Tagged: stories

Transdogrification?

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“Oy!”

“What?”

“I was happy down there. What’d you pick me up for?”

“Wow! A talking frog.”

“Who are you calling a frog?”

“You; who else?”

“Well, I ain’t a frog. Never have been, never will be.”

“To quote the duck test – If it looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck, then it probably is a duck.”

“Say what?”

“You look like a frog, move like a frog—”

“But I don’t croak like a frog.”

“Two out of three ain’t bad.”

“What are you quoting now?”

“Meat Loaf.”

“You are quoting your lunch?”

“Of course not. Meat Loaf is a singer.”

“Now I know you’re crazy. You’re quoting a sewing machine.”

“Not a Singer sewing machine, a singer – someone who sings songs.”

“Yeah. Bored. Put me back down.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Firstly, because I’m about to cut the grass and I don’t fancy having to clear up a shredded frog.”

“I AM NOT A FROG.”

“Are so.”

“Am not.”

“Have you looked at yourself? How can you not be a frog?”

“You don’t know much beyond what you see with your own eyes, do you? What’s that by my back leg?”

“That little green patch?”

“Exactly.”

“I’ve no idea. A leaf?”

“No. It’s part of me and it’s what tells you that I’m not an actual, natural frog.”

“How does it tell that?”

“Duh – real frogs don’t have a green patch.”

“So, let me get this right. You’re not a real frog, so that means that if I kiss you…?”

“You’ll probably end up with warts on your lips.”

“Hah! Got you. It’s toads that have warts, not frogs.”

“Yeah, whatevs.”

“So, if you’re not really a frog, what happened?”

“Not what you read in the story books for a start. Not with me, anyway. I was working at the airport when this geezer comes along with some kind of gun I’d never seen before and ups and shoots me with it. I went over and when I got up – BAM. Suddenly I’m a frog.”

“So before he shot you, what were you – a man or a woman?”

“Neither. I’m a dog.”

“A talking dog?”

“Bite me.”

“Yeah, I can see the headlines – man bites dog.”

“Look. I enjoyed a connection with my handler that was as close to speaking as you can get. We communicated mind-to-mind, like I am to you now.”

“Okay, I’ll buy it. So. In real life, you’re a dog?”

“Yes. A police dog. A good one, too.”

“German Shepherd?”

“What else?”

“And your name? No, don’t tell me, let me guess. Prince? Ha ha ha.”

“No, Princess.”


This was written in response to Kreative Kue 206 published on this site recently.

Kreative Kue 206

Kreative Kue 205 asked for submissions based on this photograph:
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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.

Gone Girl by John W. Howell © 2019

“Papa come quick. Someone has taken Seal.”

“What do you mean taken?”

“She and I were minding our own business, and this brute of a man came and grabbed Seal.”

“Can you take me to him?”

“Of course. Follow me.”

“Not so fast, Angel. I’m more than twice your age.”

“Okay, here we are. Look down there.”

“Oh my gosh. He has her in his hand.”

“I know Papa. I think he might crush her.”

“I wonder what he intends to do. I’ll tell you this though. If he harms one feather on her head, I’m coming for him.”

“How about us taking a pecking run at him.”

“He might harm Seal.”

“I think we could surprise him.”

“too risky. I’ll fly down and see if there is any negotiation possibility.”

“Be careful Papa.”

“Pssst. Seal can you hear me?”

“Oh yes Papa, I can. Where are you?”

“I’m just behind the giant’s head where he can’t see me. Are you all right?”

“I’m just fine. The giant has some delicious seed.”

“You mean you are not a hostage?”

“No. I’m sitting on his hand eating some seed. He came to where Angel and I were playing and put out a finger. I hopped on, and here I am.”

“Can you fly away?”

“Of course.”

“Then do it.”

“And give up this seed?”

“For heaven’s sake, I’ll get you all the seed you want. Just come home.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Okay then. Let’s go home.”

“You ought to be spanked, young woman.”

“Why?”

“I told you never talk to strangers.”

“He’s not a stranger. He lives here and puts out seed for us.”

“Still, humans are hazardous animals.”

“I thought he was sweet.”

“That’s cuz you’re an innocent bird.”

“You know humans eat birds don’t you?”

“Ew. They do?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry Papa I won’t do it again.”

“That’s my girl.”

“Papa?”

“What, dear?”

“What kind of birds do humans eat?”

“Those big old chickens and Turkeys.”

“Ew. Let’s get home so I can take a bath.”

“Come on Angel we need to go home.”


Daima Hussain is co-author of Charda Suuraj, a blog that aims to represent Pakistan culture from real Pakistani viewpoint (and features some delicious Pakistani recipes, too).

The Bird and his Man by Daima Hussain © 2019

“Where on Earth did you get these ghastly clothes, Westley?” The man addressed his query to the bird on his hand. He glanced down at his attire with a grimace of disdain. “Oh, the things one must suffer in the name of king and country.”, he sighed melodramatically.

“Oh, shut it Knightley, at least you didn’t have to transform into a bird. And those clothes will make you blend in with the locals.” The bird replied in a posh tone, looking irritated (if is possible for a bird to look irritated).

At this Knightley smirked and agreed, “At least there’s that. How the mighty have fallen! However are you managing Westley? Stonlak told that the time he was transformed to an eagle, his feathers itched terribly. But then again, at he was an eagle – a noble bird – not a sparrow.”  He sniggered, taking mean-spirited amusement in his colleague’s discomfort.

“This form is best suited to the mission objective Knightley, I am not a man who shirks his duty. And may I remind you that I am your superior on this mission, please treat me with the respect due to my station.” Westley replied stiffly.

