The New Year’s Here! Do you have a good method of organisation to help you reach your 2018 goals?

Good morning!
Thanks to a long line of people into whom I've come into contact while trying to build my website, I have finally found a magnificent method of organisation for myself: Asana.

organisation Asana logo

Asana lets me organise myself and any others involved by Project (i.e. Blue Mist Equine Veterinary Centre, Equi-Still Portable Stocks, Lizzi Tremayne Author, Personal, Liz & Matt, etc. etc., you get the picture.) and by task, plus subtasks, assigning different ones to the correct people, and deadlines for each one.

Asana even lets me organise my whole organisation periodically, if that suits the task… like my new blogging schedule… three times per week. The way I've set up  my website, I should be able to figure out three topics a week to interest you!

All this organisation is essential because I have added another series to my writing list… I have The Long Trails series, with another book, Tatiana, due this year, and now the Once Upon a Vet School series… and a veterinary book for horse owners I've promised to write this year as well.

I need to be ultra-organised… that word again… because I've had more than one email asking me where they can source the other books in the Once Upon a Vet School series! And I need to write them… LOL.


If you haven't yet read Once Upon a Vet School  #7: Lena Takes a Foal, here's an excerpt! Unlike the rest of the story, the animal in this part isn't a horse, it's a….

organisation bunny style
Thanks to for the great Lop pic!



Once upon a vet school cover


The jingle of the ice cream truck pulled me out of whatever internal medicine doctorate-dissertation trance I was in, typing myself stupid. I’d been stuck in bed with Sarah’s Previously Unknown E. coli in a Dog for nearly a week and I had a desperate urge to catch that truck — and snag me a chocolate gelato.
Never mind I could barely make it to the toilet.
With a frown at Tamarah’s makeshift desk sitting over my reclining body, topped by 35 pounds of IBM Selectric correcting typewriter, I bit my lip, held my breath and heaved. My sore ribs shrieked, but the typewriter barely budged. I tried again and managed to tip it off my lap, then swung my legs across and dived for the door… but my leg was trapped in the sheets, wasn’t it?
I hit the floor with a grunt and a scream, then dragged myself to the door frame and climbed up its slippery surface.
That ice cream had better be good.
I staggered down the hallway, leaning against the wall as I went. If I’d gone to the doctor, I’d no doubt have a crutch, but my stupidity might cost me that gelato. I could almost taste it and I hurried, nearly falling over Tamarah’s golden Labrador as she rushed up to me, leash in mouth and a hopeful look in her big brown eyes.
“Watch out, Susie, not now,” I mumbled, then stumbled down the porch steps. I was limping across the lawn at a great rate of knots when the brightly painted van, playing its merry tune, drove away in a cloud of diesel smoke.
I growled beneath my breath at the universe for denying me the chance to add inches to my waistline, then took a deep breath. The mailbox stood just yards away. I might as well check it, now I was out here. As I reached into the box, a movement to my right caught my eye.
“Susie, what have you got?” I called out to the dog. She looked at me, all big, innocent Labrador eyes, a half-grown bunny draped through her mouth.
“Gently, gently,” I whispered, as I picked up her forgotten leash and followed her into the bushes, dragging my screaming leg. A domestic rabbit like this baby Belgian Lop running around in the middle of town must be someone’s pet. It was still alive, its little chest heaving in triple time, but that could change in a heartbeat.
“Come on, Susie, give it here,” I cajoled, and waved the leash at her.
With a joyous look, she spat the rabbit at me and lunged for the leash. I dove for the bunny like a wide receiver making the final play in the end zone, quite forgetting for one brief moment that I only had one functional leg.
This time, I’m sure the whole neighborhood heard me swear.
Lucky Susie. She got her walk after all. We returned to the house to put the little hopper in a box with some water and lettuce to calm down while I fashioned a rough — operative word, rough — crutch. With the Labrador helping, against my wishes and better judgement, I loaded the bunny into a backpack. It snuggled down and never moved as we set off to tour the neighborhood. I’m not sure if Susie’s enthusiasm helped, but I hobbled from house to house, muttering a fairly constant stream of imprecations under my breath. It took over an hour to canvass the neighborhood, but we finally found a little old lady whose eyes watered up when I mentioned the rabbit. Her granddaughter brought it over to show it off last week — and forgot about it while it grazed on granny’s back lawn. When they returned, of course it had gone walkabout. They thought they’d never see it again.
Made my day.

A few days later, despite the hydrotherapy, massage, and loving care by Tamarah, the leg actually looked worse. Not content to stay a nice blue color, it had morphed to a purple, black and yellow camo pattern. Understanding the medical significance of the color changes was all very nice, but it sure didn’t make the bruises resolve any faster.
“Do you want to see that blasted horse of yours?” Tamarah said the next day, out of the blue.
“Really? You’ll take me?”
“I go there every day to take care of him, anyway.” She scowled at me. “You might as well come along… on one condition.”
“What is it?” I said, rather ungraciously, under the circumstances. She’d been caring for me, too, since my fall. I peered sideways at her.
“We go by student health on the way back. I don’t want to come home from walking the dog to find you seizuring from a blood clot in your brain.”
Susie jumped to her feet at the W-word and spat her slimy tennis ball at me. I sidestepped, with a yelp, but offered the dog a twisted grin. After the bunny incident, I had a new appreciation for her ability to hurl things with her mouth.
“My father would shoot me,” Tamarah continued smoothly, “if he knew I’d let you stay away from the doctor.”
That got me.
Tamarah’s daddy, a lovely man, was also a professor… at our veterinary school. I bit my cheek. He wouldn’t be impressed by my irresponsible behavior. Now was not the time to annoy his daughter.

Get your copy now at

Hope you love it!

Have a great week back at work!



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