 Welcome Tawny!From New Mexico, USA, Tawny is the author of the wonderful book 'Angels Come with Fur'. A story about Gandalf the wonder Great Dane. A must read for every animal lover; recommended reading! A fascinating author, Tawny is a musician, equestrian, animal advocate, mother and fabulous writer who will tickle your funny bone and steal your heart...... Where are you in the world? You were in a rock band. Tell me about the band and your music... I grew up playing Classical piano and then Hullabaloo came on TV and my Mother decided I should be a rock n roll star. She sold my piano to my cousin and I came home one day to face no piano, which I lived on, and a guitar setting there instead. It was a Gibson Classical and I hated it. I wouldn’t touch it for days and when Mom finally convinced me to try it I had no idea what to do with it. I bought a book of “The Beatles” songs and they had pictures of chords and thus my career was started. I wowed my close friends with my renditions of songs and three chords. One day my friend took me out to her back yard and sitting across the yard she yelled at me to sing louder as she couldn’t hear me. When I got loud enough for her to hear she went inside the house and yelled “Louder I can’t hear you”. I was screaming out the song by that time. I learned a lot from that and then I learned how to project. This helped a lot with raising my two kids because there was no way they could say they couldn’t hear me at any time. My Mother was working as a waitress in a fancy restaurant in Riodoso Downs, NM, and I was her bus girl. I was 17 at the time and very shy. By that time I had begun singing folk songs and was madly in love with Bob Dylan. Those songs fit me as I grew up with old songs my Grandfather use to sing to me, from Ireland and some he had picked up in his move across the States. At one time I knew all 90+ verses to “House of the Rising Sun”. When the Animals, an Irish folk rock band, came out with about 5 verses of that song it became a hit. A hit that I knew and most lounge bands knew also. My Mom talked the guys in the band into letting me sing with them one night. My legs were about to shake off my body and I started so quiet people were yelling at me to be louder. When I closed my eyes and let loose they went wild for me so I was a regular sit in with the band on that one song. I never lost the stage fright. But if I stared at the lights or closed my eyes I could block out the crowd. Later, much later and a marriage and baby later, I moved to Denver and there is where it all seemed to start. I was 19, my husband was in Germany during the Viet Nam war, and I had to raise my baby alone. I got a job at a corner bar singing. I was probably awful but I had some influential fans. One was a local singer in Denver and she took me under her wing and taught me how to be an entertainer on stage. She even helped with the stage fright by showing me I was above the crowd not in the crowd. I wasn’t there. She even helped me make some demo tapes to give to agents around Denver. One agent was a really good guy who told me that with my big voice I should have a bigger sound. He told me to get a band. That was several years down the road and several guitars later. When Ovation first came out with their guitars they were practically giving them away to entertainers to use on stage. That was my first 12 string and I’ve never played anything else but a 12 since. I made a small name for myself in lounges around Denver and one entertainment reporter really liked me and kept my crowds coming in and following me around Colorado. When my husband came back I moved back to Albuquerque and worked at getting jobs around there. I finally decided to build a band and we called ourselves, “Make Believe.” The band grew to about 5 members at one time and back to 3 and up and down. No one but me was expendable and drugs or being stoned on stage was a way to get kicked out of the band. I didn’t give but one warning. We were asked to open for several big bands back in the 70s and we did a pretty good job of it. I found I could sing in front of thousands of people with no problem, but make me give a speech in front of 30 and there went my shaky legs again. Then I met a couple of brothers who were very famous in New Mexico by the name of the Wickham brothers or Hank and Louie Wickham. Louie was my mentor and would book me somewhere and forget to tell me. I guess I would have second sense but always managed to call him before I was late for a booking or I would read it in the paper. He got me in contact with quite a few people who were great in the money making department and he never allowed me to ask too little. I had a bad motorcycle accident that ripped my face off and that ended my time with the Wickham brothers but not my career. I hooked up with a partner named Ron Bosserman and we were two peas in a pod. We came from the same part of the country and our styles were almost identical. He was looking for a partner and I was looking for a job after I healed and we practiced three hours before we first went on stage together and were together three years. We had a blast and packed the small lounge and bar areas so tight that there were nights we had to sing 15 mins on with 45 min breaks to get a turn around so those outside could come in. My 15 mins of fame. LOL Ron was Waylon Jennings' ex-bass man and it wasn’t unusual for Waylon or some of his band to stop by off and on. The night I met Doug Kershaw was the highlight of my entire career. I was singing along and looked up and there he was in the back of the club in a velvet suit. I couldn’t get a sound to come out. Thank God for my partner who took over and deserved the credit for getting Mr Kershaw there.
