Rita Mae Brown’s earliest memory is of the soothing purr of Mickey, her family’s long-haired tiger cat, who curled up and claimed a spot in her crib. From there, a steady parade of cats, dogs, horses, and all manner of two- and four-legged critters have walked, galloped, and flown into and through her world. In Animal Magnetism , the bestselling author shares the lessons she’s learned from these marvelous creatures as well as her deep appreciation for them. We meet Franklin, a parrot with a wicked sense of humor; R.C., a courageous Doberman who defined loyalty and sacrifice; Suzie Q, the horse who taught Brown the meaning of hard work; and of course the beloved and prolific Sneaky Pie, who needs no introduction to her legions of fans. As funny as it is poignant, Animal Magnetism shows how these inspiring creatures can bring out the best in us, restore us to our greater selves, and even save our lives.   “Uplifting, hilarious, even heartrending.”— The Huffington Post “A moving and charming book . . . rendered with compassion and irreverence, love and humility . . . Animal Magnetism will dispel your stress, evoke your laughter and produce your tears—and it will be time well spent.”— Richmond Times Dispatch “Fans of Brown’s mysteries will clamor to meet the real-life models for Sneaky Pie Brown and other members of Brown’s literary menagerie. This will also attract readers who enjoy heartwarming animal tales.” —Library Journal   “The book is aptly named as Brown clearly has magnetism with animals.” — The Roanoke Times Rita Mae Brown  is the bestselling author of the Sneaky Pie Brown series; the Sister Jane series;  A Nose for Justice  and  Murder Unleashed; Rubyfruit Jungle; In Her Day;  and  Six of One,  as well as several other novels. An Emmy-nominated screenwriter and a poet, Brown lives in Afton, Virginia. Chapter One Money Isn’t Everything—Love Is From the time I could put two thoughts together, I knew that I wanted a foxhound of my very own. My grandfather (PopPop) and great-uncle Bob Harmon had kept American foxhounds for years and I was crazy about them. But my dad, granddad, and great-uncle thought that at six, I was too young to handle American foxhounds. They are tremendously sensitive and possess phenomenal drive. So they decided on a Chesapeake Bay Retriever for my first puppy, my first training experience. Turned out to be a wise choice, for they are easy dogs. Chaps, along with PopPop’s hounds, taught me how to communicate with dogs. More importantly, he taught me about love. He also had a great sense of humor. He’d steal my baseball glove, he’d bring me what were to him treats (a deer leg), plus if a puddle of water presented itself, he’d dive in. He always wanted me in the puddle, creek, or river with him. I learned not to doubt Chaps. His senses, keener than mine, proved an early warning system. He’d lift his head, open his nostril, and gather information. Or, like the foxhounds, he’d put his nose to ground. Not until I was in my late teens did I realize I understood dog communication, thanks to Chaps, and thanks to PopPop and G-uncle (G for Great) Bob. Canines, cats, and horses have many more ways to communicate than we do. Ears swivel, pupils dilate or contract, hackles rise or fall, tails wag or stand straight out, and the range of sounds they absorb and react to is wide. Their acute hearing picks up a tiny gurgle from a mouse as well as the snort of a stag a quarter of a mile away. Fortunately for me, hearing is my strongest sense, nudging into the cat and canine range but still well beneath their powers. When I was five I heard things. Mother thought I was expressing imagination. Finally, she took me to a doctor for tests. She realized then that I wasn’t making things up. Chaps, born into the long-standing contract between humans and dogs, played his part. I learned to play mine. He’d run ahead, stop, look at me, and say, “It’s safe up to this point.” Most people don’t realize what their dogs are telling them when they run ahead and stop. Now, this isn’t true with a pack of foxhounds, although it can be true with a foxhound kept as a pet. Their job is to put those noses down and pick up scent. But pets, the dogs that live with people, continually warn, protect, look out for their owners. So often the owners don’t get it. The human part of the contract is this: you share food, nurse them when they’re sick, give them a warm, clean place to sleep, and a quiet passage out of life when they become too feeble or face pain. As I was learning all of this I was loving every minute of it. I found I could communicate with animals better than with people. Actually, I didn’t communicate with people, at least not grown-ups, for I am of that generation that was sternly instructed, “Don’t speak unless spoken to.” Most of my childhood was spent silently observing, good practice for a writer. Good manners taught me silence and the animals taught me to observe without judgment. If a