Day 2

What’s your favorite animal? Use it as your inspiration today. (Noah Scalin, A Daily Creativity Journal, 365, Make something every day and change your life!)


“Who says dogs don’t know what they are doing? Reacting? React to this!”

A black little fury monster takes off towards the smell of smoked meat, roasting slowly in a metal grave. Something is being yelled after him as he runs, but he doesn’t know what it means, even after years of the same thing. Human hand pointing, snapping. Do something. Sit?

Anyways, the wind was blowing lightly through his ears as he ran, cool currents announcing an afternoon storm. He veered sharply to the left, taking a shortcut through the field. The grass engulfed him and made him disappear in the eyes of his human companion. He loved the grass, the long sharp blades tickled his stomach. The bugs jumping from plant to plant in a hissy fit from the interruption. He took his time in the meadow, swerving back and forth in between grass blades and Queens Anne’s Lace, until finally he reached the edge and there it was. He paused on the edge, slightly guarded by his meadowy haven. He stuck his long black nose into the air and breathed deep.

“Mmmm,” his stomach growled, “hamburgers, hotdogs, and,” he sniffed again, “steak? Is that steak I smell? A feast for a king. And what a king I am. Look at me.”

He pranced out of the meadow and straight up to the smell. His pink tongue hung, dangling to the side of his mouth, drooling. He didn’t even notice the family of four standing idly waiting for his feast fit for a king. And of course he didn’t see the large older man bound towards him with his hands spread. Or the young child with a stick in his hand. He was so close, almost there. He readied his tongue, and then he saw it, the gleaming spatula, dripping with juices, so sweet and tasty. And then he saw everything else.

The man swung his hand so close to his black matted locks, he could feel the air shift. His smell emanated anger. The child jabbed the air with his stick. Each jab inching its way closer and closer to his back legs. The family screaming in the background. He darted to the right, ran into the leg of the grill and veered off in the opposite direction, not thinking but reacting. He was running fast, but he couldn’t get away from the people. They were everywhere, but none of them familiar, none of them smelled like his. Then he was in the woods, had he ever been in these woods? He didn’t know. How could he not know? Where was he? Where was he supposed to be? Then somehow he heard something. Where did it come from? What was it? But somehow he found it, heard it again, followed it. Was it his name? And there at the edge of the woods, he bounded out and ran into something that smelled so sweet, so familiar, so wonderful. It had fallen from the impact of the furry monster. He jumped on top of it, front paws on the chest of this thing. He looked down at it and as his big black eyes focused on the face of his human companion, he began lovingly licking the face of his best friend.