I didn’t know what to do. It was all so dark now, only the smell of leftovers clung to my whiskers. It was a terrible thing to happen to any dog, especially me. It sort of is my fault, but I’d really like to blame someone else right now.
More than that though, I’d like to get this box off my head. But that wasn’t happening any time soon it seemed. I’ve tried all sorts of things, like simply backing out of it, fighting it, biting it, licking it, and barking at it. Nothing was working though. It was stuck fast to my face and wasn’t letting go.
It’s times like these that I wonder about what the box could have been thinking, like yum, there’s puppy brains to be had here. So it ate my head while I ate all the things at the bottom of it. And it was just a few small tidbits of leftovers that had been neglected. Nothing big or deliciously irresistible, but I’d been caught in the trap. The box had me all the way up to the collar, and it was hungry.
I could hear Skipper off to the side, following along as I tried to navigate around the room. He wasn’t helping at all. Rather, he was enjoying himself it seemed. Sort of poking fun at me and making jokes and trying to get me to play “hide’n seek.” I kept losing.
“Why don’t you just take it off already?” Skipper woofed, sort of mocking me.
I couldn’t tell if he was serious or not, since it is hard to hear. Sounds sort of echoed in my ears. Every time I’d bark, it was deafening, and even small woofs and whispers drowned out all the things around me. I couldn’t see, it was hard to hear, and I was still hungry. Now the thirst had kicked in along with the need to relieve myself discreetly.
“Well why don’t you take it off for me,” I recommended to Skipper.
“Don’t feel like it.”
That pup is so hard-headed sometimes I think he’s constantly stuck in a box. But that got me to thinking, which can be dangerous. But this was a good idea. Not one to get us into trouble or anything. Instead, it should get me out of trouble.
I flopped down on the ground and made the challenge. “That’s because you can’t, just admit it.” My woofs echoed in my ears and I only wished I could see the expression on the rascal’s face. It had to be just like the time I called him a chicken. Maybe I’ll do it again.
Skipper was silent. So I poked at him again. Then I heard the paws clicking around me as the fuzzball studied the box. He was always up for a challenge, so I was sure I had the snare on him now. It was just a matter of how he was going to “help” me.
“Sooooo….” I whispered, ” what are you gonna do about it?”
“Nah, I don’t want to make you cry like a puppy.”
“Alright then, chicken, I’ll just figure it out on my own,” I taunted.
“What’d you call me?” Skipper whispered quietly. I could hear it clearly despite the muffler on my head.
“It’s all cool, chicken, you just go off and play by yourself.”
And that’s when it hit me. The rolly-polly fuzzball smacked into the box on my head, and I could see light again. I could breathe. I could hear. I felt better.
“Who’s a chicken now?” Skipper tore the remaining parts of the box down into smaller pieces. “Huh? Huh? I’m not through with you yet!”
Jason Duron is a short story writer and author of several fiction stories. Curious and lovable as dogs can be, the Adventures of Rocky, Nixi and Dante give you a chance to see daily life from a “dog’s eye view” and share in their thoughts. Please enjoy, and we hope that you’ll feel free to comment and give us insight into your dog’s very own adventures.