I named my dogs Verlaine and Rimbaud, both mutts who liked getting into other people’s garbage.
They weren’t well-mannered or well-kempt, but friendly in a panhandler sort of way, inseparable in their shakedowns. Yet those probing eyes… They were enough to turn even the most calloused soul into a poet.
Jim Doss lives with his wife and three children in Sykesville, Maryland, and earns his living as a software engineer. He has previously published two books of poems: Learning to Talk Again, and What Remains. In partnership with Werner Schmitt, he also published a book of German translations entitled The Last Gold of Expired Stars: The Complete Poems of Georg Trakl 1908 – 1914. In his spare time, he is an editor for the Loch Raven Review.
He cared more than words could say. All the signs were there. One day, she was depressed; another, enthusiastic. He experienced her life in snapshots — health, sickness, good times and bad ones — more devoted than any husband.
He lifted his leg, left his reply, and proceeded to the next hydrant.
Philipp M. Selman is a graphic artist, musician, historical martial artist, and professional copywriter. His art, music, and writing can be found at pmselman.com
There never needed to be smoke to signal a fire for Rodrigo.
News reports, assumptions, stereotypes; call him jaded, but with most things the cynicism served him well.
But he never questioned her. She was pure. Gentle. Perfect. His refuge. A confidante. A companion. The one.
The finest Chihuahua ever.
Rob Goss is a Tokyo-based writer. Learn more about him at tokyofreelance.com.
Buddy suspected the slumbering Sadie wouldn’t appreciate playful whispers. But he often traveled the trail of wanton disobedience.
Quivering in anticipation, he cautiously nuzzled her velvety ear. It twitched violently, slapping her assailant across the face.
Let sleeping dogs lie, they silently agreed, flicking their tails and closing their eyes.
By day, Lawrence Frank sits in a psychotherapist’s chair, inhaling life’s darkest moments. In the silence of night, he locks the door, switches seats, and exhales to the page.
He stood there and waited. The dark encroached, then bathed him. It was there, it was coming, it was watching. Its eyes radiated in the near distance, its fur bristled and shimmered in the Moon’s gaze, its legs arched in readiness.
Then it pounced!
“Argh! Hello Fluffy, got me again.”
David enjoys writing random stories and playing with his terrible hounds.
Bertie Beagle’s dinner party had not been a success.
Spencer Spaniel had poured scorn on the minestrone. Hattie, a hotheaded dachshund, had shot his marrowbone risotto down in flames. He’d had to get the Hoover out to get rid of them.
Bertie enjoyed his cigarette that night. He’d earned it.
Brian Ross is a nurse and low-fi poet, fighting a losing battle against middle age. His motto is “So little time, so many biscuits…” Read more at maungybadger.blogspot.co.uk.
Karma. The good kind.
When we moved into our first home, our pitbull, Wally, kept finding his way into the neighbor’s yard to play with their dogs. Well, Wally passed away a few weeks ago and now our new neighbor’s dog, Jackie, is digging into our yard.
We’re not complaining.
Mathew Allan Garcia lives in Hesperia, California with his wife, his three dogs, and his bear-dog hybrid named Zansa. He serves as the managing editor at Pantheon Magazine (www.pantheonmag.com), and writes a bi-weekly column entitled Funeral Songs at Parable Press. His work has been published at Shotgun Honey, Absinthe Revival, B O D Y Literature, Swamp Biscuits & Tea, among others. Sometimes, between it all, he has a chance to breathe.
A man sits in an overstuffed chair in the middle of a room. There is nothing else in the room except for about twenty dogs, most of them barking. There is a loaded revolver beside the chair.
Once a day the man gets up and shoots one of the dogs.
Richard Pannbacker is a retired biochemist/teacher/sheepfarmer living in Manhattan, Kansas. He writes short stories, short short stories and still shorter seven-line flash fiction. He is the winner of the 22nd Annual “Kansas Voices” short story contest and has had short stories accepted by Pill Hill Press and The Right-Eyed Deer.