Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Pity the Dog

The boy needs no pity. He is sixteen and should know better than to leave a pound of bacon on the counter, near the edge, to thaw. Excellent, moderately expensive bacon that was to be bacon and lettuce and tomato sandwiches for dinner.

Pity instead the dog.

Marcus - Hot Dog - Nixie

A good dog. A dog who knows that food on the counter is inviolate. Who was left, alone, with a pound of thawing bacon. Dripping bacon-scented water on counter, and the floor. Getting warmer and tastier smelling by the minute, releasing it's tender meaty smell to the air. Where it flogged her her doggy nostrils, taunting her.

The torture must have been agony, waving a lit smoke under a tobacco addict's nose. In the end, her lust for raw meat overcame her inner good dog and it was gone. And she knew she done wrong: one look at her aspect when I arrived home and said 'I thought you said you had bacon out for dinner?' told the tale.

Poor ol' thang.
blog comments powered by Disqus