But I'm Not Supposed To Be a Dog!

- 7 -

Abby was in the kitchen putting things away when she heard a tragic howl coming from her living room. Her brow furrowed and she went toward the sound.

"What's going—" The words died on her lips as soon as she entered the room. She was prepared to comfort a sad dog, but instead found him attacking her sofa. She gaped in disbelief for a moment before finally regaining her senses.

"Henry, what are you doing? Stop!"

The dog seemed completely deaf to her and continued yanking intently on a piece of the plaid cloth he had worked loose from one corner.

"Henry, NO!" Abby grabbed a handful of his collar and angrily jerked him to one side. That finally snapped him out of his rage. "Bad dog!"

Henry lowered his head, ears flattened in submission. Abby glared at him, unsure what to do about this naughty dog. "Do you want me to take you back to the pound?"

Henry pushed his nose under her hand, trying to get her to pet him.

She remained stern. "You're not getting off that easily."

He then rolled onto his back and looked at her upside-down, tongue lolled to one side. It was the most adorable thing Abby had ever seen, but he had to own up to his destructive actions, right? She thought hard about discipline, but in the end the cuteness prevailed. Her face softened and she gave his belly a quick rub before standing up.

"Maybe you're bored," she said. "Though I don't know why. We just got here. Time for a walk, I guess."

She picked up the leash. Henry happily followed her to the door and out they went.

At the park, Henry sniffed various trees and stared at squirrels. A gentle breeze fluttered through the leaves. The usual park activities went on around her. Several joggers plodded around the park. A birthday party was in full swing with balloons and music. And a couple lying on the grass talked intimately.

She watched them, envy tugging at her heart. A writer's life could be a solitary one, if you let it. And over the years she had definitely let it. Working from home meant she never saw anyone on a regular basis. Sometimes not even on an irregular basis. She began comparing her life to that of a pathetic shut-in, afraid of new experiences. Afraid of uncertainty.

She felt Henry pull on his leash, and it pulled her out of her wistful self-indulgence. She wasn't lonely anymore. Now she had someone to take care of. They needed each other.

She just hoped he wouldn't shred any more of her furniture.

Are you for or against plaid couches? How about votes? :)