My dog, the conscientious objector

Can you flop around a little more?

“Do you know what your dog did?”

“Oh, no,” I groaned, hoping my little Border collie devil-dog hadn’t decided to eat the house. Again.

Last week he chewed up a pair of Chap’s reading glasses and barely lived to tell the tale.

“I give up–what did he do now?”

“He took off with my fishing pole,” he said.

“What do you mean he took off with your fishing pole?”

“I mean he grabbed it, snatched it out of the holder, fish and all, and ran off into the woods.”

Apparently Chap had been fishing on the shore, and because his dad needs another twenty pounds of fish for his 88th birthday fish fry, Chap had three poles going.

Bodhi apparently grabbed one of the poles and took off.

“Does he still have the fish?”

“How the hell should I know? He’s got the pole.”

I’m not certain, but I think Bodhi is a conscientious objector. I think he has the same misgivings about fishing as I do.

The whole poking-a-small-fish with a hook, dropping him in the water so he thinks he can make a run for it, and boom, a big fish snaps him up and then they’re both dead meat–literally.

I’m a hypothetical vegetarian–I eat meat but I feel bad about it. Maybe Bodhi is a hypothetical vegetarian, too.

He came back from the woods without the pole. And without the fish.

And when Chap told his dad what happened–that the dog stole the pole and the fish, his father grinned and said, “Sure he did.”


About kitfrazier

Award-winning novelist and former big city journalist who bumped into a cowboy and woke up in the wild, wild west.
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