Stories tagged dog


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My grandmother stared at my dog. He was snoring peacefully, his fur lifting and lowering as he breathed. “That dog is fat!” She said. Everyone called him fat. But he wasn’t, not really.

Spring Ice

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...I stared at my good dog with the same entreaty I saw in her eyes. Save us. Please.

The Start of Something Good

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Then get a dog, eat some ice cream, fly to Paris....


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“I was just dreaming about you,” he said, sleepy-voiced. “What's for breakfast?”


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My son is on the field. My son is throwing a ball. My son is throwing a ball into a mitt. My husband is recording the number of times the ball is thrown. My husband is making little pie shapes in his book. He is making little marks.

my dog is

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my dog is is as am I

fish gut buckets

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The pier stretched out by where sharks came and men waited with beautiful dirty buckets that held strange and dangerous things, buckets with fish guts, buckets with blood, with character, buckets like prophets or a gritty desert walking saviour like Chris


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"I expect 50% of the agreed fee. In cash.” I dropped the envelope at the designated spot and parked up the street.

Dead Dog Rising

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The dog is there, on sorry legs, with sorry claws. He looks toward the man, the bat, and says, You know me, Man. I know you know me.

Curly’s Fiddle

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Curly was officially named Richard Benjamin Alphonse by his father the day he was born, but due to his curly mop of auburn hair he was forever after called Curly. From birth on he had a stubborn streak and chose his own road, quitting school at seventeen, traveling…


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Man, I'm not feeling so happy anymore. I tried to tackle my money but it slipped past me and ran out the door. I don't have a clue what to do. I'm hungry and I can't be worrying about you while both of us are trying to snag the same pair of…

Rosaleen In Mourning

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She hardly twitches. Her face regards the stars. If her body is an object, it is the isthmus before global warming. They want to find the source of the glacier in her eyes that is always melting. Maybe they like a woman who cries.


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The next week, she sends a small white box in the mail / with tissue paper, a ceramic mold the color of bleached bone—


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People ask me sometimes what it’s like to meet your wife when you’re six years old, and I have to admit now that I don’t really understand the question. Marla and I, we were just friends for most of that time. She made me laugh. I let her crib off my math

Dog of the Day

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At her words I smiled amidst my teary eyes. Nick’s fingers moved between my right hand fingers, while to my left I scratched at Rodger’s puppy fuzz on her neck and ears. She exhaled and lay down, placing her head in my lap.