This is day one of Blogdramedy’s BlogShorts, a short-story writing challenge. It spans ten days, includes ten short stories, each a mere 110 words. This year’s theme: The Dog Days of Summer. Today’s subject is none other than Stephen King’s loveable scamp, Cujo.
Books don’t tell the whole story.
Lotta people thought it was a bite from a rabid raccoon, maybe a fox. I’ll be honest, it wasn’t rabies. Rabies is just a cop out, like PMS for the ladies, know what I mean?
It seems trivial looking back, but at the time, it was maddening. The collar wasn’t too bad, fit okay, but the license! That shitty little piece of tin hung there, jingling against the ring on the collar if I so much as blinked my eye. I couldn’t cut a fart without that fucker making a sound.
One day, I heard that sound one time too many and I snapped.
The following blogs have also vowed to participate. Time will tell if they actually run with the big dogs, or stay on their porches.
1pointperspective – You already read my dog-days entry, why not take a look at my Weiner drawing?
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1pointperspective 
I took a bite out of this one and it was good. *grin*
At 110 words, all you get is one bite.
A little Midol sprinkled into your morning Alpo might help. Also some chocolate and a huge bag of chips.
Tell it, sista!
The title alone was enough to make me sit up and beg. I like that it’s told from our hero’s point of view and I like that it wasn’t the rabies. 🙂 To complete the trifecta of adorations all I can say is, “Wow. You really know how to turn a phrase.” Yeah, I’m jealous.
The tag that undid two hundred years of training. Perhaps something imbedded would have worked better.
If not imbedded, maybe something more soothing, like engraved windchimes…
I always suspected that St. Bernards were wound a bit too tight.
Over-bred and underpaid.
Cle-ver!
Yeah? Try combining PMS with panting dogs at night, when you’d like to go to sleep… the results makes a reaction to rabies pale in comparison.
I can totally see this – seems I spend my life one, tiny clink away from going over the edge.
Totally doesn’t belong on this post, but posting it here makes this even more fun. I just got my most nonsensical spam post of all times:
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This was great. But am I voting this time? Where do I go? What do I do? Help me…
No voting needed. Tune in tomorrow for another 110 words about a different doggie.
Shouldn’t that tag have been attached to a little vat of rum tied under his chin? I always thought that he would have a much better attitude if he just kept sipping the rum.
Actually, St. Bernards are supposed to carry little barrels of brandy. You’re thinking of their sister breeds, the St. Thomas and the St. Croix.
Who carries the scotch? That is the one I want.
Scotties?
Really? No way! They aren’t big enough to carry an acceptable amount.
It’s not quantity, it’s quality! Each Scottie can carry 3 or 4 ounces of 32 year old single malt. Not enough to sustain you in an avalanche, but their stubby little legs can’t manage in deep snow anyway.
At least I would go with a smile on my face.
Most excellent, my Mastiff always hated his collar. Now I know what he was thinking.
Mastiff’s are better suited for saddles anyway…