Kelly Pulley

I wasn’t always a pet writer. There was a time when I cut cold cuts on one of those insanely unsafe meat slicers in a local grocery deli store (trust me, blood was lost) and I overstuffed the plastic containers filled with pasta salad so that oil got on the customers’ hands (this meant no star for me that week). I eventually graduated into the world of advertising, which I discovered was very cut-throat (go figure), so I downgraded to a government publishing job and then used my miles to get a stunning job at Nature in New York City.

All along this fascinating path, I wrote about dogs. It seemed like a good subject to pursue since, even way back in 1992, people were nuts about their pets. I couldn’t spend the time I wanted to on this endeavor until about six years ago and I am proud to say that I now know a good way to stop gas in dogs, why cats purr (it‘s not necessarily because they’re fond of you), and how to treat a huge abscess on a cranky, old pit bull. I’m also the proud owner (“companion,” “parent,” “guardian” or “snuggle buddy,” depending on your political leanings) of two pit bulls, having lost two others in the past two years. I’ve observed said pit bulls carefully over the years, solved many a pit-bull-specific problem, and learned that pit bull love can hurt (ouch!), I’ve decided I am a pit bull expert which is probably mostly true.

 We three (Hudson, the grumpy, old black pit bull, and Bunch, the young, exuberant white pit bull, and moi) all live together in a tiny apartment in New York City where we happily stumble over each other and wish there weren’t so many “No Dogs Allowed” signs in the city (I will be writing about that soon). Pet writers are always thinking about writing about pets and I’m pretty old-fashioned about note keeping, my favorite tool being sticky notes. These notes, however are not that sticky (unless you buy the Super Sticky kind, which are much more expensive) and they often float into oblivion. Well, not quite oblivion -- apparently they land in Bunch’s stomach.

Full Name (Including Embarrassing Second Names): My full name is Kelly Cabell Pulley. The Pulleys have done nothing of note that I know of though I think an ancestor was a pirate - maybe - but my grandfather, Earle Cabell, was mayor of Dallas when JFK was killed (in the second car behind, no less!). It gets more complicated, with his brother being the head of the CIA at the time, but you can just watch the Oliver Stone movie.

Location: New York City -- woo-hoo!

Where You Can Stalk Me on the Internet: www.thepetwriter.comwww.thepitbullguru.comYeah, so I’m not very high tech right now. If you find some bad mystery stories online with my name on them, I know nothing about them.

What I Do for a Living: Hmm. Technically I write about pets for a living, but based more on the living standards and expenses of Cambodia in Manhattan (translated: All my funds go to rent).

What I Do for Fun: I rub my dogs’ feet while we watch an old movie and pretend that I didn’t put a ton of butter on the “healthy” popcorn.

The Furry Members of My Household Are: Hudson, 13. Pit bull and proud junkyard dog. He comes from Coney Island and walks more miles in a day pacing in front of the door than Forrest Gump ran in a year. Bunch, 2, American Pit Bull Terrier (she prefers just “pit bull” -- there’s nothing snooty about Bunch). She was abandoned and can’t see out of one of her eyes because of a trauma during her time on the streets. She doesn’t mind, though, and her beauty isn’t marred at all. Bunch is bouncing and fun and very, very sweet, and she has many (human) boyfriends in the neighborhood.

My Favorite Things to Write About Are: Dogs! Cats! Horses! Any sort of dog-cat-horse creature, murder mysteries (in a witty and “fun” way -- I'm obsessed about the 1930s), myself

My Pet Peeve Is: The apparent lack of concern in today’s youth (yes, I sound like my mother) about correct grammar and spelling (don’t check my spelling; that doesn’t count)

My Guilty Pleasures Are: Massage, massage, massage

How I Deal with Dog Hair: Gave up trying to rein it in years ago. We exist peacefully with the balls of fur that reside in the corners and somehow get into the oatmeal.

What I Want to Be When I Grow Up: I still don’t know. This writing thing is pretty good, though.

Stories by Kelly Pulley