Kreative Kue 297 asked for submissions based on this photograph:
“Yes, I know what I’m doing.”
“I hardly think so.”
“Look, I’ve done this rodeo before, and it is no big deal.”
“You know this is a clothes dryer, right?”
“It may look that way to you. I prefer to think of it as a warmer upper.”
“Warmer upper? Are you nuts?”
“I don’t think so. Answer me this. Are you more comfortable now or last July?”
“That is a no brainer. n July, the temps are nice and warm. Right now, it is freezing.”
“My point exactly. So what do you do to get warm?”
“Well, I snuggle in my bed or get next to someone.”
“Exactly. Quite frankly, I’m tired of you shoving me out of bed. How do the folks react to you getting in their bed?”
“They are not very happy. I usually end up on the floor.”
“You are making my case.”
“How does the warmer upper work?”
“Well, Mom turns it on.”
“With you inside?”
“No, of course not. I wait until it goes off, and then when she opens the door, I jump inside.”
“Doesn’t she get mad. After all, the humans like their clean clothes.”
“The best part is she usually opens the door and takes some stuff out and then walks away. That’s when I strike. You should try it.”
“With you in there?”
“No. I’ll jump out, and then you jump in.”
“I don’t think I’ll fit.”
“That’s a bummer. Why not?”
“I’m fifteen hands high and weigh 1600 pounds. That’s why.”
“You know, I keep forgetting you’re a horse. Shut the door, will ya. There is a draft in here.”
You better hope Mom doesn’t catch you.”
“I’ll take my chances. Shut the door.”
My effort was:
You know how sometimes you make plans and things don’t work out quite as you expected? That!
Let me take you back to the beginning.
We dogs have our main evening meal at five o’clock these days. It used to be six o’clock, but when the clocks went back last, my sister kept on doing her ‘poor, starving me’ act at what felt like the right time to us. She’s so much better at it than I am. Every time either of our humans are eating anything I sit and look at them, sending ‘feed me’ vibes. I know one of them will always fold and give us some of their grub. I’m good at that, but my sister is epic at main mealtime. She just sits in front of the master and looks at him. No fuss, no noise, just looks him in the eye. To cut a long story short, they finally gave in and started feeding us at five. Now the darker evenings mean our walk happens early afternoon instead of early evening, Sis has been trying to push for earlier, but their resistance seems solid.
Last night, after we’d eaten, I was up for a bit of playtime. That doesn’t happen too often these days, what with the arthritis and the recurring toothaches – Sis is a couple of years younger and is still up for major punch-ups but I really can’t be doing with all that nonsense as a rule. Last night, though, I felt up for it so…
When the mistress was taking stuff out of the tumble drier, I started playing with it – you know, stealing the odd sock or small garment and running around the house with it. Mistress tried to get me into one of those pulling games, but… with my teeth? No way. So we did a bit of chasing.
I have this theory, you see. I’ve noticed that when there are small humans around, every game is a test of fortitude and the little ones always, and I mean like ALWAYS win, because the big ones get bored first. I reckoned that if little humans could do that, so could little dogs. So I kept going with mistress until I could see that she was fed up with it and starting to play rougher than I wanted. So I jumped back, dropped my front and barked at her – playfully, you understand. Well, you might, and she might have, but I’m afraid the master shouted that he was trying to watch the news and clearly didn’t appreciate the game. Talk about sense of humour failure!
I could swear there was foam escaping from his mouth. “You want rough and tumble?” he shouted.
“Ruff,” I barked.
“YOU WANT ROUGH AND TUMBLE?” he practically screamed.
“Ruff, ruff,” I barked again.
Then, to my total surprise, he picked me up, threw me into the open tumble drier and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him and shouting, “Then enjoy that tumble! Hahaha.”
There I was, inside the tumble drier. It wasn’t on and its door was open, but it was warm and there were still some warm things in the bottom of it. What’s a little dog to do when something like that happens? I’ll tell you what I didn’t do. I didn’t bark to be let out – that would be admitting that he’d won. I didn’t follow the usual advice – if you can’t eat it or play with it, pee on it and walk away.
I did the only thing I could do when faced with a situation when I’m in a warm place and on top of some soft things. I curled up and went to sleep.
And that’s how I got to wake up here this morning. It’s not as warm as it was, but it’s okay, and it’s still comfortable. But my stomach is telling me that there should be some breakfast with my name on it somewhere…
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 email@example.com 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.