What's the hardest, you ask? Sniffing bombs? No sir. That's easy once you know what to look for. Apprehending perpetrators? Nope. That's fun. The hardest part of being a K-9 is training people.Humans don't know how to communicate. It's not their fault that they have blunt teeth, fixed ears, and no tail. As for their nose, they can't tell goose guano from duck poop and can't even read each other's thoughts.That's why they need dogs. To guide them, take care of them, and set them right.Becoming K-9 is the story of how I grew from a feisty pup into a fierce K-9. How I looked after my humans, helped them focus on the half-full bowl of kibble, and taught them unconditional love. Because, whether you're young or old, rich or poor, dog or human, there's nothing more potent than love. Not even death. Love is the only thing we get to take with us when we die.

    Bigger and better than ever, the story of the new Paddington movie is both hilarious and heart-warming. Guaranteed to capture the hearts of fans, old and new!

    Life-saving canaries, empire-rescuing geese, dogs who can sniff out disease, ships' cats and even a ship's pig.All these animals are heroes to me - whether they risked their lives to pull people out of the ruins of a bombed building, won a race against impossible odds, danced their way to an Olympic gold medal or have been so incredibly badly behaved that they have managed to inspire something good (Stoffel, the honey badger, I'm thinking of you).Writing this book has brought home to me that there is no such thing as an ordinary animal.Every one has a heroic story to tell.

    A dead iguana floats in a jar, awaiting its unveiling in a Florida court. A viper causes mayhem from Ethiopia to Virginia. In Stolen World, Jennie Erin Smith takes the reader on an unforgettable journey, a dark adventure over five decades and six continents.   In 1965, Hank Molt, a young cheese salesman from Philadelphia, reinvented himself as a “specialist dealer in rare fauna,” traveling the world to collect exquisite reptiles for zoos and museums. By the end of the decade that followed, new endangered species laws had turned Molt into a convicted smuggler, and an unrepentant one, who went on to provide many of the same rare reptiles to many of the same institutions, covertly. But Molt soon found a rival in Tommy Crutchfield, a Florida carpet salesman with every intention of usurping Molt as the most accomplished reptile smuggler in the country. Like Molt, Crutchfield had modeled himself after an earlier generation of natural-history collectors celebrated for their service to science, an ideal that, for Molt and Crutchfield, eclipsed the realities of the new wildlife-protection laws. Zoo curators, caught between a desire for rare animals and the conservation-minded focus of their institutions, became the smugglers’ antagonists in court but also their best customers, sometimes simultaneously. Crutchfield forged ties with a criminally inclined Malaysian wildlife trader and emerged a millionaire, beloved by some of the finest zoos in the world. Molt, following a string of inventive but disastrous smuggling schemes in New Guinea, was reduced to hanging around Crutchfield’s Florida compound, plotting Crutchfield’s demise. The fallout from their feud would result in a major federal investigation with tentacles in Germany, Madagascar, Holland, and Malaysia. And yet even after prison, personal ruin, and the depredations of age, Molt and Crutchfield never stopped scheming, never stopped longing for the snake or lizard that would earn each his rightful place in a world that had forgotten them—or rather, had never recognized them to begin with.