Art, Fables
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The Dog That Never Barked

There once was a dog that never barked. And all was good.

But once in a while the dog felt sad and lonely, especially on cold winter days when it was trapped in its master’s house, waiting to be let out. .

And when that dog was sad it knew its master was gone away, and had no one to let it out just to relieve itself. But still it never barked.

And tho the dog never barked, the poor lab knew it was dying just to get out for a day and to get away, and to have an adventure on its own. And still it never barked.

But one day there was a chance for that dog to get its escape. Just as it waited by its masters front door, its bladder bursting to let free, a crack emerged as the owner opened the door to step in. And in that moment the dog sprang for freedom, past its owner’s leg and out into the wild that was the outdoors.

And as its owner hollered after it for it to come back, the dog ran, its master’s yells now echos in the wind on that cold winter day. And for once in its life, the dog felt free. And still it never barked.

But soon the dog had ran too far, and was lost in a neighborhood it had never seen before. And as the dog began to regret its freedom, it longed back to be in its warm master’s house, where there was never a reason to bark. And so the dog frantically began to wander in no particular direction, not quite sure where to go.

As the dog wandered down a neighborhood street, it heard a fellow dog growl from a dark alley it had never been down before. And tho the dog was afraid, it ventured down that alley, now looking for somewhere new to go and call home, if only to get out of the cold.

The dog walked slowly, its nose to the ground, tail up, sniffing frantically for a scent of piss and a signal that the other dog was there, knowing damn well it was in another dog’s territory.

And as the dog sniffed, the growl grew louder and more vicious, threatening it as it walked on. And soon the dog was staring down the eyes of a white pit bull with one brown spot on its head, not quite the pure breed it thought it was.

The dog felt frightened in that moment, not quite sure what to do. The pit bull began to bark, inching forward as its choker collar hung tightly around its neck. And the dog began to regret sniffing its way down that alley.

The pit bull inched nearer, now glaring its fangs, a white slather of drool hanging around its lips and dripping down to the ground.

The dog began to back away, knowing now it was in over its head. And the pit bull started to paw its way forward, fangs now near its neck, ready to take a bite. And the dog felt the heat of its breath grow nearer and hotter, and was prepared for what was to come.

And just as the pit bull’s fangs scratched that poor dog’s neck, the dog let out a yelp and found a renewed strength and felt its legs spurt back to life. And the dog began to ran back down that alley, the pit bull trailing it not far behind.

And as the dog ran it felt its spirit renew and no longer felt the cold, for a dog that runs knows its will never freeze on a cold winter day. But not to feel comfortable, the dog felt the pit bull catch up to it and take a bite out of its tails.

And as the pit bull chomped on the poor dog’s tail, the dog let out a bark it never knew could exist within it. And the dog ran harder and faster, trying to find its way back home. And so the dog ran, faster and faster, and barked like it had never barked before, for the dog had never barked before.

And just when the dog knew the pit bull was going to take out another bite, the dog heard its master holler again, and knew this time that holler was no echo.

The dog barked louder and more frequently, begging to be found, and to be saved from that vicious pit bull. And as the dog barked, its master appeared before it, a gun in their hand.

The master pointed the gun at the pit bull and shot a bullet, killing the pit bull dead in its tracks with one bullet between its eyes. And the dog barked louder, knowing it was saved.

As the pit bull lied on the grow, its head now lying in a pool of blood, the dog barked louder than ever, this time in joy of being back in its master’s arms and soon back in that warm house and out of the terrible dreadful cold.

And from that day forward the dog barked every day, usually in anticipation when it knew its master was coming home, usually while the master was outside the front door. And tho the dog had never barked before, from that day forward it barked like only a dog can bark, for that is what dog’s do.

 

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My name is Michael and during my free time I avoid having a day job. Strangely enough, this gives me the freedom to run this blog. I write just about anything that can be considered art. I also occasionally post articles that may or may not be relevant to the theme of this site. You’ve been warned.

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