Old Dog

Snork wheezed as she clambered out of her round bed. Jen could see the pug’s leg was stiff today. Maybe she should leave the heater on at night? Snork waddled toward Jen, her under-bite yellow with age and lopsided because of the missing canine on the left. It just about made Jen cry. Snork’s eyes didn’t sparkle and her coat was dull and brittle, Jen could remember burying her face in the pug’s neck and feeling loved and safe. Which was insane because Snork was about as threatening as a soccer ball. Her father had told her to get ‘a real dog’ when she moved out and into Woodstock, ‘that’s the only thing that scares those people.’ her mother had shaken her head while she agreed with father. But Jen hadn’t wanted a scary German shepherd or a boerbul, she wanted a dog kids would run up to and throw sticks for, she wanted a dog that would roll over for a belly scratch, a dog that could sit on her lap while she binged series. She wanted a dog like that and she got Snork.
Snork started enthusiastically gulping down the soft wet food, snuffling around for more. Then let out a yap, letting Jen know it was time for a short walk. Jen buckled on Snork’s little doggy jacket and as she did the last clip Snork let out a fart. Like a trumpet.
“Oh my god Snork! Why! WHY?!”
Snork rolled on the floor, wheezing with laughter.

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About Jon Keevy

Jon Keevy is a writer of stories and plays and also runs Alexander Bar's Upstairs Theatre.
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