Maggie – that’s my person – is always saying to people that I’m nothing but a hound dog. It amuses her and there’s a song to that effect which she sings around the house when no-one can hear, except that I do hear it and if I could put my paws over my ears I would because, well, it’s terrible. Only then she’d think I wanted to play and frankly, I just want to rest. I’m old. In my day I dreamt of being a dragon dog, roaming the forests and eating people. Just as well Maggie can’t read my mind. I think it would have frightened her, even though it was a harmless fantasy. We dogs have rich internal lives. Did you know that, you writers?
This little bit of silliness was my contribution to the National Flash fiction Day Write-In.