Yesterday, I posted at Fatal Foodies about our dog, Joe, and his habit of lolling in the flowerbeds and what we propose to do about it. Actually, he’s our oldest grandson’s dog, but the dog grew too big for their place so we moved him here. His name isn’t Joe (the dog, I mean, although the grandson’s name isn’t Joe, either) but Jolteon, a Pokemon critter. IMO, the dog does not now, and never did, look like Jolteon. I leave you to decide:


I told my mother Joe’s sins and prospective disincentive and Mom said, “He’s an unfortunate dog.” I’m not sure if she meant the dog was unfortunate in himself, or unfortunate to others.

This morning, he had another sad disappointment. Every morning, I give him a treat of a crunchy dog biscuit. This morning, I gave him his treat. Instead of crunching it up, he stood there, holding it in his mouth. He didn’t give me A Look, but he did appear to be pondering the burdens of life on this fallen earth and the many ills that flesh is heir to. At last, he put the bone down, looked at it, sighed and ate it. It was a green one. I think he doesn’t like the green ones.

Too bad for you, unfortunate dog, because I am NOT picking through the dog bones and throwing away all the green ones. Into each life, some rain must fall, some bones be green and veggie-flavored.


writing prompt: How would your main character react if a dog didn’t like a treat he/she gave it? Would he/she even notice?