klam and her husband to discover what’s been missing in their relationship. She also shares a tale about Clementine, a fecally-incontinent adult dog, who she rescues while sending two of her permanent pups to doggie bootcamp. In the final story, Klam visits New Orleans and examines rescue efforts following Hurricane Katrina wiped out parts of the city.

                Each example builds a strong case of awareness about rescue organizations and empathy for foster homes that take in a pup until a permanent home can be located. I live in rural Nebraska, and we acquired our chocolate lab, Copper, after someone dropped her off at the end of our lane.  I’ve worked with a rescue operation once. I hauled a dog from Illinois to New York City during a long road trip.

                I admire Klam’s efforts, and Love at First Bark supplies honest dialogue about pet populations, pet health, and society’s sometimes lack of social responsibility. This is what stands out while I read. Rescue organizations for any type of animal do not get the credit or funding they so desperately need.

                Am I captivated by Klam’s storytelling? Not really. At times, it feels like the book wants to focus on her relationships with her family and the rescue dogs are part of the dog-and-pony show. For me, an emotional connection isn’t established. Sure, she’s building a correlation, an analogy of sorts, but parts of the book feel disjointed, especially the first part of the “Clementine” chapter.  Is the focus the non-existent Christmas chocolates or saving the life of this medically disabled dog?

                While the stories should touch your heart, I’m lukewarm about them and how they mended her relationships. I mean, c’mon. You complain because you’re broke and the money issue is causing major arguments with the hubs. Yet, you house and feed three dogs in your NYC apartment?  Plus there’s the whole issue about dog pee and poop in the house. At least Klam admits that she doesn’t enjoy dodging puddles and piles. But still…

                I’ll be honest. I’m not a dog person. Those fluffy cats capture my attention. To quote the laughable “Meet the Fockers,” “…cats make you work for their affection.”  Now, if Klam had written about saving a Siamese, I’d probably lap it up.

~~Want to discover more about Julie Klam or her Love at First Bark? Join the discussion at BlogHer Book Club or follow the discuss on Twitter. We’re using the #BHBC hashtag.

Disclosure: This is a paid review for BlogHer Book Club, but the opinions expressed are my own.

                While a windmill swirls from a Nebraska summer breeze, retired Army pilot Cornelius Murphy of rural Holt County takes off in a small airplane down a grassy runway, looping a path along the Sandhills.

                “It’s a diamond in the world,” Murphy says.

                He’s referring to our precious topography which is at the center of an international controversy: the Sandhills and its underground aquifer against the proposed Keystone XL pipeline, scheduled to pump 700 barrels of oil per day to the Gulf Coast region.

                That’s double the amount pumped through the original Keystone project running through the eastern part of the Cornhusker State.  

                The scene is part of the independent documentary, “Pipe Dreams,” which premiered in Atkinson last week.

                The film, produced and directed by Academy- and Emmy-nominated filmmaker Leslie Iwerks from California, attempts to answer how the intended pipeline will benefit Americans versus its possible environmental impact.

                Last Thursday, Iwerks received notification that “Pipe Dreams” is on the shortlist for the upcoming Academy Awards.

                 Iwerks has also produced two films – “Dirty Oil” and “Downstream” – which tell stories related to Alberta’s tar sands mining operations.

                The same tar sands oil proposed to move through the 36-inch pipe planted in Nebraska land.

                Nebraska sits at the heart of the issue.  State Senator Tony Fulton, who appears in the film, says it seems pipeline owners TransCanada placed a ruler on a map and drew a straight line to determine a route.

                In addition to state officials, landowners from Nebraska, South Dakota, and Montana, environmentalists, scientists, and federal lawmakers weigh in during the film.

                TransCanada chose not to respond to Iwerks’ requests for the documentary.

                People may crack jokes about the boring drive through our state, but after watching this film, you can’t help but fall in love with the landscape. Landowners Susan Luebbe and Teri Taylor walk with you through their ranch land. Sometimes, they’re standing in precious groundwater. Other times, they point to pooled patches of water, remnants from a summer’s rain which the saturated earth has yet to soak up.

                It’s a stark contrast to the footage of the mining operation in the boreal forest of Alberta.  The blackened waters paint a bleak picture of the process used to extract the oil from Mother Earth.

