Tag Archives: dog

I Woke up on Monday as a Dog

I woke up on Monday as a dog—a sloppy, tangle-furred St. Bernard who had grown up on the streets. Everyone in the neighborhood knew me and as the sun peeked between the brownstone houses that lined the east side of the street, I set out to discover breakfast. A few people called out to me, but I just barked and kept going. People around here might know me, but no one ever fed me.

No one except Mae, my adopted mother. She was blind—poor thing—but loved me no matter what. She fed me the same fare regardless of my form, sometimes with terrible results. There was a freezing day in February where I came to her as a goat only to find she had saved a steak just for me, cooked to medium-rare perfection. It repulsed me and as much as it hurt me to reject it, I could not touch it.

Mae was sitting on the porch steps when I bounded up. She could always tell when it was me. “Good morning, Harry. Come sit and talk to me for a while.” I barked at her and she nodded. “Maybe another day then.”

I wolfed down the bacon and eggs she had set out on the steps and lapped at the water next to it. The rest of the day was spent running around the streets and tearing into the garbage bags behind the McDonalds, searching for abandoned scraps and running away from the shouts and threats of the workers. It was a glorious existence.

On Tuesday, I woke up as a man and the grimmer reality that came with it. I ran a hand through my greasy hair, tried to straighten my clothes, and shuffled over to Mae’s where I ate with fork and knife and we talked about the weather and the arthritis she was getting in her knees. I brought my dishes in, washed them and the rest of the pile there, then took out her garbage. I was walking over to the park to sleep when I heard a shout.

“Harry, come here for a second.” It was a cop. I don’t know which one: I’m not good with faces, or names. He waited until I had approached the car, then kept looking at me until I was thoroughly unnerved.

“Some people complained about you urinating on the street yesterday.”

“Aw, Officer, I wasn’t myself yesterday,” I said. “You don’t arrest other dogs for marking their territory.”

The officer sighed and looked down. “I gotta take you in again, Harry. You know I hate to do it.”

“For what? What did I do?”

“You want the list?”

I went quietly. Violence is not what I’m about. I sat in the corner of the public cell but the other prisoners seemed to know me and left me alone. Luckily, the next day I woke up briefly to find that I was a sloth and then slept most of the day. When I did wake, it took half an hour to get over to the can and back to the bunk. At the end of the day, an official came in and talked to me privately but I was too sleepy to hear much. I caught the words “psychiatric” and “trial” but it didn’t concern me.

The next day, I woke up as a dragon.

The shock of sudden strength after a day as a sloth was electrifying. I had only been a dragon once before and that was when I had a horde to protect and I had spent the whole day sleeping on it. But not this time. I sat hunched on my bunk, eyes closed but flexing the muscles in my limbs and wings, feeling the deadly power in my claws.

“Harry, it’s time to go,” I heard someone call. I didn’t move. “Just go get him,” someone else said. “Cuffs but no shackles. He’s not a high risk.” The tip of my tail flicked back and forth in anticipation.

The cell door open and I sprang with a roar. I caught one look at the shocked expression on the guard’s face before I was on him, raking my talons across his face. My tail slammed him against the bars and I was free, my huge bulk crashing through the next room. It was pure exhilaration and I reveled in the power that I suddenly possessed.

I smashed through one room after another until suddenly, I was outside and then I was airborne and flying over the city. But where to go now? I couldn’t visit Mae—the weight of this new form would crush her house. I could not retreat to the subway system like I often did, not with my huge frame.

In the end, the form that gave me freedom caused my downfall. A dragon cannot hide well and they found me and netted me and brought me to another facility. A man came and talked to me, but all I could do was roar at him. It was his own fault for trying to talk to a dragon.

Today I woke up as a cat but they still guarded me as if I were a dragon. It’s a shame and I suppose I’ll never get out of here unless I turn into something stronger than a dragon, something strong enough to bend steel and smash concrete. I look out my window and see the beautiful blue sky. A perfect day for a cat to go exploring—a beautiful tabby cat with golden eyes who’s never hurt a person in his life.


The Laziest Dog in the World

There is a coffee shop in my city that is quite beautiful. It has a large lawn, which is rare for Korean cities, and has a lot of greenery and flowing water inside and out. It also has a large dog outside that is, I swear, the laziest dog in the world. Every time I’ve been there, he’s always sleeping in the same place. He looks like he’s dead, unless you try to pet him, since he’s a bit skittish of strangers. In honor of him, I’ve written a story. I’ve written it in the style of a kid’s story, although of course with my own weird spin.

