(Photo courtesy of Apertome)
In the last post, I introduced you to my dog Rex, the only dog I ever loved died when I was fourteen. When the story ‘DOGGONE’ came to me, I thought of Rex.
The picture above, although not Rex, reminds me of him. Rex was smart, cool, and he had heart; he didn’t take any mess, not even from me. But he loved me and I him. I like to remember him as a dog on a journey.
This is for you boy.
“Hank, wake up, wake up!”
Hank woke with a start and looked over at the clock.
“Boy, it’s six o’ clock in the morning. What the fu–”
“Spare me the obscenities.”
“Okay, okay, what is it?”
“What? How do you know?”
“Trust me, I know.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Thanks, but no. But there is something I want to do for you.”
Hank sat up.
“Take this map and this envelope. Promise me you will follow the map to the letter. And you won’t open the envelope until you hear the sirens, promise?”
“I promise, boy. Hey, Rex, maybe you’re wrong, maybe you’re not dying, maybe–”
Rex hit the floor with a slam.
“Oh, boy. Right again.”
Hank unfolded the hand-written map, which detailed the many places that Rex, during his lifetime, had buried money.
Hank, over the years, the many times money came up missing I was the one who stole it, not the few friends you chased away.
Now that you’re broke and I’m dead, I would like to tell you where I buried a small fortune in several places on our property.
“Why that lousy mutt!”
Hank! Hank! Calm down and listen!
Four feet from the oak tree in the back yard is buried five-thousand dollars. So get your shovel and bury me nearby – then get digging.
Hank buried Rex in two shakes of a dog’s tail, then went sniffing and dug up the money.
“Whoaaaaa, good boy, Rex, good boy.”
All right, all right, let’s keep moving.
Near the back fence under that smelly bush you planted is ten-thousand dollars.
After some digging and cursing, Hank dug up the loot.
“Rex, you were the best dog. Ever. I miss you already.”
Yeah, yeah, let’s keep moving.
Four feet in front of my doghouse you will find fifteen large.
The doghouse was in a sad state of repair. Hank now wished he’d taken better care of Rex.
Three feet down, just as Rex had predicted, lay the dough wrapped in plastic like the others.
“Awwww, boy, how did you ever do this? Thank you, boy, thank youuuu.”
Hank! Get a grip. Onto the last stop.
Near the patio, four feet from that stupid rock you call art is twenty Gs.
Hank found it so.
“Oooh, Rex, I loved you so much, boy. Why did you have to die? Why? Why? Why?”
“Hey, Hank, are you okay?” asked the neighbor.
“No, Phil, as a matter of fact, I’m not! And for your information, Rex died.”
“Good! I never like that mutt, anyway.”
“Why you no good–”
Hank leaped the fence, grabbed Phil and punched him near to death. Phil’s wife came out screaming, and then rushed to call the police.
Within minutes, Hank heard the sirens then he remembered the envelope.
I knew one day you would do something stupid. Whatever it is, I hope the fifty helps.
And to quote the best quote you ever stole: ‘May the fleas of a thousand camels invade the crotch of the person that ruins your day. And may their arms be too short to scratch.’ I love you, my friend, take care.
Love and happiness,
For our GOOD FRIDAY, tell us your most heartwarming story about your four legged friend. And as always, keep your head up.
(Photo courtesy of Apertome)
Ever since I could remember, I hated dogs. I’m not sure how I felt about them when I was younger, but in my teens, a dog away from me was a good dog.
My mother inherited a dog when I was fourteen. His named was Rex. From day one, I hated the dog and he hated me.
He growled every time I passed him on my way out of the house. And he barked when I returned. Most nights he slept on the front porch. Honestly, I think he did that to prevent me from coming in. Stupid mutt.
The routine – I walked past, he cut his eyes and let out a low growl; I would do the same. We understood each other. There would never be any love lost between us.
One night, after two months of this routine, I passed him as he lay curled up on the porch – he didn’t growl. Nope; he got up, left the porch and began following behind me as I rode away on my bike.
That dog…no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t chase him away. I threw everything but the kitchen sink at him, he just wouldn’t go home. So I jumped back on my bike and tried to outrun him. He was way too fast.
When we got home Rex followed me up the steps and into the house. I sat down to watch TV; there at my feet lay Rex.
From that night on, everywhere I went, Rex followed. I soon gave up trying to sneak off without him – he was just too smart.
Every time I rode my bike, it was just me and my buddy, Rex.
One Saturday morning, Rex wasn’t sleeping by the front door or out on the front porch.
“Mama, where’s Rex?”
“He’s on the back porch.”
Sure enough, he was kinda sitting, kinda lying down.
“Come on boy, let’s go.”
He sat for a minute, turned those sad brown eyes at me and slowly crawled under the porch.
I called more times than I can remember, but he just wouldn’t come out. Maybe he’s tired I thought. So I let him be. I rode off with my friends.
When I got home, Rex was still under the porch.
“Mama, Rex won’t come from under the porch.”
My mother’s eyes went soft. “Baby, I think Rex died.”
While I was out riding around, the dog I came to love died. I will never forget that moment and I will never forget Rex.
For our GOOD FRIDAY, come back and read a heartfelt short story I penned and published for Rex. For now, tell us your most heartwarming story about your four legged best friend. And, as always, keep your head up.
A very wise man once asked this question: “What is our life? Our life is like the morning mist – it is here a little while, then its gone.”
To what shall I compare our fragile life?
Life is like a speck of dust that alights upon a surface. It remains there, unmoved, until a draft threatens it. When a breeze comes, it holds on till the last. Finally, a gust of wind, and it is blown asunder. That is how fragile life is, like a speck of dust blown to nothingness.
Life: As Fragile As Dust, Book one of a three part series, is twelve short stories of people living on life’s edge and in a pfft, their lives change.
I value life. I understand how delicate it is. That’s why I write stories. To encourage others to take a closer look at the gift of life the Father has given us.
I invite you to get your copy. And remember: cherish those you love while life is still here.
Look closely at the book cover…can you see the five faces?