The night the old dog died he convulsed for hours, tears and juices mingling on the ground.
“Don’t clean it up,” I said.
Next morning the young pup sniffed, then leapt at the throat of the dog next door until we had to kick him off.
Alpha male redux.
Thursday, October 02, 2008
GRIEF (IN DOG YEARS)
Posted by Liz Nealon at 10/02/2008 11:46:00 PM
Labels: Flash Fiction
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