101 Reasons to Hate Dogs

with thanks to Bill, Bob, and Dodie

 

“Not to state the obvious,” Selina said, “but I don’t really do dogs.”

Bruce’s mouth tightened—not a smile; never a smile. The German Shephard at his feet let a strand of slobber patter onto hundred-thousand-dollar loafers.

“It’s one night,” Bruce said. “I’ll be back from Santa Prisca in the morning. I see no reason why you can’t—”

“I can think of a hundred reasons,” she said. “One: It smells.”

“He doesn’t smell.”

Selina’s lips curled. “And you don’t think it’ll raise any eyebrows?” she said. “Me, traipsing around with Batman’s dog?”

“Batman doesn’t have a dog,” he said. “Bruce Wayne has a dog.”

“How the hell is that better?” she asked.

Bruce kneeled, scratching the dog behind one ear. “Ace is a good dog,” he said. “You could just stay in with him tonight.”

Selina snorted.

“You do realize who you’re talking to, right?”

“Ah.”

“Bat,” she said, and bent to face him.

Gray eyes locked onto green. “Yes, Cat,” he said.

“Because I love you, I will be a dog person for twenty-four hours. That’s what a saint I am.”

“Hn,” he said.

A sudden wetness at Selina’s fingertips: the animal, slurping. She shuddered but didn’t withdraw. “Reason Two,” she said. “The licking.”

“Cats lick.”

“Yeah, but you don’t need a mop after.”

“Thank you, Selina.”

“Mmm.” She stood. “And I promise if anything happens, I will not replace your dead dog with a lookalike and pretend nothing happened.”

Bruce held out a black leash. “I’d know,” he said.

“Right,” said Selina. She took the leash.

“World’s greatest detective and all.”

Continue reading “101 Reasons to Hate Dogs”

Wholly Original Work

11/9

This morning I’m pouring sugar into my coffee and stuffing my fat dumb face with frosted donettes when old Bill Sluice from HR comes up to me. He says, hey Drew, got a newbie in an entry level position, down in Plagiarism. Seeing’s that’s your old stomping grounds, he says, figured you might show her the ropes.

I go: But I’m in Infringement now.

Don’t matter, Bill says. With Marcia out on mat-leave someone’s gotta show her the ropes.

What are these ropes? is what I say. I worked in Plagiarism sixteen years, I don’t remember any ropes.

Bill goes, Very funny—you don’t think I heard that one before? She’s at the front desk and I told her you’re on your way.

I went to the front desk.

She was there, like Bill said. Continue reading “Wholly Original Work”

Doctor Kenworthy’s Jell-O Girl

At some point the orderlies had had to tranquilize Ameer. Not that he remembered the struggle—yanking tubes from his arms, attempting to bust his leg cast with a bedpan. Letting the Get Well Soon balloons out the window. Days later he awoke in his lumpy recovery bed for the second time. He whispered now what he’d screamed then.

“No, no, no,” he said. “Nono.” Continue reading “Doctor Kenworthy’s Jell-O Girl”

Taken Root

TAKEN ROOT

Ryan E. Felton

FATHER

Charlie didn’t like it at all when we told him they were building a new house on the vacant lot.

He loves to play out there, you know, with the neighbor kid. Tall grass and rock pits and ditches for hide-and-seek. Big hills to tumble down, dirt clods to throw, lots of space to ride bikes.

But now they’re gonna mow it down, pave it, put more houses back there. I’m a little sad, too. Continue reading “Taken Root”

Now Available: The Man Who Ran for God

My novel, The Man Who Ran for God, is now available for purchase.

TMWRFG_facebook

This story was born here on this blog, posted in first-draft increments for the better part of 2017. Now it’s been edited, rewritten, and improved in a published form.

Enjoy—and remember, Amazon reviews are always helpful and always appreciated!

—R