Storytime Blog Hop July - Good Dog

Hello! Welcome to my first blog hop contribution! I will hopefully be uploading at least one free flash piece here every month or so, along with updates about upcoming projects and publications! Let me know what you think, thanks for reading!

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Pookie was a good dog. She liked to play coy when called, understood spilling her kibble on the floor was the superior way to eat, and was convinced slippers were simply the enemy. She loved the word “no” when she wanted to say hello to people, knew the food off mama’s plate was much tastier, and sometimes, when she was extra excited, she couldn’t help but pee a little on the floor.

But Pookie was a good dog.

The night the loud noises came, Pookie hid under mama’s arm, the two huddled in the empty tub of the upstairs bathroom. Bang after bang shook the walls, noises that were much louder than the moving pictures Pookie saw on TV downstairs. She could hear voices, trembling and inaudible, and the overwhelming smell of something dead, but could only think of the fear she heard in mama’s sobbing.

Pookie listened to mama cry and cry as mama clutched Pookie tight. There was a metal object beside them, something Pookie remembered daddy putting next to the nightstand. Pookie remembered daddy telling mama to use it if she got scared, though if anything happened while he was there, daddy would use it. Daddy would protect them.

But daddy was late that night.

Pookie sniffed the metal object, confused by its use, as mama picked it up and aimed at the door. Pookie sniffed the air, twitching her nose in disgust at what scents met it, and tried to duck behind mama to get away from the smells. Eventually, those smells faded, and mama relaxed, setting the metal object back down.

Banging brought them both from sleep. Mama gasped, causing Pookie to jump and give a single, high-pitched bark. Pookie whimpered in fear as mama grabbed her snout with an unfortunately painful grip.

The bangs continued. Pookie listened to mama cry and slink farther down in the tub. It didn’t take long for the main door to break open, and for footsteps to sweep into the front room. Pookie could hear walking along the floor. Something was irregular though, as if one of them walked with a limp.

She could hear them wander closer.

Pookie buried tight into her mama’s side as mama released her and dove to grab the metal object again before aiming at the bathroom door.

Pookie watched mama hold back sobs and did her best to remain quiet while she shook. When the door handle jiggled, she tensed, gritting her teeth painfully to keep from making noise. She could feel her mama’s warmth next to her, both shaking at the thought of what was about to come around the corner.

The door handle twisted, and the door crept forward. Pookie continued to shake, whimpering now, and bared her teeth like an angry mother dog as the gap opened wider. But then Pookie heard the sound of mama’s name. When the door finished opening a second later, there was daddy’s dirty, cut-up, worn-out face.

Pookie watched mama drop the metal object. The little dog was suddenly swept into mama’s arms as she leapt from the tub, nearly tripping face-first onto the cold tile as she made her way into daddy’s embrace. Pookie between them, daddy hugged them tight, and mama cried quickly.

He swept Pookie and mama into the next room. One of Pookie’s uncles, and one of Pookie’s aunts, were there. Pookie didn’t understand everything, but she did understand danger, and hurt. She understood sickness. She understood leaving.

She watched quietly as mama changed into heavier clothes and filled a backpack with things they probably needed. Mama had the metal object again, and Pookie realized that daddy, uncle, and aunt had similar metal objects too.

Then they ran out the door, and down the stairwell at the end of the hall. Pookie rode neatly in a bag at mama’s side, feeling warm and ready to be safe. But as they fled, they all heard someone burst from the door a level above theirs. Pookie knew they were close now, another two floors to the lobby. But the angry, guttural shrieks were right behind them.

Pookie also knew mama had always been slow. Daddy tried to help, but the people were only steps above, and the little dog could suddenly feel hostile hands grabbing at her mama’s hair and arms.

With a valiant bark, Pookie reeled back, and chomped down on the attacker’s hand. The little dog held on with every ounce of strength in her body, even when the man pulled her from her bag. She did her best not to let go, but eventually, she was forced to whimper and release.

The hands began reaching and stumbling for Pookie as she dodged this way and that to get back to mama, who was currently being dragged away by daddy. Part of Pookie was terrified, that mama couldn’t help her. But a bigger part of her was glad that daddy was keeping mama safe, and she peacefully began to succumb to the tiredness of trying to run. She could hear mama shouting her name in the background, and she was sorry that the one time she wanted to listen to mama’s command, she couldn’t.

A gap appeared.

“Pookie!” mama called one last time as daddy dragged her towards the exit. Pookie ran with all her might through the legs and arms ricocheting off one another in the tumble of bodies, the exit illuminated by the bright light of outside. Pookie ran and ran as fast as her little legs could carry her, and just as the door was about to slam shut, she made it through the gap, and out to where mama and the rest were standing.

As soon as Pookie had a clear line of sight for her mama, she ran to her, jumping up and down and all around despite how many times mama had told her not to.

“You’re a good dog,” mama said, holding Pookie tighter than she ever had before.

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Other July Blog Hop Stories Here:

Spam or Not Spam, That is the Question! by Katharina Gerlach

Two Feet by Chris Makowski

Thief by Barbara Lund

Trampler of Dreams by Gina Fabio

Good Dog by Angelica Medlin

She Stood by Lyn McCarty

Not all Heros Wear Capes by Vanessa Wells

Morning Monsters by Jon Cloud

Some Imagination by James Husum