Dog Walking

The pug sauntered down the trail, legs flapping in no particular order, tongue waving just as wildly. Its breathing drew out like a cheese grater scraping against a 2×4. It didn’t look up at its master, the pug was determined to keep walking. For, you see, the German Shepherd leashed next to him was kind of a dick.

She was always showing off with her long prancing legs and her normal breathing. The pug would show her and Master what he could truly do. The first 100 feet were the easiest. The pug kept in the lead, though it took a bit of effort. For every eight steps the pug took, the German Shepherd took one. And she kept putting on airs, sticking her nose up at everything. What a bitch.

The next 100 feet, the German Shepherd caught the lead. The pug realized his fatal error in trying to keep the pace too early. He tried to bound forward, using the momentum of his belly fat as sort of a wave effect to propel him forward. The pug grinned a face-splitting grin, tongue trailing back to his collar. For a moment, he thought his plan might work until he got a cramp and then he was just waddling even more than usual.

Master let them take a break after the first mile. The pug was pooped. He looked over at the haughty German Shepherd, who didn’t even look winded. He scratched her behind the ear while the heat and exhaustion radiated off of the pug. He found a cool place to lay down while his tongue rolled out onto the pavement. Tonight, the pug thought, he was going to hump her while she was taking a nap. That would show her.


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Filed under Flash Fiction, Session XXII

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