Tyka
I open the door and there she is doing the mongrel wiggle-waggle in a girdle and heels. I pick her up and she licks my face as fast as she can. Never get enough, never get enough, never get enough, her own joy wriggling her from my arms. Smaller now she fits under the couch. I can't always see her, even on my knees. Then she's there, brown eyes wide, like she just this second caught a ghost and brought it back for me to see.
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Author's Note
Published in Six Sentences a few years ago.
Other stories by Dianne McKnight-Warren
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Great image of the wiggle, and a nice portrait of personality in motion, as expressive as speech.
Wiggle wriggle ... I like your ghost story.
I love the image, "wiggle-waggle in a girdle and heels." That is funny! Some cunning canine you got there. And terrific how the ghost wraps it up.*
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Thanks everyone! This was a dream I had after Tyka died.
A lively memorial that overflows into its larger context. Good work!
Thank you Mr.Strannikov. Thanks for the comment.