Kreative Kue 251

Kreative Kue 250 asked for submissions based on this photograph:

John W Howell is the author of the John Cannon trilogy of My GRL, His Revenge, Our Justice and Circumstances of Childhood, co-author of The Contract, and blogs at Fiction Favorites.

Deep Yogurt by John W. Howell © 2020

“Can you hear me?”

“Muffelluff eff.”


“Merfing merp merp.”

“I can’t understand you. Is something blocking your mouth?”

“Ah, moggle mit merf. Is this better? The snow was in the way.”

“My goodness, yes. How are you doing?”

“Just fine. Unfortunately, I fell in this deep hole.”

“I know. I have been sent to rescue you.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Arty.”


“Yup. Short for Arctic Rescue Canine.”

“Do you have a rope?”

“No. Just my paws. I will have you out in no time.”

“You are going to dig down here?”

“Yup. That’s right.”

“Then what?”

“Then, we walk out of the hole together.”

“Excuse me if I seem dubious, but I don’t know how that’s going to happen.”

“The walking part?”

“No the digging part. You’ve got about ten feet to dig to reach me.”

“Piece of cake.”

“How can you be so sure.”

“I used to be able to dig out of my yard in ten seconds flat, and that was dirt. This is snow. What chance does it stand?”

“Well, you sound convincing.”

“What do you have to lose?”

“Nothing, I guess. One more thing.”


“I’m a cat.”

“You’re kidding?”

“No. Arctic Bob is my name.”

“Tell me the name ‘Bob’ is not part of the term bobcat.”

“It is.”

“You know I think I hear my owner. You can do this Bob. See ya.”

“Darn. Thought I had one.”

This from Na’ama Yehuda, who blogs at :

Digging to China by Na’ama Yehuda

“Winter is the best for digging!”

Icicles hung from Snout’s whiskers, and his tail wagged excitement. The cookies-n-cream dog had two settings: asleep and overexcited.

It was exhausting.

Dumbo yawned. She stood under the dubious cover of a naked tree, and tried to make the least contact between her paw-pads and the frozen ground. Soon enough their human would stop staring into the hypnotizing rectangle, realize that he can do the same thing indoors, and “Cum’eer” them home. All she could do in the meanwhile was endure.

A bird took flight from a branch above her head and a pelt of snow plonked right onto Dumbo’s back. A shudder traveled from the tip of her nose to the end of her tail, shedding snow as it went. Now she was wet as well as cold. Stupid bird didn’t even have the decency to pick a different tree limb to launch itself from.

Dumbo hated winter.

She hated rain. And ice. And snow. And hail. And wind. And any type of weather that didn’t come with a built-in dry spot to sun herself in, preferably without any flying insects or pull-on-your-ears baby-humans or a housemate that believes the only kind of recreation befitting a dog is one that involves digging smelly things out of the ground.

She should’ve been born a cat.

Cats don’t have to go out in all weathers just to relieve themselves, and no one expects them to sniff others’ butts or follow orders or look happy about it. It was beneath a dog to be envious of a feline, but there it was.

“Come dig!” Snout barked enthusiastically.

“No thanks,” she muttered.

“You’re wet already, might as well have fun!” the smaller dog almost disappeared into the white mounds, paws tunneling in double speed into the frozen substance on the ground.

The human looked up, smiled, and pointed the hypnotizing rectangle at Snout’s behind, before checking the contraption, and raising it again in Snout’s direction.

Great. Mini-dog images. It meant they’d be stuck outside for another era. Who cares if the tip of Dumbo’s tail was ready to fall off from the cold.

“Come dig!” Snout yipped. “There’s stuff underneath here. Who knows what we’ll find!”

Dumbo yawned again and licked her chops in irritation. Go dig yourself to China, she thought, and stay there, too … see if I mind

My effort was

Dogged determination

It’s at times like this that I begin to understand why mountain dogs are the size they are. You know, the Pyrenean Mountain Dog, the Bernese and the Barnyard – sorry, I meant Saint Bernard. I mean, they can stand in it and not get lost every other foot.

I know that I buried a bone somewhere around here last week and now I want it. Do you think I can find it? Not a chance. I remember exactly where it is; it’s right next to the little rockery. Question is, where is the rockery?

I’d be alright if it was a mouse and not the bone. Why? Mice move, don’t they? I saw a thing where a big bird, some sort of owl, could hear a mouse moving under more than a foot of snow and catch it. And if a stoopid bird can do that with a face full of feathers and no proper ears as far as I can see, well; it’d be easy for me. I have terrific hearing and ears that I can kind of direct and focus to where the sound is. If it’s easy for the owl, it’d be a breeze for me. Everybody knows how good a dog’s hearing is. I just need something to move.

Birds can’t sniff things out like we dogs can, either. No nose, see? Just a couple of holes at the top of their beak, and what use is that?

So there we have it. Better hearing, better sniffing, and don’t get me started on intelligence. Sure, I know everybody talks about the wise old owl, but they’re not, are they? Wise, I mean. They’re more like cats. Thick. Driven by instinct. How often do you see cats thinking through things? I’ll tell you, you don’t. That’s because cats are hunters, not scavengers. All you have to do to be a hunter is to be faster and stronger than your prey. It’s much harder when you have to look for feeding opportunities and work things out. Cats and owls can’t do that, not the way dogs and vultures have to. I know what you’re thinking; I get food regularly from my humans. But the abilities and instincts are still there.

But that’s not getting me my bone, is it? Keep watching, though, and I’ll show you what I mean by intelligence. I’m going to sniff and snuffle around here. I’ll keep an eye out for either of my humans and when they look my way, I’ll start whining. I think a frustrated one will work better than a cold one, especially if I yap a bit and occasionally look at them.

Here comes one now. Watch what happens when I whine and yap…

“Oh, poor baby. Are you looking for something?”

[whine, yap yap]

“What is it? You want me to help you?”

[yap yap whine, yap yap]

“Let me get a shovel to move some of this snow away. Will that help you find it?”

[yap yap]

“Okay. Hang on, I’ll be back soon.”


On to this week’s challenge: Using this photo as inspiration, write a short story, flash fiction, scene, poem; anything, really; even just a caption for the photograph. Either put it (or a link to it) in a comment or email it to me at before 6pm next Sunday (if you aren’t sure what the time is where I live, this link will tell you). If you post it on your own blog or site, a link to this page would be appreciated, but please do also mention it in a comment here.

Go on. You know you want to. Let your creativity and imagination soar. I shall display the entries next Monday.

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