Part travelogue, part valentine to a beloved pet, Ella in Europe chronicles writer Michael Konik’s magical six-week journey through Europe with his dog, Ella. An homage to the friend who has “licked away my tears when I’m sad, hopped on her hind legs when I’m happy, and snuggled me when I’m lonely,” here is the story of a bond unlike any other–and an extraordinary dog who stole her way into one man’s heart. Los Angeles writer Michael Konik had always shared his life with dogs. But Ella, a gentle Lab mix, was something special. From the moment Konik laid eyes on Ella, he knew: This dog was meant to be his. An enchantress who charmed all who met her, Ella Guinevere Konik had a truly unique gift–and soon Konik found a way for Ella to share that gift, signing her up for a program that brings dogs into hospitals, nursing homes, and children’s shelters. When Ella turned ten, Konik wanted to thank the “best friend” whose unconditional love had transformed his life–and given comfort and joy to others in need. So a trip to Europe was planned–and for Konik and Ella a once-in-a-lifetime adventure began, one that would strengthen the already-powerful bond between them. As they explore Europe’s most beautiful–and surprisingly dog-friendly–cities, Konik is amazed at the experiences he and Ella can share . . . Arriving in Vienna on July Fourth with Ella wrapped in her American flag scarf . . . Dining at four-star restaurants in Paris . . . Ella swimming in the Danube . . . Taking a gondola ride in Venice . . . Sunbathing in St. Tropez . . . Searching for a canine toilet in Monte Carlo. But soon this journey of friendship, love, and discovery must come to a close. And as Konik heads home, accompanied by the canine friend who “helped teach me what love means,” one thing is certain: Both dog and owner have been changed forever. At once a testament to the power of unconditional love and a celebration of devotion, Ella in Europe is a book for anyone who has ever felt a special connection to a dog they’ve loved. Konik grew up in Illinois with dogs as pets, and when he moved to Los Angeles in 1994, he picked up a puppy from an animal shelter. That was Ella, a mix between a white Labrador and a greyhound. In 2002, Konik took Ella on a six-week European trip, visiting Belgium, Germany, the Czech Republic, Austria, Italy, France, and the Netherlands. They rode in trains, taxis, horse-drawn carriages, and a gondola together. They stayed in hotels, ate in four-star restaurants and cafes, and went swimming in the Danube. "Like one of the world's great religions," Konik writes, "Ella brings solace and happiness into people's lives and the only holy wars she proclaims are upon the backyard rodents. She's blessed, like so many dogs, with the capacity for creating joy in this world." For readers who aren't already dog lovers, this delightful book will make them so. George Cohen Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved Michael Konik has contributed to more than 100 publications worldwide, including The New York Times, Los Angeles Times, Sports Illustrated, and Travel + Leisure . He is also the author of Telling Lies and Getting Paid, The Man with the $100,000 Breasts, Nice Shot, Mr. Nicklaus, and In Search of Burningbush . He is currently a contributing editor to Delta Air Lines' Sky magazine. Chapter 1 Less than a week after arriving in Los Angeles, I was walking in Runyon Canyon, a nature preserve tucked into the Hollywood Hills, just a few blocks above the lurid electricity of Sunset Boulevard. I was in the canyon primarily for a vigorous weekend hike through unspoiled wilderness and, just as an afterthought, not because I was obsessed or anything, because I had heard that Runyon Canyon was always teeming with dogs. (And their owners, of course.) Which, in my admittedly peculiar view of the world, made it about the loveliest place on the entire planet to take a walk. I was near the end of the loop, coming downhill on a onetime fire road, past the ruins of an old tennis court supposedly owned in the 1920s by the great Irish tenor John McCormack. It had been a fine hike. I’d seen red-tailed hawks circling the canyon, and wild mustard plants, and scampering lizards. And dogs--dozens of them. Golden retrievers and chocolate Labs and short-haired pointers, and all sorts of mongrels, and very many of them had let me pet them and nuzzle them and tell them how irresistibly beautiful they were. I was in a joyous mood because my dad was scheduled to visit my new home in less than a week, and when he arrived we planned to visit the local shelter, where he would help me select my very first Dog of My Own. The house I was renting had a big backyard filled with fruit trees, rosebushes, and, in what I took to be a very promising sign, an old-fashioned wooden doghouse, just like Snoopy’s. And in just a few days more, I suspected it might have a new four-legged tenant. As I trundled down the path, marveling