“At least I didn’t get my position on the Force handed to me on silver platter due to my status of birth. I was promoted to Force Captain on my own capabilities.” Knightley sneered, an ugly look full of both disdain and envy on his face.

Westley the bird, was interrupted before he could defend himself, as at that moment, a disembodied voice spoke up, “T-minus 5 minutes to deployment, Agent Alpha, Agent Beta, report position.”

Immediately the man and bird seemed to come to attention, all traces of irritation or anger gone from their postures. The bird replied first, “Agent Alpha, Codename Westley reporting, code delta-1b48723I489632, ready for deployment, Sir!”

The man followed, “Agent Beta, Codename Knightley reporting, code delta-8h9564E4329795, ready for deployment, Sir!”

The voice replied, “Area is clear, no hostiles, primary scouting was a success, target is at Theta position. Agent Westley, you know your duty. Agent Knightly, do not interfere with the primary objective, observation only.”

The man and bird stood in complete silence as the time ticked down and soon the command was issued.

“Deploy.”


 

Meanwhile, my effort was:

A bird in the hand…

I found this little bird
And I know it sounds absurd
But I caught her eating berries from a bush
She pooped when I first held her
I could tell the fruit was elder
By the colour of what came out of her tush

She’s a black cap, I can see
Juvenile, she has to be
Yes, I know that by the colour of her head
It’ll go black when she’s older
Just the top, not from her shoulder.
If I’d left her in the tree she might be dead.

I grabbed her on a hunch
That the hawk was after lunch
Did I say a hawk was clearly on the hunt?
Some words I mustn’t use
So a better one I’ll choose
Let’s just say a rescue seemed well worth a punt.

I’m aware I’ve saved her bacon
By the chance that I have taken
But I must decide what we should do with her
If it’s safe to set her free
Then I think we’ll all agree
I should do it now, and not succumb to dither.


DSCF0811aOn 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 keithchanning@gmail.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.

Kreative Kue 205

Kreative Kue 204 asked for submissions based on this photograph:
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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.

The Door by John W. Howell © 2019

“Shush.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to determine what is behind the door and I need to listen with no noise from you.”

“All I was doing was breathing.”

“You were snoring.”

“Was not.”

“Please hush now.”

“Okay, but I don’t hear anything.”

“From where you are I’m not surprised.”

“I’ll have you know that Russell Terriers have a very keen sense of hearing.”

“Blah, blah, blah. Now be quiet.”

“Oh.”

“What now?”

“I hear something.”

“Yeah sure, you do.”

“I do. I wish the folks were at home.”

“Why?”

“What’s the use of barking if there is no one to hear.”

“Says the terrier philosopher.”

“I mean it. Maybe we should put up an alarm anyway.”

“I wish you would be quiet.”

“Fine.”

“I think it is a wolf.”

“Yeah right?”

“I’m serious.”

“I’m staying in this bed then. You go get him.”

“You know I can’t open doors, right?”

“Then let’s just wait until he goes away.”

“Not very dog-like.”

“But no one will know if we bark.”

“The wolf will.”

“Good enough for me. Here goes.”


Meanwhile, my effort was:

The waiting game

“What’re you waiting for, Eos?”

“Mum’s gone out. Just waiting for her to come back again.”

“Did she say how long she’d be?”

“She said something to the boss.”

“What?”

“How am I supposed to know? I don’t speak human, do I?”

“Neither do I, but I can usually guess. And I know some words.”

“Like what?”

“Well, there’s no; and in. Oh, yeah – and oy. And I know that when she says Trevor in a harsh voice I’m in trouble, but when she says Trev-Trev there’s usually something to be had.”

“Yeah? I suppose we do know a few. When the boss says right then, I know it’s time for a walk—”

“And dinner…”

“Of course, Trev. And dinner. I think that means the same as breakfast. But not sweeties. But that doesn’t help me to know how long she’s going to be gone.”

“She shouldn’t be all that long.”

“Hope not. Boss isn’t as generous with the sweeties as Mum is.”

“Let’s talk about something else, shall we? Take our mind off missing Mum.”

“Okay. What?”

“When are you going to get your hair cut?”

“Soon, I hope. I wish I was like you – short hair, easy to manage—”

“True, but yours keeps you warmer in this cold weather, and helps you stay cool when it’s hot outside.”

“Provided there’s a bit of wind, yes, it does. But look at it. It’s less than an hour since the boss brushed me and it’s gone all naff again.”

“It wasn’t before you started licking, scratching and rolling.”

“I had to. I hate the way it feels when it’s all been brushed. Can’t say I’m over-keen on how it looks, either. It’s not natural.”

“Let me get this right. You don’t like it when it’s tidy…”

“True.”

“And you don’t like it when it’s not.”

“So?”

“Can you see the problem there?”

“No problem. I don’t like it. I want it short, like yours.”

“I don’t think you can have it like that. Your sort was bred for mountainous places. I wasn’t.”

“So, what?”

“So your fur is designed to keep you warm in winter and cool in summer. You’ve got layers. I haven’t. If you had it cut short, you’d probably overheat in summer and freeze in winter.”

“You’re a fine one to talk about over-eating. Why do you suppose the boss calls you porky?”

“Overheat, not overeat, Dumbo. Anyway, what’re you waiting for?”

“Mum’s gone out. Just waiting for her to come back.”

“Did she say how long she’d be?”

“She said something to the boss.”

“What?”

“How am I supposed to know? I don’t speak human, do I?”

“Neither do I, but I can usually guess. And I know some words.”

“Trev, do you ever get the feeling you’ve had a conversation before?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“Have you ever thought about having your coat trimmed?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Fair enough. Le’s have a sleep. Maybe Mum will be back when we wake up.”


Dad067aJPGOn 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 keithchanning@gmail.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.