                Iwerks speaks with South Dakota landowners, who protest TransCanada’s lack of respect for their land after the original line came through. Heavy equipment caused havoc with the gravel roads, still several feet-deep with ruts.

                She interviews the South Dakotan who spied the spill along the original Keystone route. The spill that shot tar sands into the air for nearly 50 minutes.

                Iwerks also speaks to a member of Nebraska’s labor union, based in Omaha, who believes the project must go through so Americans – and Nebraskans – can get back to work.

                It doesn’t matter if you agree or disagree with the proposed project; this is a must-see film that will make you question the power of big oil and big business and wonder if everyday citizens have a voice.

            If I close my eyes, I can still picture family dinner. I’m not talking “Leave It to Beaver” family dinner. No, my mother didn’t fancy diamonds and pearls when she served spaghetti and meatballs and my dad didn’t walk through the door as the town’s evening whistle signaled 6 P.M., expecting dinner ready and waiting. On the other hand, our cat waited patiently for any handouts we’d share.

            But I can still see our kitchen table – octagon-shaped with hints of Spanish influence in the design – and I visualize our family of four gathered around the table, sharing more than a meal.

            Sometimes, we talked about Husker football or a school assignment or activity. Sometimes, we wanted to get away from the table as expeditiously as possible (translate: liver and onions was the main course).  And, we heard and learned lessons about manners: sit up straight, chew that mouthful of food at least ten times, don’t eat so fast, and don’t talk when you have food stuffed in your mouth.

            We didn’t grow up with today’s food court mentality either. Mom didn’t prepare four separate dishes. Instead, she enlisted our help in the kitchen. Looks like mom had the right idea!

            Amber Pankonin, Registered Dietician with Beginning Well Family Nutrition Services in Lincoln, says it’s up to parents and caregivers to educate and direct healthy meal choices.

            “Parents and caregivers need to live by example and engage kids in the kitchen. Kids love to take ownership when invited so involve them by including them in menu planning, shopping for the meal, and meal preparation.”

            Why are family meals important? Pankonin says it engages kids on so many levels.

            Children and adolescents who eat three or more meals with their families each week are 24% more likely to healthier foods and  are 12% less likely to be overweight.

            “Other research has suggested that family meal times keep children accountable and therefore prevent habits such as smoking and alcohol abuse,” Pankonin reports.

            Plus, these kids do better in school than their peers. Studies show that children are introduced to a more diverse vocabulary and language acquisition for future academic success.  Columbia University studies report that teens that eat meals with their families are more likely to get A’s and B’s in school.

            The family dinner isn’t just a Nebraska lesson. It’s a humanity lesson. A glimpse at family values.

            At the dinner table, a family builds and enhances its identity.

            We may have listened to the evening news during our meal, but our telephones weren’t attached to our fingertips, and we actually enjoyed sharing this time.

            Perhaps my sister and I were lucky. Since our parents were educators – and headed to the same destination – our family sat down together daily for breakfast and dinner. Sure, evenings were filled with athletic contests, speech or play practices, or church activities, but mom still managed to get all of us around that table for mealtime.

            When is the last time your family sat down to share a meal?

             In “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer,” a daring Tom and frightened Becky Thatcher lose their way in a cave. Mark Twain describes “vast knots of bats packed together” and once the candlelight reaches the creatures, “they came flocking down by hundreds, squeaking and darting furiously at the candles.”

            Ugh! Every time I read that passage – I taught the classic for 20 years – I shudder.

            Let’s just get it out on the table: I despise bats.

            The thought of a rat with wings swooping through the air heading for my hair – or worse yet, my neck – makes me cringe.

            Maybe I should blame my bat neurosis on my ‘rents and sister who dragged me to those creepy, corny Dracula movies in the 70s. Segue to the shadowy night sky and the camera moves in for a close-up of the sinister-looking creature baring its fangs.

            Gross!

            Or perhaps my bat phobia is a result of dodging the pesky pests at one school where I taught. Picture this: mid-afternoon literature class, west wall of windows beaming sunshine into room for natural lighting.

            And then, the menace flew into the room, dashing in circles amidst a throng of screaming girls and laughing boys, until it made a break for the windows.

            Splat! It fell to the window ledge, where the principal captured and liberated it.

            I’m still traumatized.

