Sure, pants are nice to wear sometimes

[Boogus Epirus Aurelius]

I’ve been doing a lot of writing lately for an internship opportunity that popped up out of nowhere. Really, it came directly out of left field and knocked me cold into a handful of up-front cash and a shiny mark on my resume. I’m still not sure if I should be celebrating or biting my nails. Potential future employment opportunity? Why not!  Deadline writing has always felt more comfortable, even when that deadline is uncomfortable. I’m one of those lousy people who needs the carrot on the stick every once in a while.

So, after a marathon session of finger dancing and second and third guessing the stuff I was actually spewing out and feeling that gurgling, drowning sensation of inadequacy at the work I was doing that’s only remedied by positive words from the brass, I said fuck it and, like the beginning of most stories, I walked towards my local pause-and-shop for a little pick-me-up.

Didn’t have much in mind. An iced tea was the primary goal, but I was feeling adventurous and flexible.

So, I’m walking and it’s nice because the streets are pretty much empty because of the overcast skies and the threat of rain and everything feels and looks a little different. And the air’s a summer cocktail of wet grass clippings and a smoking the beers grill and warm pavement. And I sound like a sappy bitch spouting cliches from an Americana guidebook. There’s a little white dog with a collar with a bell on it meandering behind me several dozen feet away.

As I push open the door I see it sniffing around the stairs of the house next to the shop.

I bought my tea and walked towards the glass door when I noticed that little white dog just sitting, looking in.

It wasn’t threatening or anything. One of those little house dogs with the stupidly poofy white fur. I pushed the door open carefully, thinking he might try to make his way inside.

But he didn’t go inside

I said something along the lines of “go home” or “shoo”.

He didn’t shoo though. Didn’t go home.

He bit my goddamn pants. The bottom hem, by my shoes. Did the whole growling routine and everything when I tried to laugh it off and remove him from my leg. Eventually he let go and I started speed-walking away as he did this terrifying little dance where he trotted in a circle, barking his stupid little head off. I just kept walking, keeping an eye out for a prospective owner.

And then, snapping out of his trance, he caught sight of me again and fucking bolted towards me and that’s when I knew that thing wanted me dead.

He didn’t want to bite my pants again. He wanted to get flesh and vein and muscle. He wanted to fucking kill me. And so I ran.

I did a marathon stretch down six blocks, with an over-sized can of Arizona iced tea as my baton and a tiny white dog chasing me.

The thing was fast. He caught up to me about a block from my home and started jumping and running.

The thing could jump. He was reaching my midsection with each leap.

The thing was pissed and I didn’t know why.

Just as I was getting ready to reign a series of violent martial arts styled kicks on its face, it backed off a bit. It was just enough for me to get into my home.

It  was in my front yard for some time after, just prowling. I don’t know why he wanted me dead, but he did.

I’m afraid to turn off the lights. Afraid to open the closet. Afraid to look towards the window, lest I see his puffy white face half illuminated by the orange sodium arc lights outside.

I’ll sleep light tonight, with a knife on my dresser next to me, and dream of those stupid hateful eyes in a mat of fluffy white fur.

God help me.
-Boognish.

[strongbad]

You are a good writer. I'm sure that you have a bright future ahead of you.
Congrats on outrunning the dog.

[snoorkel]

over-sized can of Arizona iced tea as my baton

YES

[Hiro]

God dammit, what a great story. If you had a book, I would buy it. Socks only wishes he could write posts as good as yours.

[applesauce]

^ouch

[YPrrrr]

I would have relished the opportunity to finally have reason to punt one of those little yappy white dogs. All I get is rottweilers and weimaraners :'(

God dammit, what a great story. If you had a book, I would buy it. Socks only wishes he could write posts as good as yours.

I thought this same thought as I was reading