500: An Anthology of Short Stories

It had been raining all day, but I was hoping the downpour had fizzled out into a drizzle by the time I took Buddy, my German shepherd fur baby, for his usual nightly walk. I donned raincoat, water-repellent pants and rain boots, grabbed my umbrella and hollered for Buddy.

“Buds! Walk, baby. Come,” I said in my best Mommy voice.

Buddy came zooming from the lounge where he had been lounging next to the cosily- burning fireplace. His thick, brown-and-black fur reeked of dog; I loved the smell! Jumping up in excitement, the big lump tried to give me kisses.

“Down, Boy! Down, I say,” I reprimanded him. He simply gave me his goofy grin, tongue lolling, tail wagging a mile a minute. I hastened to fasten his leash before he could jump up to lick my face again.

“Ugh, Buddy. You can be such a handful sometimes, you know?” I told him as he dragged me towards the front door in his haste to go outside.

I’m not a very spry nor young woman, and having this burly dog pull me along as if I weighed no more than a feather felt like I was at boot camp. I knew I would be paying for this in a surplus of muscular pain later.

Percy, my other fur baby – this one a little terror of a terrier – came scampering along, hoping to be included in the excursion.

“No, Percy. It’s too cold outside for you,” I explained to him. “Go sit in front of the fireplace and keep warm,” I added.

Percy whined miserably before giving Buddy’s ankles a few nips of jealousy. He was always fighting with my cowardly Buddy, who could most probably chomp Percy in half with one bite, if ever the thought to fight back crossed his pea brain. As it was though, Buddy was a yeller’ belly through and through.

“Now stop that, Percy! Leave Buds alone. Go, get back to the lounge,” I scolded Percy.

Once outside, I realized I had seriously misjudged the inclement weather. I was soaked within minutes; Buddy more so.

I saw not a single other soul crazy enough to be out in the dark and rain. Being winter, it meant the night was much murkier than usual. I mentally chided myself for being a silly goose.

I was only about three streets away from my house, lost within my thoughts and not really paying attention to my surroundings, when Buddy abruptly stopped short before giving a sharp, deep bark. His fur bristled as he stared fixedly into the shrubs along the verge. Then he made as if to lunge.

A piercing shriek of terror, the magnitude of that of a klaxon, shattered the night as a petrified would-be mugger abandoned his hiding place and high-tailed it.

Buddy turned to me with his “I’m a good boy” look on his face.

“Just as well that moron doesn’t know what a coward you really are,” I said lovingly to my protector.