In between Hank and Louie and the accident I had gotten a divorce and then a year later I remarried and stopped singing, sold the bands I was managing and tried to settle down. Three years after that I was divorced again having remarried the same guy and realizing, Nope I was right the first time. He took all my money, house and cars and I took the kids. I got the good end of the deal, did miss the money some though. I went back to the lounge scene singing. I could make a lot of sound come out of that 12 string so I did all right by myself then something awful happened. Disco. I had to go on the road and after a year of home a few days and then back again, I quit and went to college. The entrance back into the world of humans and out of the world of entertainment has always held its share of what ifs and should haves and could haves. I have never made the same amount of money I did in the 70s nor have I ever had as much fun at a job as in those days of pretend. Not that it was easy. I would work until two in the morning, take about 2 hours to wind down sleep until 8am get up and take care of my one then 2 babies and practice, until school was out for my son or all day on my three days off. I had a woman who was a great fan of mine and was in the audience every night where ever I was working. One day, one of my days off, she had found out where I lived and came to my door. I opened it in rollers, wearing an old t-shirt, cut off jeans and had pea baby food all down the front of my shirt from where my baby Kasey had just spit them. This woman’s eyes got wide and she asked me if I knew Tawny Herrera. I told her that was me. She screamed and ran away. I never saw her again in the audience after that encounter. That side of what she mistakenly thought to be a glamorous life was too much for her. I still think of that and laugh and wonder about those who wanted my autograph those years ago. Wonder if they still have those worthless pieces of paper. Those music years were some that opened doors to meet people I would never have been able to meet as a human. I sat and talked to famous people, shared glasses of wine and opinions with them. Sat and ate a steak dinner with Dan Blocker in Cody, Wyoming. (Well, I had a steak dinner he had two.) I got to meet them on a one to one way, not as a fan but a comrade. I never asked for autographs. And there are many I wish I had asked for. Doug Kershaw’s for one. Damn. Dogs. How many? What breed? Why great danes?  I’ve always had a dog. Dogs have always been my confidants my best friends and someone to love me when I felt alone. All kids should have an animal to love and confide in. I’ve seen my dogs of my childhood brutally killed in front of me by adults who didn’t feel animals had any value but to do their bidding. I have never felt an animal my property or owned by me. We live together; we love and respect each other. I join their pack as the Alpha and they accept that. (Actually they have to because I also have a duty to feed and shelter them and get clean sheets on the bed for them. I think they appreciate how I perform my duties.) I have always wanted a Great Dane. I longed for a Great Dane and one day I got one. A puppy we named Gandalf from the Hobbit books. (That was back when you actually read great books and I read those books to the kids.) He lived up to his name and was my baby boy until he died 11 years later. He wasn’t a “dawg” he was a member of the family. He and Kasey would argue and come running to tell on each other. When he grew up he would argue with his big brother James. They had a fight once where James thought it funny to tell him he wasn’t really my son. Gandalf whined all night and would only go to sleep if I rocked the water bed. I would slowly drift off to sleep only to be awakened by a crying dog again and have to start rocking the bed again. That was a long night. Needless to say their relationship was never the same. James moved out and when he came to visit Gandalf made him sit on the floor claiming the sofa or chair he might sit in. When he died my heart was broken and I didn’t think I’d ever be the same. It was almost like losing a child. I got a call from the pound from a girl who had known Gandalf. She told me there was a female Dane there that might die if someone didn’t come who could help her. I went in and saw a skeleton with black skin. I took her not knowing if my other dog would accept her as my other bitch was living up to her name of Taoiseach. (Tee shuck) which is Prime Minister in the Irish language. There was no problem. I named her Dubh (Dove) which means black in Irish but she was always a love and lived up to both the meaning and the pronunciation