ball across the grass. Immediately, I scampered after it like any good dog would. Holding it in my teeth, I raced back and dropped it at his feet.” “He threw it again, this time further away. I raced after it, perhaps a tad less enthusiastic than the previous time. I dropped it at his feet again, and my tongue was already dangling from my mouth like an engorged lizard.” “Oblivious of my heavy panting, Toby fired it away again. Who was having fun here?” “I shot after it, and caught it between my teeth before it had even stopped rolling. ‘I’ve still got my speed,’ I mused. Halfway back, I stopped dead in my tracks, and flopped to the ground. A thought had suddenly flashed through my mind. ‘What am I doing this for? He’ll only throw it away and I’ll have to chase it again. It’s far too hot to race around like a mad thing.’ “So I rose and strolled slowly back. As I dropped the ball at Toby’s feet, I casually said, “I’m over chasing balls today. Next time you want it, you fetch it.” “Well, talk about blowing his socks off. Momentarily, he stood there flabbergasted with a stupid expression on his face. After a few moments, he sat down quickly, his eyes as wide as saucers. You could say he was stunned. Yep, a talking dog will do that every time.” “Well, that finished our day in the park. He couldn’t get me home quick enough. He kept looking at me all the way home as if I was going to bite him or something. Of course, I wouldn’t. I love the big bozo, even if he’s an idiot.” “In the days that followed, Toby was that excited, he told all his friends, but they all laughed in disbelief – even his stuck-up girlfriend, Rachel, thought he’d lost it.”
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Published on Sep 30, 2011
The Fine Line presents its third compilation of art, fiction and poetry by contributors Francis Raven, Michael Young, Dorothee Lang, Raj Sha...