Posts Tagged ‘Dog’

28
Jun

The Lessons

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Lydia played the piano hoping that would make her parents smile. Her daddy broke some furniture. He bought an accordion and she took lessons. He kicked the dog. Her parents came to see her dance recital. Her daddy yelled at her mama for flirting with a man. He gave her a black eye. Lydia took swimming lessons. Her daddy took her fishing and threw her in the lake yelling “Swim.” She went down down down to the murky bottom where a huge whiskered catfish blinked at her. It was very peaceful. She came up and swam away from the boat.

From Guest Contributor Sandra Ramos O’Briant

23
May

Daydreaming

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Morning. Walking to the shops in a daydream, hungover. My mind wanders and takes me somewhere else….

I am sitting at the bar in the Wolf Dog Tavern with John. I ask the landlord to sub me a fifty. The landlord moans, ‘go and cut some lawns and make your own money.’ I tell him that I will have money next week. John was going to cut his lawn by the fish factory.

A lady snaps me out of my reverie, I must have be talking aloud and waving my hands.

‘You alright?’ She asks assuming that I am mad.

From Guest Contributor Declan Kelly

Declan lives in Mayo, Ireland. He is a big fan and follower of Irish heritage, culture, and beer.

5
Mar

The Postcard

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I sit in the beaming sunlight reading Tim’s postcard from France repeatedly.

“Callie, I met a beautiful French woman and we’re in love. I’m not coming home.”

My sweat drips onto the postcard leaving smudge marks. How could he do this to me? I’m so aghast, I throw the postcard on the grass and my dog Bentley whimpers as I kick the lawn chair across the yard, hitting the neighbor’s fence.

“Hey, watch it, Callie! You’ll break my fence,” Charlie yells.

Before I have a chance to answer, I look at the postcard and chortle. It’s full of bird excrement.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

27
Feb

Rabid

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Sally sits at the dining table, scooping a spoonful of cheerios.

Her dog, Willow, begins to growl viciously. “Willow, what’s wrong?”

Willow snarls, revealing his sharp teeth. Drool dripping onto the floor. His eyes fixated on her. Ready to kill.

“Mommy! Daddy! Something is wrong with Willow!”

Minutes pass.

Sally’s parents run into the kitchen to find Willow is on top of Sally. His jaw locked on Sally’s leg. Ripping the flesh off. Blood gushing. Sally screams in agonizing pain.

Her father grabs the shotgun from the bedroom.

He takes a shot. Willow falls.

Sally is free, but bleeding heavily.

From Guest Contributor Alexa Findlay

Alexa spends most of her time writing fiction and poetry. She is the Founder and Editor-in-Chief of three online literary magazines. She is obsessed with Disney and Jurassic Park. Her work has been featured in Pomona Valley Review, Better than Starbucks Magazine, Adelaide Literary Magazine, Halcyon Days, Grotesque Magazine amongst others.

29
Jan

The Dog And I

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The dog and I had a disagreement over where my hands belonged. She had a name, but I’d reached the point where I rarely used it anymore.

“Why can’t you learn to be more independent?” I asked, trying desperately not to raise my voice.

“Why can’t you just put your stupid hands on me?” the dog asked with her eyes and whimpers.

It seemed we were at an impasse. I just wanted to read my book after a long day at work, and the dog just wanted to be loved after a long day of solitude. First world problems indeed.

From Guest Contributor Dan Slaten

25
Aug

Duty And Thoughts Of Alisen

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

A sweep of peach graced the western sky…maybe. Sleep deprived, he couldn’t really be sure. Vision might be compromised, eyes too bloodshot to discern the ambiguous purity of grey dragging the downpour along the horizon.

And the windows were filthy.

Sunday eyed him from the corner, placid gaze sharpening as her head rose from his Nike, quasi-spaghetti dangling from open maw.

He identified with the drool-laden laces.

“Curious passion,” he said, observing the dog…but thinking of Alisen.

Sunday growled, mouthing the trainer, front paws tensed and backside hoisted by her wagging tail. Play and a walk.

Duty called.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

13
Jul

Sunday Morning

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Polystyrene-on-glass calls pause. Unknown bird waits. Magpie’s hoarse rattle bobs upon chill breeze, followed by one clipped caw. Wind and distant slumber.

Dog yelp, muffled by intervening streets, punctuates keyboard-click.

Repeated.

Nothing.

Wheeze of diesel engine and hiss of pneumatic tyres upon Tarmac cue pair of voices in garbled conversation, growing as they near.

The dog dips paw into arena of proper barking before relenting, wounded by unanimous indifference.

Then…timeless chorus of seagulls.

All cede to a hesitant wind under sombre sky.

Footfalls.

Children’s voices shatter tableau, announcing subdued urgency of Sunday morning.

Bleakness prevails, yet wind chimes sound.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

12
Jul

Drooley

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

We named our new bulldog pup, Drooley, in honor of never-ending slobbering. As he matured, Drooley’s slobbering grew worse. Navigating through our house was like running a gauntlet of huge slime spots that Drooley slung on floors and walls every time he shook his head.

We took Drooley to our vet who laughed when she measured the prodigious amount of slobber that Drooley produced, but she couldn’t recommend any measures to reduce it.

Desperate, we invented our own cure. We added alum to Drooley’s food.

A week later, we celebrated our brilliant discovery by giving Drooley a new name, Pucker.

From Guest Contributor Dave Harper

Dave is a recovering software developer who now finds himself addicted to writing fiction.

8
Mar

Rain Day

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I stare out the window watching the torrents of rain pound the leaves on my maple tree and listen to the ferocious wind hit against the siding of my house. My dog Patty barks and scratches the windowpane. I pull her next to me on the couch and rub her stomach, the only thing that soothes her. Roads are closed due to flooding and I’m stuck at home.

I had an argument with my boss yesterday about not getting enough time off. Now I’m home and bored out of my mind watching the clock.

It’s funny how things turn out.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

2
Feb

Ice

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

We stopped by a lake. Saw the sky stratified in blues, greys, and white. Felt frosty air thicken.

“She’s golden,” Sonny said as he watched the leader dog devour caribou. “Saved me from drowning through ice.”

I closed the thermos emptied of coffee, positioned myself on the sled. Sonny yelled out a command. The team of six malamutes sprung us forward.

“Reckon we can make two miles before nightfall,” he said. “Set up camp.”

“What’s over there?” I asked.

“Remnants of igloos.”

More commands. Our sled slid faster. Ice crackling beneath us.

Night approached with spirits of the past watching.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Her work has been published at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, 101 Words, Boston Literary Magazine, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories, SixWordMemoirs, and Espresso Stories.