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The Laziest Dog in the World

Marcus was lazy.

He didn’t chase cats.

He didn’t chase cars.

He didn’t attack mailmen.

If his owner gave him a sausage to eat, he would have to put it in Marcus’ mouth.

Marcus was just that lazy.

One day, the dogcatcher drove by and saw him. “That dog is dead!” he said.

Marcus wasn’t dead, just lazy.

The dogcatcher poked at him.

I should bark to let him know I’m alive, Marcus thought. Then, meh.

The dogcatcher picked him up with a GRUNT!

Marcus was heavy.

He brought him to the pet morgue.

I should wag my tail so they know I’m not dead, Marcus thought. Then, meh.

Marcus lay in the pet morgue for hours.

The table was steel.

It was hard.

It was cold.

Marcus didn’t mind.

Suddenly, his owner burst in.

“That’s my dog!” he said. “He’s not dead. He’s just lazy.”

The dogcatcher looked surprised. “He is?”

The dogcatcher felt Marcus’ heartbeat.

“Yes, he is!” he said. “I should have gotten some training for this job.”

Marcus’ owner carried him home and put him back on the lawn.

I should lick his face to say thank you, Marcus thought. He thought and thought about it.

Meh.

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A Dog Named Lazarus

For those of you unfamiliar with the Bible, the most famous Lazarus was a man who died and whom Jesus brought back to life. However, there is also another Lazarus in the Bible. This story takes its title from both of them, although somewhat indirectly.

This is a story for Al Forbes’ Sunday Photo Fiction.

copyright Al Forbes

copyright Al Forbes

Thief! Mutt! Cur!

These were the only names the dog had ever been called. Born to a mongrel mother in a nest of refuse, he was filthy an hour out of the womb and stayed that way his whole life.

But he was a survivor. He quickly learned where to find the best garbage and how to get into small, warm places to survive the Russian winters. One night, he wormed his way under the chain link fence of a large lab and through a door left ajar, where light and delicious smells were waiting for him.

“Ah! A stray!” Something shiny and round whistled through the air, the last thing the dog ever saw.

*         *         *

“Are you crazy? That mechanism costs more than your house!”

“It’s fine. See? No damage.” The scientist wiped the dog’s blood off the metal circle, then fitted it into the deep-space probe.

Years later, after billions of miles in the icy void of space, the probe was picked up, scanned, and the residual DNA aboard coaxed into life, tail wagging, bright eyes gleaming. The new species Dog lives there in peace and luxury, the countless millions of copies pampered like the original never was.

stray dog


Bruno Knew – Friday Fictioneers

Happy New Year everyone! A Friday Fictioneers story is a good way to start the new year. I don’t like to put much significance on the first story of the year, especially since this one is rather dark. Hopefully it won’t be a portent of the upcoming year. Also, there is a bit of swearing in it, just so you’re warned. I don’t usually put swearing in my stories, but it seemed this one needed some. You can judge for yourself after you read it.

copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Bruno Knew

“Grant! The dog’s gone crazy! Stupid dog, too lazy even to get up to eat, today he’s barking his head off. Shut up, Bruno! Shut up! You wanna go out? Fine. Look at him go. Ho— Ho . . . ly . . . shit! Grant! Gra-ant! Come see this. Bruno just climbed the tree! Oh shit, Grant, the floor’s moving! There’s earthworms coming through the linoleum. Ahh! They’re in my feet, in my feet! I can’t move. Dear God, help! Grant, where are you? Where are you? These ain’t earthworms!”

Outside, Bruno’s frenzied barking failed to keep the probing tendrils at bay. He climbed higher.

 


Close Call – Micro Fiction

Close Call

The pit bull died alone, poisoned by the flesh of the world’s first and only zombie.

Humanity never knew.

pitbull


Frankie Waits – Friday Fictioneers

Long live the Friday Fictioneers~

Copyright Renee Homan Heath

Copyright Renee Homan Heath

The Caribbean sun warmed the salt-scrubbed planks of the boardwalk as Frankie trotted to the beach, tail wagging. Just before the sand, he stopped and scanned the beach, looking for his master. Seeing no one, he lay down in the shade of the tall palm and waited.

*         *         *

“There’s Frankie, out under his palm again. 7:30, just like clockwork.”

“He’s faithful, is he?”

“Seven years running; ever since Jim left to circumnavigate the world. His boat disappeared in a storm and everyone gave him up for dead.”

“I guess no one told Frankie.”

“He wouldn’t listen if they did. He believes.”


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