SSS Week Fourteen: Dogs That Talk
Happy Short Story Sunday, all! The prompt for this week is:
Write a story featuring dogs who talk.
I'm sure with this prompt I could've done something far more grander. However, it made me think of an old story I wrote for school last year that I cannot, unfortunately, find. I'm sure I tossed it out during one of my deep room cleanings-- which occurs far more than you might imagine. This work is the basic gist of it with, perhaps, additional bits and... well, subtractional bits.
I found the concept of the plot humourous. However, it is very corny and very predictable-- just like me. But, perhaps it'll make you smile a bit. If not, oh well.
The pup sauntered happily down the pavement, leash dragging behind him. There weren't many creatures outside that particular evening, with the exception of himself, a squirrel or two, and the screaming woman behind him, calling his name, her arms flailing this way and that. However, he didn't pay much mind to either.
He passed a perfectly ordinary house, only to stop in his tracks, curiosity making him do so. He faced a large hound, chained up to a rusted pole and bathing in the setting sun's glow on a porch. The young dog, being a friendly one, naturally was inclined to speak to the old basset hound.
"Hi!" said he cheerfully, tail just a-wagging behind him. "I'm Fleming!"
The dog's droopy eyes lifted suddenly, his pupils enlarging. "What?" asked he in bewilderment.
"I'm Fleming," the pup repeated. Perhaps the old hound had never heard such a name. "Who are you?"
"Dog?" the hound responded questioningly.
"Dog? Nice to meet you, Dog!" Fleming exclaimed, pleased that he was making a friend, for other creatures such as himself always barked and scared him off before he could ever get a word in. "Mind if we talk awhile? I'm waiting for my person to catch up."
"C-catch up?" Dog asked, mouth slightly ajar. His head was raised now, his long ears dragging slightly against the rustic, chip-painted wood of the porch.
"Yeah, she's a bit slow." The younger nodded in the direction of the still screaming woman, her exclamations getting louder and rather annoying by this point.
"This is impossible!" exclaimed Dog, staring at the other in amazement.
"I know! That's what she must've thought too."
Dog shook his head. "I-I don't understand."
Fleming was quick to make Dog understand, not wanting to confuse his newfound friend. "Persons, you see, expect their dogs to behave and to not be curious. After all, curiosity killed the cat, not the dog. My person expected me to sit still while she stopped to talk to a passerby on the street-- some guy named Frank who keeps calling me 'Flem' for some unknown reason. But I wanted to run. I wanted to explore the city. Or, at least, just this street. So, to her surprise, I did."
"What?"
Fleming was about to comment on the old hound's slowness when he was quickly lifted and carried away, his person scolding him in a hushed tone though still hugging him close to her bosom.
Dog howled loudly, unable to comprehend what just happened. Perhaps Dog had begun to like young Fleming and was quite upset that his friend had been carried away. Only, that wasn't the case. Dog simply couldn't believe what happened, what he saw, what he heard, what he experienced.
There, before his very eyes, not even a handful of seconds prior, the old basset actually saw a talking dog!
The pup sauntered happily down the pavement, leash dragging behind him. There weren't many creatures outside that particular evening, with the exception of himself, a squirrel or two, and the screaming woman behind him, calling his name, her arms flailing this way and that. However, he didn't pay much mind to either.
He passed a perfectly ordinary house, only to stop in his tracks, curiosity making him do so. He faced a large hound, chained up to a rusted pole and bathing in the setting sun's glow on a porch. The young dog, being a friendly one, naturally was inclined to speak to the old basset hound.
"Hi!" said he cheerfully, tail just a-wagging behind him. "I'm Fleming!"
The dog's droopy eyes lifted suddenly, his pupils enlarging. "What?" asked he in bewilderment.
"I'm Fleming," the pup repeated. Perhaps the old hound had never heard such a name. "Who are you?"
"Dog?" the hound responded questioningly.
"Dog? Nice to meet you, Dog!" Fleming exclaimed, pleased that he was making a friend, for other creatures such as himself always barked and scared him off before he could ever get a word in. "Mind if we talk awhile? I'm waiting for my person to catch up."
"C-catch up?" Dog asked, mouth slightly ajar. His head was raised now, his long ears dragging slightly against the rustic, chip-painted wood of the porch.
"Yeah, she's a bit slow." The younger nodded in the direction of the still screaming woman, her exclamations getting louder and rather annoying by this point.
"This is impossible!" exclaimed Dog, staring at the other in amazement.
"I know! That's what she must've thought too."
Dog shook his head. "I-I don't understand."
Fleming was quick to make Dog understand, not wanting to confuse his newfound friend. "Persons, you see, expect their dogs to behave and to not be curious. After all, curiosity killed the cat, not the dog. My person expected me to sit still while she stopped to talk to a passerby on the street-- some guy named Frank who keeps calling me 'Flem' for some unknown reason. But I wanted to run. I wanted to explore the city. Or, at least, just this street. So, to her surprise, I did."
"What?"
Fleming was about to comment on the old hound's slowness when he was quickly lifted and carried away, his person scolding him in a hushed tone though still hugging him close to her bosom.
Dog howled loudly, unable to comprehend what just happened. Perhaps Dog had begun to like young Fleming and was quite upset that his friend had been carried away. Only, that wasn't the case. Dog simply couldn't believe what happened, what he saw, what he heard, what he experienced.
There, before his very eyes, not even a handful of seconds prior, the old basset actually saw a talking dog!
Comments
Post a Comment