Kreative Kue 371

Kreative Kue 370 asked for submissions based on this photograph:


John W Howell is a multiple nominated and award-winning author who blogs at Fiction Favorites. Details of John’s books can be found on his Amazon author page

Bad move by John W. Howell © 2022

There once was a Russel named Trevor,

Who thought he was so very clever.

He hopped up on his mom,

And she with aplomb.

Announced, he was doomed forever.

Raymond Walker offered this heart-warming tale of a dog’s life. Raymond is a prolific author whose main web site is at Details of Raymond’s books can be found on his Amazon author page

© 2022 Raymond Walker 

I was young when they started to teach me. Barely a pup, barely able to jump. At first, they threw a lump of crusty bread in the air, and I had to jump for it. Unless I caught it, I was never fed. I soon learned to jump no matter how tired I was. I was small, big things were all around me and I was littler than them all apart from the rats they fed to the snake. After I learned to jump for my food, it was juggled, and I had to snatch a little piece of chicken or bread from mid-air as it whirled round and round. I became an adept but was always hungry, always slapped or kicked, occasionally patted and so, dodging tired horses’ hooves, Zebras steps and elephant pads I ran one night, through legs and under chairs, past caravans and trailers avoiding clutching hands and restraining nets out into the cold and dark. I ran and ran for days and days. Soaked, I curled beneath a bench to regain breath and perhaps heat and there a lady lifted me and held me. Warming me, drying me with her coat or cardigan, I do not know, I just felt warm and happy.  So, you got a picture of me jumping on my owner’s back. Well, I am a circus dog. What do you expect? These days. I expect a nice meal, a warm bed, and a cuddle from my owner. Life is good now. Life is good now…

Stacey Guenther regularly posts her art, fractals, poetry and writing at In response to Kreative Kue 370, Stacey offered this Haiku.

Dog Chieftain – A Haiku © 2022 Stacey Guenther

not that way! this way!
the little dog is captain
steering the human

My effort was:


Agility training, they call it.

Apparently, they’d seen some stuff on their moving picture box; something called Kruffs or something like that; and they fancied having a go themselves.

Not actually doing it themselves, you understand; they wanted to get me to do it.

There’s no end to what some people have their poor dogs do, just so they can get into this Kruffs thing and have loads of other people gawp at them and say how clever they are to be able to train their poor pooches to do these tricks — none of which, I can tell you, have anything to do with what a dog’s supposed to do; or what we would be supposed to do if we were still wild as nature intended instead of being fed with stuff that comes out of packets and tins and spending most of our time sleeping on their sofas.

In fairness, though, a sofa beats the pants off the forest floor any day, for sheer comfort alone. They’re warmer, too. And drier. But that’s not the point. The point is this. What possible use is there in running up one side of a seesaw and down the other? Or jumping onto a table and lying still? Or weaving in and out of sticks pushed into the ground? If you can tell me how any of those things can help me chase a rabbit down his hole or extract a lizard from its hiding place… or even see off a neighbourhood cat, then I’ll gladly do the training. If not, then I won’t.

Yeah, okay. I’ll do it. But only because the big biped tells me to and he’s my pack leader. And I certainly won’t do it gladly. I’ll be moaning all the time. Under my breath, of course. Big biped pack leader doesn’t like it when I grump and snarl out loud and I daren’t upset him.

Why not? Because he is pack leader, and you don’t go against pack leader unless you want to challenge for the job. And really, do I look like I want the pack leader’s job?

Well, I don’t. Too much responsibility for a start. And; and… pack leader is responsible for securing supplies of food and everything else and that’s all geared up for bipeds. I don’t even know where these packets and tins come from. And what do they, the bipeds, eat? And where does that come from? No. I can’t be pack leader. And it stands to reason that if I can’t be pack leader then I have to do as the current pack leader says. And if he says that I have to run up and down a seesaw, then I have to run up and down a seesaw. And if he says I have to jump up onto a table and lie still, then that’s what I have to do. For treats? In part, yes, but mostly because he’s pack leader and I either obey him or replace him and I’m not about to do that!

Hold on; new order incoming. What? He’s taking the mickey, surely. Jump over the female biped, he says. Jump over her? Actually over her? Oh, she’s bending down. That should at least make it possible. Watch this, though. I’ll pretend to be confused. I’ll jump up and sit on her back. See how he likes that.

I’m not defying him, though; I’m not disobeying. Not as such. I’m just misunderstanding what he wants me to do. Here goes.

Dammit! He thinks it’s brilliant and wants it as part of the routine.

Not sure herself agrees, though…


Using this photo as inspiration, write a short story, flash fiction, scene, poem; anything, really; even just a caption for the photograph (If you are curious about what we were photographing, it was the sun beginning to set over one of the domes of the mosque adjacent to the Taj Mahal. Click here to see my effort). Either put your offering (or a link to it) in a comment or email it to me at before Sunday evening UK time. 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 time.

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