Talking Dog - 8/2

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Brian A. Klems
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Talking Dog - 8/2

Postby Brian A. Klems » Tue Aug 02, 2011 11:33 am

Your kids have spent years asking you to get them a dog. You finally break down and get one, only to discover that this dog talks—but only to you. More interestingly, the dog loves to gossip about your kids and their lives. Write a scene where your dog rats out one of your kids for doing something they shouldn’t.

Post your response (750 words or fewer) here.

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Re: Talking Dog - 8/2

Postby jinhessel » Thu Aug 04, 2011 10:54 am

Half of What You Hear

The kids, the kids …. The things we sacrifice. As kids will, Kiera and Cole had been pestering them since forever for a dog, and yesterday Darren brought one home – a freebie from a co-worker’s litter of mixed mutts. Oh, the little fellah was cute enough, with his fuzzball coat and bouncy lopped ears and what looked to be a comical goatee under his chin. But c’mon! Considering the kids were 6 and 8, who do you think would end up feeding and training? And next week was Anne’s birthday. Where was her neat surprise? Anne would be thirty, and boy, if that wasn’t a milestone to be reckoned with and sweetened up a little.

She set down some fresh water for the little guy and sighed.

He looked up at her – the kids had named him Dipper because of the way he guzzled water – and the noise he made deep in his throat sounded like “Monurside. Grr”

“What?” Anne said aloud.

“I’m on your side,” he said clearly now, she was sure of it.

Over time, Anne was never sure if she was interpreting Dipper’s dog sounds in ways she wanted to hear them, because he never “spoke” before others and no one in her family had heard his sayings. He had been lately telling her the kids were up to something and he would keep an eye out. “Errwettoono,” he said, as in I'll let you know, with his furry muzzle raised. She figured, what’s the harm in listening to what he had to say?

First off, Dipper had observed the kids vandalizing the game room by draping the fixtures with tissue.

Anne shook her head.

A few days later the dog reported they were sucking from rubber pouches of many bright colors and had hidden them.

“Whatever in the world?” she said.

In the days to follow, Dipper filled her in on the suddenly-appearing spongy toys, like little pastel pillows, they had lined up on a platter. And upon hearing how they were – even now - stirring up a frothy brew in a crystal cauldron, Anne had heard enough. She threw down her fashion magazine and marched to the game room, with Dipper eagerly trotting alongside. When she yanked the door open she saw it all – the crepe paper streamers, the bobbing balloons, the frosted cupcakes and the pink punch in her favorite bowl.

“Happy Birthday Mom,” the kids sang out. And Darren was there, and wrapped packages stacked. Kiera and Cole jumped and giggled. Darren was smiling. And that darned dog was grinning too. She swore he was.
Last edited by jinhessel on Thu Aug 11, 2011 3:45 pm, edited 3 times in total.
~We continue to dwell in the rooms we leave behind~

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Re: Talking Dog - 8/2

Postby JAG1971 » Wed Aug 10, 2011 11:46 pm

It was against my better judgment, but reluctantly, I gave in to my daughter Ava’s endless pleas for a dog. I told her that we would not be buying a pure-bred, but would adopt her new dog from a shelter. So we went to the shelter and I was surprised by the dog she chose. He looked kind of old and feeble, but still cute. He was what my dad would call a “sooner”. He looked like he had some Collie and possibly some German Shepherd in him. He had an odd look of wisdom about him. He had seen some things and learned from them.
After paying the adoption fee, we took Chauncey home. Where that name came from, I’m not sure. Chauncey spent a little while exploring his new habitat and then began following Ava everywhere she went. He would stop and rest periodically, but would resume monitoring Ava. I thought it was sweet that he took to her so quickly. Ava squealed with delight each time she turned to discover he was still on her heels.
The next morning as I was pouring my morning coffee, I heard the voice of an English gentleman. Startled, I turned around to see if Ava had turned on the television. It was off. There didn’t seem to be anyone in the house, just old Chauncey.
“Well good morning hound dog. Mommy is hearing things this morning.”
“Madam, it was I who was speaking to you.” said Chauncey.
I stepped back a few steps, certain that I was losing my mind. Great, talking dogs. What’s next?
“I just think you should know that you’re husband was not working late last night as he told you. I saw him when he came in and he had lipstick on his collar. Ava did not clean her room as promised, either. She shoved everything under the bed and in dresser drawers. You really should keep a closer eye on the other humans that live in this house. We’re you aware that the boy, Anson, has been smoking in his room?”
“What? The dog knows more about what goes on in this house than I do. Am I really having a conversation with a dog?” I asked.
“Indeed, Madam. I have seen a great many things, including that bottle of vodka you’ve been hiding way in the back of the cupboard. Don’t worry, you’re secret is safe with me.”
It almost sounded as if he chuckled as he walked away. I immediately reached for the bottle I thought I had hidden and poured myself a stiff drink.

