I felt a rush of emotion push out from the center of me as I saw that it wasn’t water…it was him.


As pugs go, he was taller than most, with long, muscular limbs and a lithe, almost athletic build that, perhaps one day, would fill out and give him the usual pug look of an ottoman with feet.  But now he was only a little more than a year old…just a pup…just a pup…and his spare legs and lean body gave him the look of a gangly teenager…which I suppose, in a way, he was.  Dog years and all…

I bent to him, put my shaking hand onto his chest.

Solid, warm…still.

His legs appeared whole, unbroken.  They were arranged in a kind of repose, as if he had simply lain down in the road to take a nap.

About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)