In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “A Dog Named Bob.”
I have a dog named Bob.
Bob wasn’t the most well-behaved pet around.
Once, he tackled the wooden post and got his head stuck in the mailbox.
“Damn it, Bob,” I said as I struggled to pull him out.
Once, he chased a bluejay across the street and barely escaped getting hit by oncoming traffic.
“Damn it, Bob,” I said as I hurried after the crazed furball.
Once, he lunged at the dining table because he wanted more food.
“Damn it, Bob,” I said as I picked up the broken shards of Mom’s favourite ceramic plates.
Once, he snatched the bottle of maple syrup from my hand and hightailed it out of the kitchen.
“Damn it, Bob,” I said as I played a game of hide-and-seek for half an hour.
Once, he tried eating my pen and got blue ink all over him. When I spotted him, he gave me a cheeky grin.
“Damn it, Bob,” I said as I dragged him into the bathroom.
But I loved him anyway. And he loved me.
So when he grew old and ailing, I cried as he fell into a deep sleep.
“Damn it, Bob,” I said, one last time.
[Hope this is alright. Not a storyteller kind of person yet 😀]