Whinnie Dog

Whinnie, my black pug, died Thursday morning at 3am as I held her. She was the best $1000 I ever spent. Just a perfect dog.

She was stoic, almost never complained. She loved to play but would bark if she couldn’t find you. She knew what she wanted and could be very demanding. She was 16 years old. She loved carrots, and wet food. She had thick fur and loved the cold.

And I miss her.

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52 Stories

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Outline: Dreamfire

3/10

Ivy Walker: When we are married, will you dance with me? I find dancing very agreeable. Why can you not say what is in your head?
Lucius Hunt: Why can you not stop saying what is in yours? Why must you lead, when I want to lead? If I want to dance I will ask you to dance. If I want to speak I will open my mouth and speak. Everyone is forever plaguing me to speak further. Why? What good is it to tell you you are in my every thought from the time I wake? What good can come from my saying that I sometimes cannot think clearly or do my work properly? What gain can rise of my telling you the only time I feel fear as others do is when I think of you in harm? That is why I am on this porch, Ivy Walker. I fear for your safety before all others. And yes, I will dance with you on our wedding night.