Day 16, because it’s August 16th. It’s like math, only easier. Today I woke up, and I said to myself, I said: “I’m going to write a story about a dog.” Here is the link to this past week in review of aaaaaaalll of my stories.
Review: Week 2 of Flash August Fiction
You’re welcome. I’m Commercial Herschel, and I’m here to help.
Perky's Province
When a Dog Just Knows Himself
615 WORDS WRITTEN IN ABOUT A HALF HOUR
Perky is a good boy. He goes for a walk all around the perimeter of the property every single day. He does it several times a day, in fact. That's his job. This is a very important thing for him to do. There are three children in the home, and they need protection. That's his pack. That's his family.
There is a loose plank on the fencing near the back corner of the property. He pushes it aside with his nose to see what's on the evil side of things. He needs to stay on top of that. There's a lot going on out there, and he can smell it. Honest to God. Out there, he sees some men swinging things around and moving large objects with ease. That could really hurt the kids. He sees someone else's kids, from some other pack, throwing something and running and speaking loudly. That is a concern, for sure. There are some large rolling objects that he would love to chase, were it not for this darn wood in the way.
He pulls himself away with a huff and resumes his course of duty. As he sniffs along the east side of the property, he smells a rat. That's real, and he happens to be a rat dog. He was bred to kill rats. A long time ago, some people bred his ancestors to hunt down rodents and remove them from their castles and stone houses. That is a thing. He is one of those.
He can tell this rat is hiding in a pile of sticks and leaves. He knows it. This rat is done for. He stares for a minute. His nose is twitching, and his eyes are dilated. He moves in one jump forward while simultaneously grabbing the rat by the neck and giving it a quick jerk, breaking his neck. The whole event is done in one motion, like a shortstop who took ballet lessons.
There was a time when he would bring the rat to the porch and drop it off as a gift, but his pack taught him to bury the rats when he killed them. This is what he does. He carries his kill to the soft part of the yard, in the corner, and digs a hole, then drops the rat in there. Then he turns around and fills in the hole with his back paws. He sniffs the area a couple of times, for good measure.
He resumes his security rounds where he left off. He hears some interlopers on the evil side of things. He growls under his breath. He barks in short, shrill outbursts. They have to know that there is protection for the good team. As he continues to move forward, he makes a couple more short, less loud barks. As if to say, "That's right, keep moving."
He visits an old, familiar tree stump, sniffing all around it. He confirms his territory there. Moving along, he sees the shadow of a hawk, and he chases it all the way to the corner where the loose plank is. He puts his front paws up onto the fence and barks at the air, over the top of the fence. As he is leaning on the fence, the loose plank gives way. He has an open opportunity to see the evil side of things. He goes through the fence. He's out there, in the unknown. He realizes what is happening. His eyes dilate, and he begins panting. He hops back into his domain, runs frenetically through the yard, up the back stairs, and into the doggie door.
He barks from the window facing his territory.
The End.
I hope to reach my target audience who might need a few moments of escape from the treachery and the danger involved in being journalists and truth tellers in these unsettling times. Both of the cults that control the US are saying very disturbing things and it could get rough. I hope you might get a paid subscription, or buy me a coffee, or donate some bitcoin. I hope I can provide a few moments of respite. I’m Herschel Sterling, and I’m here to help.
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