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Re: Talking Dog - 8/2

Postby BCF » Thu Aug 18, 2011 7:49 am

I came in the door and was greeted by a wet kiss and a wagging tail. Buddy stood there politely, his leash beside him. I sighed because I was exhausted. I had just finished a 12 hour shift in Labor and Delivery. I swore that everyone in 200 miles had decided to have a baby today. But I couldn't very well ignore the dogs pitiful little face, could I?
I stepped around him to set my bags down by the door. “Guys? Did no one take Buddy for a walk today?” I hollered up the stairs. I could hear to televisions in battle for supremacy. The noise was deafening, there was no way I could be heard. I sighed again and leashed Buddy up.
When I had given in to buying Buddy a a year ago it was to promises from both Jessica and Jasper that they would do their part. But lately, I'd been walking, watering and picking up accidents all by my lonesome. “I think you'll have to go back to the pound Buddy. This is just too much for me to handle.” I said to the dog who gave me sad eyes as if he understood my frustrations.
As we rounded the corner to make a loop around the block a cat darted across the street. Usually I would be in a tug of war trying to keep Buddy from yanking me under bushes but he merely watched it pass and kept walking. I scratched his head. “I mean I hate to say it but with Jessica caught up with school work and Jasper... well I don't know what's up with Jasper but he's distracted as well. I just can't do it anymore. You really are a good boy, and I love you, and if you could walk yourself and fix your own meals it wouldn't be an issue.”
Buddy stopped and sat. I stopped too and couldn't resist giving him a tight squeeze. “Jess isn't caught up in school work, she's wrapped up in Mark Jenkins in third hour. And Jasper's going through that stage where he starts to smell different and grow fur. It's freaking him out.”
I fell back on my behind and looked around the dark street. There was no one around. Only Buddy and I. My gaze flew back to Buddy and he was looking at me like I'd lost my mind, which I guess I had. I mean, I would have sworn he just spoke.
“I must be more tired than I thought. Let's get home.” I stood and tugged the leash but Buddy didn't move. “Come on, fella.”
“You should have heard what Jess was saying to Carmilla earlier on the phone. She's planning to invite Mark over tomorrow while you're at work and Jasper's at practice. She said something about feeling ready. And I'd watch that because I knew a Spaniel who got puppied up the first time she went sniffing. But what Jess doesn't know is that Jasper is planning to skip practice anyway because his new friends invited him to ride out. I think that means a car trip but it's been awhile since I've been in the streets.”
Okay, so part of me was incredibly freaked out, but another part of me wanted more details. I decided to extend our walk and Buddy caught me up on all their misdeeds. There’s been skipped school days, naughty Skype sessions, incense smoking... I was flabbergasted.
The next day Buddy and I put our sting operation in place. I called in sick and drove around the block. Buddy signaled me from the back window when it was time and they were busted! This dog wasn't heading anywhere near a pound. From that point on he even got to sleep in my bed.

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Re: Talking Dog - 8/2

Postby sns3guppy » Sat Oct 29, 2011 10:12 am

“Marcy didn’t pick up her room again,” complained Sarah. That didn’t surprise me a bit. No shocker that Marcy’s room was a mess, of course. Far less revelation that Sarah felt compelled to fill in the gory details.

“You don’t say.” I replied. But she did say, so I asked, “What were you doing in her room, Sarah?”

Sarah looked away. She scratched her foot, and then coyly replied, “I thought I left something under her bed, so I went looking for it.”

“Did you find it?” I asked. Obviously not; Sarah wouldn’t have come to me griping about Marcy’s room if she’d found what she was seeking.

“Her room is too dirty.” Said Sarah, with disgust. “There are clothes everywhere, and her books aren’t on the shelf. I found a naked, half-chewed doll by her headboard, and there’s something wet near the foot of the bed. I think she spilled a drink.”

“Marcy shouldn’t have food or drink in her bedroom. It’s a house rule.” I affirmed. Especially Marcy, who, God bless her, can’t keep a glass of water upright for five minutes to save her life.

“Well,” said Sarah, “it’s there. I stepped in it.”

“Marcy needs to clean up, but you probably need to stay out of her room.” I told Sarah. I gave her the stern eye.

“You wouldn’t know about her needing to clean up if I didn’t tell you.” Sarah snapped.

“What about you?” I asked her. “You’re not exactly miss perfect either, you know.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Sarah retorted.

“You slept yesterday until noon. Your food from last night is still on the floor, and frankly, my dear, when was the last time you had a bath?”

When I said the word “bath,” Sarah hung her head and looked the other way. She scratched absentmindedly at a non-existent itch, and watched with fascination as a fly crossed the wall. I set down my pen, and then tossed it onto the notebook on the table. Sarah’s head whipped around to follow its arc.

“Maybe.” She said. “But Marcy’s room is a big mess. It’s her fault I couldn’t find my thing.”

“What thing?” I asked. “What was your thing doing under Marcy’s bed?”

“I think I hid it there some time ago.” Said Sarah. “I just wanted to find it, again.”

“What was it that you lost, dear?” I asked, not really caring to know.

“It wasn’t much of anything, really.” She said. “A piece of an old goat hoof. But it’s got sentimental value.” Her eyes glazed slightly, zoning in on the ancient memory of that hoof. I wondered what could be nostalgic about a nasty piece of hoof.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll bite. What’s so sentimental about a hoof?”

“You gave it to me.” Sarah replied, giving me the puppy dog eyes that she does so well. “Last Christmas. Don’t you remember?” I did not, but then there were a lot of things I didn’t remember.

“Sure.” I mumbled. I did remember Christmas. It was six days before that busy holiday that I bought the dog for Marcy and Kensey. I remember their look of delight so very clearly, as though it yesterday. I remember my own look of shock, a mixture of horror and incredulity, really, the first time the dog spoke. No one else ever shared that look, because the dog only spoke to me. I knew then that I must have been out of my mind.

“Maybe you could have a talk with Marcy,” Sarah began to hint, but then caught herself short as she blinked at the doorway. She paused. Marcy burst into the room, and caught sight of Sarah on the couch, by my side.

“You!” She cried. “Daddy, Sarah got in my room again, and this time she peed on the carpet at the foot of my bed!”

Sarah wasted no time. She tucked her tail between her legs and slunk off the couch. She disappeared through the back doggie door and into the wilds of the yard, leaving Marcy glaring after her, hands on her hips. I followed her out with my gaze too, and thought “it really is about time I give that dog a bath.”

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