            So, will someone explain why October celebrates the bat? And I’m not referring to the Louisville Slugger variety.

            Over 1100 bat species exist throughout the world, comprising one-fifth of all mammals. Nebraska features 13 kinds.

            While most types in Nebraska are uncommon (thank goodness), the big brown bat is most prevalent. Typically, the brown bat measures about five inches from nose to tail and has black skin on its ears, nose, and wings. This species lives in a colony, which can include hundreds of the flying mammals.

            Red bats are smaller than their brown counterparts. As the name implies, this bat is reddish-brown or rust colored and on each shoulder, you’ll notice a blotch of off-white.

            In the eastern segment of Nebraska, little brown bats appear glossy dark brown and measure three to four inches.

            Why are bats important? A University of Tennessee report released in March estimates the value of bats to the agriculture industry at $22.9 billion annually.

            Bats use echolocation and hearing to hunt prey, primarily insects. UNL’s Institute of Agriculture and Natural Resources estimates one bat can consume more than 1,000 insects in an evening. Fruit bats also work as pollinators and seed dispersers, pollinating nearly 130 kinds of plants.

            Our agrarian economy relies on bats, primarily bat guano, for organic fertilizer.

             But that natural nourishment is threatened by White Nose Syndrome, a fungus spreading from the northeast region of the United States. The U.S. Geological Survey says many bat colonies have disappeared in that area.

            The end result: farmers will end up spending more for pesticides.

            Perhaps I’m unappreciative. Bats make an important ecological and economic impact.

            But, I still don’t like them.

                One man’s junk may be another man’s treasure.

                Sure, that statement may be as cliché as a 25-cent pink neon sticker on a chipped, ceramic coffee mug. Yet, something intriguing happens when people see a garage/tag/yard sale sign attached to a light pole or burrowed in a front yard.

                Carloads of ravenous treasure hunters swoop next to the curb, stealthily moving from car to driveway, hunting elusive fortune.

                Or, maybe these bargain shoppers simply rummage for a cute picture frame or kitschy set of wine glasses.

                Perhaps these curiosity seekers search for relaxation, a getaway from the regular grind, and discover it among the rows of overloaded card tables.

                These discount dickerers want a bargain. They aren’t afraid to haggle over a few cents.

                On Saturday, my mom, two aunts, Lacey and I ventured to Burwell, checking out the Junk Jaunt, billed as 300 miles of Nebraska treasures.

                It’s a brilliant economic development idea that pumps money into local economies, as well as the pocketbooks of individuals, charitable organizations, and entrepreneurs.

                Along the way, we spied multiple collections, ran into old friends and family, and decided some junk is simply what the word implies.

                We weren’t looking for any specific items; however, each of us found a certain piece(s) that resonated with us.

                Call it sentimental or nostalgic thinking, but half of my purchases are throwbacks to my grandparents, reminiscent of growing up with a close-knit extended family during uncomplicated times.

                My g’rents used to have a set of metallic drinking glasses in cool colors. When filled with ice cubes and beverages, sweat beads dripped from the tumblers, forming rivulets atop the table. I’m not sure why those glasses entice me, except they represent family and our farm, special moments with extraordinary people. When Aunt Deanna pointed out a set, I couldn’t resist.

                At another stop, I noticed a cut-glass pedestal candy dish trimmed in red. It matches antique stemware my grandparents presented as a wedding gift. At grandma’s house, the glassware sat in the shadowbox in the kitchen. Looking at the dish, I hear her telling stories as we snap beans or shuck corn while sitting at the kitchen table.

                On my grandparents’ dining room table, an oval-shaped bowl with colored inlets held seasonal items.  I found the same bowl during Saturday’s journey.

                To some, these items represent materialistic pieces of the past. A hodgepodge of collectibles that muddle memories.

                But I remember the day we auctioned off our grandparents’ belongings, box by box, piece by piece, and watched strangers carry away snippets of our family’s collective past.

                Every piece possessed a story: the shot glass collection we all contributed to, the beer and winemaking equipment grandpa cherished, the afghans grandma constructed and designed.

                How would the highest bidder learn the history associated with each acquisition?

                Would they appreciate the anecdotes?

                How do you raffle or sell a life to others, twenty-five cents at a time?

                As I traded greenbacks for my purchases on Saturday, these were the same questions I pondered.