Quick-Box

     Ah! He’s home! I can’t catch my balance. My tail flings me toward one direction and back toward the other. That thing has a mind of its own.

     Pet me, pet me. Let me out, no leash, let’s go exploring.

     Wait, you’re shutting the door? Maybe he doesn’t see me. Ambush his legs, charge! That-a boy, pet me. No, no behind the ears. Almost there, ummmmm, yeah. I really need to pee now, let’s go. No? Give him the head tilt. Further..further. Where’s he going? Away from the door. Damnit, eeehhh-emmmm, “Arf!”

     “Drugh-lafph-Beta.” He said my name. He’s going to take me out. He loves me. I’ll guard the door, ready. What’s he doing back there anyway? I want to see. Flop, flop across the fluffy floor. He’s whizzing into the little noise machine he won’t let me drink from. See! There it goes humming its music. It smells awful in here. “Arf.” (I’ll guard the door).

     Here he comes. “Ready girl? Lxts gna quick-box.” Uuuuuwwww, yeah! Quick-box. Wait, catch balance, sit, pause. Open it, open it. Don’t leave me, don’t you leave me here. Eye contact, “Come.” Dash out, whew!

By Beta Brown Bear.

– Eric McCarty (3/1/2012)

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