DOG DAY

This week's minor fiction piece is called "DOG DAY"

Sunday! What a beautiful Sunday! I rose early today and it felt late since at the time of writing this, we have not Sprang Forward for Daylight Savings Time. Well, the day BEGAN great, but somehow, it took a turn for the DOG DAY.

My silly sister-in-law (love her) is visiting my wife, which is fun because I can grill out too much and not feel guilty. Plus, they left at God-knows-when this morning to go shopping at the outlets. I woke up to the sun, yes, but also a tiny Pomeranian-collie mix giving me his damned cutest wake-up-and-feed-me pleas. So, I did. Look, it’s not my dog, but I’m a humane fellow, ok? I do that and then I take him out for a “walk” to the backyard. Oh gosh, the lawn was looking a bit scruffy. Well, my weekend warrior sensibilities get the best of me, and so I gas up the riding mower and make a real morning of it.

I forgot to have any coffee in the midst of this so 45 minutes later when I’m done, I collapse back into bed with my Tennessee Volunteers sweatshirt still plastered to my body, grass-stained knees and all. I’m dozing away and bathed in job well done euphoria and natural sunlight and I conk out in the breeziest nap imaginable.

This lasts all of fifteen minutes.

Is this déjà vu? The sun in the room looks exactly as it did when I woke originally; I’m in the same sprawling position with my left hand raised to the oak headboard, and here is this strange little woof-maker beckoning to me once more. Uhg. More food? Another walk? Whatever it is it’s fine because I feel great. Yes, I feel very very good. So much so that I think I’ll rest my eyes just a little mooore…WOOF! WOOF! NO Way!

"What?" I audibly spoke, as I was prompted by this other voice.

[Dog]: Woof I need you to get up immediately. I’ve had an accident that requires Woof immediate medical attention.

Oh my goodness. This little Pomeranian and collie mix who was just an hour ago the most amiable, cute, and doting pal a man could imagine for a companion outside doing his business on the neighbor’s tree is now speaking in the most assertive to the point of breathy calm to me about an accident that requires medical attention.

[Dog]: Woof, Brad. There’s no time for nonsense. The mower was left idling and the neighbor took it upon himself to play fetch with me and it ended with my tail becoming caught in the blade and it’s now severed. You need to stand up, get your keys, wrap me in one of the pink all-purpose towels Annie keeps by the basin, cradle me comfortingly like a small child, and get into the car, not forgetting your wallet with the insurance information, and freaking HOOF it. WOOF.

Wow, this is really happening I now realize and it’s my duty to do just as this dog has spelled out because those are the most sensible steps and adrenaline has pumped into my blood system and both are equally informing my actions and causing in me an extreme tunnel vision to perform these tasks and think in a run-on sentence format and forgo all curiosity I have about this talking dog and and and I just need to get a toweellll!

So I did. It all worked out and that was my Dog Day.



Look For Next Week's Minor Fiction, "Salad Days" !