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In her highly anticipated new novel, Scotiabank Giller Prize-nominated author Alissa York creates a contemporary human fable that taps into the great tenderness and drama at the heart of the animal world.
The wide ravine that bisects the city is home to countless species of urban wildlife, including human waifs and strays. When Edal Jones can't cope with the casual cruelty she encounters in her job as a federal wildlife officer, she finds herself drawn to a beacon of solace nestled in the valley under the unlikely banner of an auto-wrecker's yard. Guy Howell, the handsome proprietor, offers sanctuary to animals and people alike: a half-starved hawk and a brood of orphaned raccoon kits, a young soldier whose spirit failed him during his first tour of duty, a teenage runaway and her massive black dog. Guy is well versed in the delicate workings of damaged beings, and he might just stand a chance at mending Edal's heart.
But before love can bloom, the little community must come to terms with a different breed of lost soul - a young man whose brutal backwoods childhood is catching up with him, causing him to persecute the creatures that call the valley home.
couple of cranky old cats.” Kate interlaces her fingers, stretching her arms out in front of her before swinging them up over her head. “I work with dogs, though.” “Yeah? Doing what?” “Vet tech. Veterinary technician.” She releases her grip, letting her arms fall. “We do something like physiotherapy where I work.” “Physiotherapy.” “Uh-huh.” “For dogs.” “That’s right.” Lily’s not sure what to say to that. Luckily, Billy’s sociable side gets the better of him then, and he leaves the water of
will haunt her. Green—dark green, like the pond where Edal knows to look for them, lined up basking on a log. Also, smeared by the Chevy’s wheel, the loveliest, ugliest red. —— “You said Pape and Danforth, right?” Edal blinks. They’re already at Carlaw, idling three cars back at a red light. She’s missed the rattle and rush of the viaduct, plus a good portion of the Greektown strip. “This is fine,” she blurts. “I’ll get out here.” He looks at her, surprised. “I can take you.” “I’d better
his thigh. He did as he was told, standing up on the chair and stepping carefully out of his wide-legged jeans. The pant legs had been rigged up with a series of hammock-style slings; each one held a red siskin—pretty little finches prized for their crimson plumage and trilling song. There were males and females, living and dead. Their keeper stood on the chair in his grubby briefs, eyes fastened on the floor. “Ah.” The sound Guy makes is soft, little more than a sigh. He glances back at her
help but return his smile. “Where’d you find them?” “Hole in a tree.” “You took them from their den?” “Well, yeah.” His smile fades. “Their mother was dead.” “Are you sure?” “What do you mean, am I sure? Dead is dead.” “No, I mean, how did you know it was their mother?” He looks down at the kits, all four of them nursing hard. “I knew.” “It’s just, sometimes people mean well, but—” “They would have died if I’d left them.” His voice is still quiet but no longer entirely soft. “Okay.” She
head down to the Don Valley or some other ravine in town looking for a big old pair of ears. You won’t get a second shot at a coyote. Maybe you already have a rifle or even something smaller you like to use. Well I’m no expert but for my money theres nothing like a shotgun for bringing vermin down. Mine is an oldie but a goody. A Savage double-barrelled 12 gauge handed down to me along family lines. Nobody taught me how to use it. I figured that one out all by myself. POSTED BY Coyote Cop at