Zoey

Zoey Writes a Short Story

In All About Me, Being Cute, Dog Writing, Shelley Widhalm on September 2, 2012 at 11:30 am

Zoey the Cute Dachshund is hard at work at writing a short story. She doesn’t type the normal way, as you can see here.

As the cutest dachshund who can read and write, I figured it’s about time I tell a short story about myself.

I think I’ll write in first person, or first dog, using “I” and “me.” I’ll tell a story with a single plot and theme, a couple of settings and a few characters, though I will preside as the main character, or the protagonist.

Here goes:

Hello there, readers. I am a cute dachshund …
No, that’s not going to work, how about:

With paws on the car window, I wag my tail as we approach the yellow house with the big yard.

“Ready to see grandma?” Shelley says, lifting up the stick thing to make the car stay still.

She opens the door and I jump out and run toward the street.

“Stop!” Shelley yells, and I stop.

She runs to me, swings me up and smothers my cute face with kisses. I had been exploring, but the way she goes on and on, you’d think I’d done something naughty.
“You scared me, little girl. There was a car, and you don’t even know what cars are.”

Why should I?

I stop traffic, at least the kind that goes by on foot. I like to wag my tail to indicate my presence and welcome pets from passersby as I’m on a walk or sitting with Shelley at a coffee shop.

Shelley shoos me inside and I run down the hall to kiss Grandma, or Second Mommy. After that, I go outside to explore the backyard, where there’s a section of missing fence blown over by a windstorm. I don’t go beyond the line in the grass differentiating theirs from ours, because I’m a good girl.

(I know, I know. There isn’t any conflict in my story, but just wait …)

Actually, I’m a good girl only up to a point, because I have a penchant for barking, even at the big dogs and, most certainly, at cats.

My friends in the yards on either side are out, and I bark really loud to say “hello.” I bark and I bark, and they bark back. And then I have to quit barking when Shelley rings the bell (as if bidding me home for dinner, but I come anyway, knowing I’ll get a treat).

I want to stay outside and rule the neighborhood, but Shelley and her mom are leaving me all alone while they go have coffee. It isn’t fair, but how can I tell them that when they give me an extra special treat? A piece of doggie beef jerky.

I plop down and chew.

I’ll just have to save my bad girl barking for later.

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