of her name. I had her for 8 years and she finally just laid down and went to sleep. She died as elegantly as she lived. She was and angelic queen. In 2002 I was perusing the petfinders web site and saw Gandalf staring back at me. When I checked his birthday was the same as Gandalf’s also. I drove from Cottonwood, AZ to Phoenix to meet him. When I walked in we fell in love. I felt a total healing of my heart. I couldn’t take him then but when I went back to get him he wouldn’t move from the door. He was bound and determined to leave with me that time, and he did. After that I adopted Grainne Na Mhail, (Grawn-Ya EE Wy-ya) or Grace O’Malley. She was named after a famous Female Irish Pirate who was another heroin of mine from childhood. Grainne was a hoot, my tattle tail and always “Jojo did it.” Jojo was a purchase my sister made and when she tried to take him back the man admitted that his prize Queensland bitch had gotten with a coyote and he didn’t want him. So I took him coyote and all. We call them coy-dogs out here. Then Grainne’s heart burst when she was three years old and so did mine on that awful rainy April night. I got another call about a little girl named Panda Bear, because of her markings, who was in need of a home or had to be euthanized. We made payment arrangements and I drove from where I now am back to Phoenix and picked her up. We spent a lot of time at the vets because of injuries and had to remove a toe that had been broken and gotten infected. But she is now my big baby girl. Oscar and Panda are the only Danes I have now and have passed the gauntlet of adopting Great Danes to my daughter who has two beautiful boys now and I suspect will continue where I leave off. She is so much better at it than I am. I just let them be dogs, but Kasey teachings them manners and teaches other people through her beautiful boys. Kasey stands 5’2” and handles two 100+ pounds of dogs with no problem. I’m proud my kids learned to love and respect animals as much as I do. ( Her dogs are whooshy city kids though where mine are country kids.)
 Last but not least is Bodiccia (Celtic Queen). I just call her Bodie and she listens when she’s ready to. I was driving into town and saw a car stop and throw something out of the car. When I got closer I saw a little black pup sitting staring at the leaving car, from the middle of the road. I stopped and picked her up. I tried to catch the guy but he drove faster than I could do without a ticket. I found they had tightened her collar so tight it was choking her and after brushing her for several days about an hour per day and two trash bags of hair later, she was skinny. Now she is a happy shiny black lab who loves her Panda, adores big ol Oscar and puts Jojo in his place even when he doesn’t need to be. I think it took month or so of driving into town before she quit going to the floorboard of the truck every time we passed the place she was thrown out. I don’t know if she was hiding in case the person wanted her back or it horrified her thinking I was going to do the same. Nope. Every animal I take into my home stays in my home. I don’t throw lives away.Goats. How many? What breed? Are they ornery? I have one goat, Fion McCool. He’s a mix of goats but his daddy was a Boar Goat. Onery? That all depends on whom you ask. I think he’s my boy and perfect. That is not the consensus of the rest of the humans around here. But I don’t care and when he’s out and playing you must be prepared to explain in goat what your purpose here is and no way you are getting next to MOM.  I was at a friend of mine who raises goats for meat and milk. Fion’s mother had three kids and she rejected him. There is no known human reason why, only she knew, as he looked just like the other two, but he was smaller. He came running up to me crying. I’d say bleating but it was one long WAAAAAAA. I first thought it was a tiny poodle and knelt down to pet it and he jumped into my arms still crying and kissing me. I had to take him. That was a good decision as he was to be killed the next day. My friend didn’t want to kill him and was happy to give him to me. I took him home and raised him in the house with potty trips after the bottle, outside with the dogs. Panda adored him as she does all babies and he would curl up with her on the sofa either beside her or on top of her. He knew his bottle times and how many. It was cute to hear the little tap tap of hoofs along with the paw thumps. Fion got a bottle and the rest got nummy nums. He was born in January and way too cold to put outside alone so he slept in bed with me until he got bigger then went to a crate at night and outside with Jojo or some dog during the day. He