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Spotty Tales

The Life and Times of a Dog Walker's Dog


Getting Started

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Dana's morning began abruptly. She had been chasing all the sheep her human had counted last night to get to sleep. As they came back, her body twitched and jerked violently until she woke herself up. And the human laying beneath her. Now, for all intents and purposes, Dana might as well still have been asleep. But despite lazily draping herself across the armchair, her eyes were intently following her human wherever he went.

"He's heading towards the food," she thought with characteristic optimism, "I'm sure he is." But she'd have to be a bit surer than that before she'd deign to leave the comfort of her chair. Maybe her human would bring something over for her? She'd eaten her breakfast just a few minutes ago so naturally she was already ravenous.

Her human pulled his coat on, and then walked past the treats again. Drat! What's he doing now? She loved her human, but often felt that he should be slightly better behaved by this stage. He picked up that flat black thing that sometimes bleeped and flashed, and put it in his pocket. And then . . . yes . . . that tiny bag of treats. A tiny piece of heaven. Very tiny, granted, but heaven nonetheless. He picked it up with infuriating slowness and attached it to his belt.

Dana went from mid-flop to ballistic missile in a fraction of a second, landing with precision just a nose-length away from the treats. Her human wasn't getting any younger so she nudged the bag with her nose. Who knows, he might get the message?

Dana had only ever had one human whilst some of her friends had had several. They often warned her, "Let your human think they're in charge, they're pack animals you know." Dana quite liked hers and hoped to keep him. He certainly had his quirks though, and never really took time out to smell the roses. Or dog's bottoms for that matter. Or poos. Now that was odd because he was always picking them up. Or, more importantly, scraps of food. "Oh look, the kitchen door's open . . .".

The car was parked just four or five feet from the front door. Unless you go the pretty way. Now, coincidentally, if you go the pretty way you may find bread left out for the birds.

Finally in the car, Dana's human was mumbling about all the extra miles this probably added up to each year. Dana was overjoyed that she'd got his attention and listened closely in case he mentioned the "F" word.

Written and conceived by M J Race

Copyright © 2018 M J Race

All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.


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