Kreative Kue 135 asked for submissions based on this photograph:
“Thanks for the lift my man.”
“No problem Senior Dog.”
“You can call me Trevor.”
“No problem Senior Trevor.”
“What is this place anyway?”
“It is called Fin de la Tierra.”
“What doe that mean in dog?”
“End of the Earth.”
“Ah. it fits.”
“Is there anything else you need?”
“No. I think this is all I need. Plenty of water, lots of grass and a nice lamppost. I should be very comfortable.”
“But Senior Dog?”
“Yes, what is it?”
“The water she’s salty. The grass is synthetic, and that pole is no tree.”
“Hmmm. I didn’t notice. Now that you mention it I guess I will need a few things.”
“Si Senior Trevor. Might I suggest you get back aboard and continue with us.”
“Where are you going?”
“We are going to sail to Los Cabos, Mexico.”
“You know I’ve never been there. Maybe a good idea.”
“You can work your passage.”
“What can I do?”
“Can you cook?”
“No.They don’t make body hairnets.”
“Look at these paws. No opposable thumb.”
“Can you look out for things?”
“What kind of things?”
“Watch for rocks and other boats.”
“Ah ha. I think you have it.”
“I wonder why it took me so long to get there. Jump on.”
My effort was:
Meet me at the marina, she said. And that was all she said.
Let me go back a bit. Last weekend, I was taking my people for a walk along the sea front.
Yes. They need the exercise, you know. If they don’t get at least one good walk every day, they’ll end up putting on a load of weight, which is bad for them, and they won’t be tired enough to relax in the evening; they keep on and on: wanting this, wanting that, insisting on playing while all I want to do is stretch out and relax in front of the telly. Anyway, I was taking them for an early evening walk, when we came across the most gorgeous bitch I have ever seen. I don’t know what her heritage was; she looked like a mix of sheepdog and terrier, with maybe just a soupçon of poodle thrown in. Her hair made a well-groomed Afghan look scruffy. Yes, she was that good.
I wanted to add my DNA to her mix there and then, on the spot, but she said it would have stressed her people too much. She said that she rescued her people from a bad situation, though she didn’t elaborate on what it was. She said that they were fine with any dogs but nervous and skittish around other people.
I know, but perhaps they were never properly socialised. Early socialisation is very important to make sure they can get on with other people. You don’t have to look hard to see examples of what can go wrong if that important step is missed. Everywhere you look, there are people who can’t get on with others who are of a different breed or background. Yeah; crazy, I know. Can you imagine how it would be if I refused to talk to anyone other than Wire-haired Terriers – even other terriers. Nuts.
These people we came across at the weekend, they looked just the same as mine – all fake tan and budgie-smugglers. My people didn’t talk with them very long, but at least it meant I met Princess. Yes, that’s her name; Princess. I couldn’t think of a better name for her either.
We didn’t talk long (the humans were keen to move on and I don’t like to stress them) but Princess and I made a deep connection. We agreed to meet up without our pets so we could be more free and not have to keep an eye on what they’re up to. I’m always afraid they’ll get into a fight: I know how bad they can be with other humans. I’ve never actually seen them fight, but they shout and scream at others of their kind sometimes, and we all know how easily these things can escalate, don’t we?
So we agreed to meet at the marina. I shouldn’t worry that I can’t see her yet, though; I’m a few minutes early and she’ll probably be along soon. Perhaps I’d best take a look on the other side. She didn’t say where on the marina and there are so many boats here. She could be on any of them. Maybe I should look in each one. This first one’s too far. I can’t jump that far. Or the next one, or the next.
This one I can jump up to.
Oops. Humans inside with no dog to keep a watch on them. And they’re… ooh… what are they doing? Oh, that’s disgusting. They need a bucket of water throwing on them.
Mind you, I’m planning the same with Princess, so I shouldn’t be judgmental, should I?
But she’s not there, so I should try a few more.
Oh, here she comes now. Oh no! She’s brought her people. Why would she do that?
Wait, she’s dropped a note. “Sorry, Gyp,” it says, “my folks were crying so much when I tried to go out. I couldn’t bear to leave them, so had to bring them. Perhaps another time?”
Perhaps another time?
Is that me just got the brush-off?
How dare she? I am a purebred Wire Fox Terrier! My pedigree goes back generations and there are a good few champions in it. I’m not one to use the ‘M’ word, but it certainly applies to her. She may use one of these fancy names, but mixed heritage is mixed heritage whatever you call it. A contrived name can’t give dignity like a good pedigree does.
Perhaps it was a lucky escape. I might have violated the purity of my DNA by mixing it with inferior genes, and for what? A pretty coat, that’s what.
Good breeding is not so much what’s on the outside, as what’s deep inside. That’s what my Dad always said anyway.
On to this week’s challenge: Using this photo as inspiration, write a short story, flash fiction, scene, poem; anything, really; even just a caption for the photograph. Either put it (or a link to it) in a comment or email it to me at email@example.com before 6pm next Sunday (if you aren’t sure what the time is where I live, this link will tell you). If you post it on your own blog or site, a link to this page would be appreciated, but please do also mention it in a comment here – pingbacks don’t often work.
Go on. You know you want to. Let your creativity and imagination soar. I shall display the entries, with links to your own blog or web site, next Monday.