could still come in sometimes during the day until he went on hay and off the bottle. Then he started making messes in the house and his first full night outside behind a locked gate on the deck and in his crate was traumatic for me and him. I was up all night checking my baby to make sure he was alright.I have pictures of him as a baby where all you can see are his back legs and little butt with the rest of him under the tarp where the hay was kept up on planks out of his reach, we thought. There is no door on any shed he cannot open if there be hay or sweet feed on the other side. There is nothing he won’t have to inspect and drawer he won’t pull out. No bucket or bin is left unturned in his ever unrelenting search for FOOD. Fion now stands about 36 inches at the shoulder lives in a log cabin near his pals corral. I love to see him and Domino, my horse, walking side by side out to the pasture, like they are discussing something important. He is a picky boy and things people say goats eat, he won’t. He does love paper though and has been known to eat a bill or two. That I forgive and have no problem telling them it wasn’t paid because my goat ate the bill. When he was a baby he did tricks and still loves to stand on a step stand for applause and accolades of praise for his wonderful feats of daring. He will jump off with a twist and turn and come over to me to be loved on. On walks with the dogs he chases rabbits for a ways with them until he sees something good to munch. I forgive him for everything because there has been nothing more important than he is. Even to the tap marks on the pickup hood. They buff out and if they don’t well that’s what a pickup is for, not for pretty but for work. I put plenty of scratches on it running through the mesquite so his little tap marks are nothing. However not everyone feels that way. There is a religious group that quit coming around when Fion jumped up on their new pickup and did a few jigs for them. Horses. How many? What breed? Do you give them carrots and apples?  Welph, I have two. Not that I ever even meant to have one but God had different ideas for me and I now have two. One, Liffey an AQHA registered quarter horse may have a forever home soon and Domino my mutt horse will once again be an only child again. (Do I hear a WHOO HOO from the corral?).My first is Domino. He will not leave me until either I die or he dies or we both go together. He is my baby. Domino is a mix breed and I think he has draft in him as he is tall and stocky legged with feathers and gentle as a lamb… to me. Anyone else must die or be told they might. He was an Apache Reservation wild horse sold at auction to local cowboys with brutal ideas about breaking a horse. They took the word breaking to mean just that. He was beaten, whippend, tied with a log chain for days to a tractor tire to keep his head down, hobbled then saddled and spured to buck and when he fell they would beat him with 2x4 pieces of wood. He didn’t break. A woman who knew less about horses than I do, rescued him but carted him from stable to boarding stable until the bill came due and she would get a Sherriff deputy to go with her and she would claim abuse. It wasn’t hard to do as no one dared get near him. His mane was matted to the point of appearing he was hiding baseballs in there. His tail wasn’t any different. When I met him he was at my friends who were boarding him for the woman. She pulled the same thing but being out of boarding facilities, she took him down the road to another friend who has a donkey rescue. My friends got together and the woman thinking she would come back and get Domino was surprised when she came back and he was gone. They decided that Domino and I were perfect for each other and a series of events happened and he is mine, all mine, and I am his all his and I’m the only one he allows to get near him. I get over under and everywhere on him, but yet to ride him. It’s been three years and when I first faced him in the corral I thought, “What the hell am I doing with a wild angry horse?” Now I know that it’s because I needed this new love in my life. He heals me when I go out to hug him the stress and pain just fades for a little while. When he puts his chin down on my back I know he is hugging back. His power is soothing to me.  Liffey was first a phone call early in the morning. Someone had called my rescue friend wanting her to take their horse. She said she didn’t have room for it but would go look at her. She said, “Tawny you have to take her; you said you wanted a friend for Domi.” I turned her down twice but the third time I called her and said OK. When we got to their place I saw a beautiful young horse, standing amid piles of scrap metal. She too was matted and the water trough was not only dry but had dry tumble weeds in it. They gladly told us that since they didn’t have any money to feed her they didn’t water her either. I wanted to punch the woman but I wanted Liffey out of there. Her registered name, I found out when they were giving me a bill of sale, is Go Jet Cash Deck. They called her Nifty. What a terrible name for an unwanted neglected horse. She had been standing in that mess for 9 years. When we opened the door of the trailer she stood in amazement then ran, fell, got up and ran. All day she did this with Domino at her side. The next day she walked all over the 40 acres with Domino still at her side. She had no muscles and for the first week falling was common. The evenings were spent with Domino laying down in exhaustion over in his special area and she would lie down under the shelter while I rubbed her legs down with liniment and giving her butte for the pain. I started taking Domino for walks and let her run alongside us. Her awe of the vast world was evident in a video I took of her. She is now healthy, hooves trimmed and rubbing legs too dangerous. She is WOMAN now and don’t take no crap from no one no mo. My little girl has grown up so fast. Now she has to go to trainer. Because not only am I not a trainer, I don’t want to be a trainer. I don’t want to ruin this empty slate with any blunders. As a published author, you are a great writer. What is your book about? Hmmm. That would be Mark Twain as an author. I like, no I loved Mark Twain most when he wrote about what he was doing or himself in general. However I was entranced for a whole weekend with his voyage in time in A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court. I can’t say how many times I have read that story. My favorite was how he opened his biography with the line, “…I was born at a very young age…” He saw the humor in his tragic times and in times others thought to be tragic. He didn’t go with the accepted flow of literature but went with what he knew. He spoke as he knew best to speak and thus making his stories easier for me to live in with him. His country, down home style of writing is how I write as I don’t always use the best grammar when I write nor when I speak. I’ve had some criticism about how I write but I find it’s more from my American critics than my friends in Europe and Ireland. The comments I get from my Irish and English friends are far from negative on how I express myself but asking me to write in that style more often. Of course I will because that is the only style I write in. I’m not a posh person, as many will attest seeing me tool around town in boots covered in manure and mud with some hay on them and my old straw hat and sometimes, more often than not, holey jeans (It ain’t because they were blessed either). My truck has enough mud on it so you know about where I live, and I dress in layers and not necessarily coordinating layers. There is no way I can tell you a story through these old eyes and pretend to be a wealthy land owner with a string of well papered horses and correctly bred animals. To do so would come out pretentious and more than likely wrong and unbelievable. I have to let you see what I see through the only eyes that can understand me. This is what Samuel Clemens did. He wrote about the river that he loved and those that lived on it. I believe in his time, Mark Twain was more admired by Europeans than in Americans, so maybe I can be in good company. Do you have suggestions for new writers? Well I believed I rambled on in the last question and gave that answer. I can only really tell you what I like to read. There are a lot of books people rave about that I have trouble getting to the second chapter without yelling. Steven King has that ability to scare you to death just by reading and seeing what he is seeing. I had a boss once that told me to take notes on a project like I’m a camera. He told me to see it all and make it easy to understand and informative enough so that if I died tomorrow someone could take over the project and know what was going on. Gruesome I guess but that’s the way a book should read. It should make you develop a movie in your head that flows on with every period and well placed comma without a commercial. Follow Tawny...  |
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CategoriesActressAnimal Communicator Artist Author Editor Equestrian Graphic Designer Historian Horse Breeder Horse Trainer Illustrator Jockey Journalist Jouster Lyricist Musician Photographer Playwright Poet Professor Rancher Stunt Rider Writer
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