Short Fiction / Stories


My roommate has this rambunctious little dog named Oliver. We don’t know what he is exactly, but he has the strength of 10 elephants and the energy of 10 children at a bounce house party. He’s a rescue and a trouble maker, but he also has a touch of the separation anxiety.

Dog Shaming: 
“I thought it would be fun to dig up a sprinkler 
and then roll in the mud pit I created”
Looking fabulous!

Like all dogs, Oliver worships the ground his owner walks on. Roommate Kim is pretty much his whole life, and he doesn’t quite know what do with himself when she’s away. This was evident in the conversation he and I had when she went out of town a little while back, without clearing her absence with him first.

Our conversation is best represented in screenplay format, I believe:

Oliver: (laying on the floor outside of Kim’s bedroom door) Kimmie!!! Can you hear me? I’m here! Don’t. Panic. We will get you out. Just make some noise if you can hear me!

Me: (coming out of the kitchen) Oliver, what are you crying about?

Oliver: Oh good you’re here! It’s Kimmie. She’s trapped inside her room without me. I need you to use those magnificent opposable thumbs and open this door! Don’t worry Kimmie, we’re coming.

Me: She’s not in there.

Oliver: (looking back over his shoulder at me) What?

Me: She went out of town for the day, she’s not in her room.

Oliver: (stands and turns around toward me) What do you mean she “went out of town?” Where did she go?

Me: She just went to Canton for the “First Mondays” thing. She’ll be back later.

Oliver: You don’t know that for sure. Canton is 75.5 miles away. Anything could happen in 75.5 miles! What if she needs me….?

Me: (cracking open a coke zero) You are totally overreacting. She’s gonna be just fine. Hey look! I have your stretchy ostrich.

Oliver: Damn my stretchy ostrich! This is no time for play

Me: (squeaking the ostrich toy) Squeak! Squeak!

Oliver: I can’t believe she left me here. Alone to fend for myself. How could she do that to me?

Me: You aren’t alone, I’m here.

Oliver: (sighing) Look, Jen, don’t take this the wrong way…. But… you’re no Kimmie.

Me: (muttering) I may as well be chopped liver…

Oliver: That would actually be delightful.

Me: You know what Oliver? I don’t have to take this from you. And you didn’t get this upset when she went to Michigan.

Oliver: She went to Michigan?!?!

Me: Oh lord. No. Forget I said it. Look, man, she’s gonna be back later tonight. You’re going to sleep most of that time away anyway. Let’s just chill out, play some tug-o-war, maybe chase the laser pointer…

Oliver: (laying on his back with his feet in the air) All is lost.

Me: I know what will cheer you up. How about we watch a little Downton Abbey, huh?

Oliver: (rolling back over, one ear standing straight up) Did you say “Downton”?

Me: (Nodding and smiling with the remote in hand)

Oliver: Well I do love a good British drama.

Oliver goes to his toy box, picks out a rawhide bone and lays down on his bed. I start the episode of Downton Abbey and get comfy on the couch. By the end of the title sequence, all is calm and we’re both whisked away to turn-of-the-century England. 

This was not an exaggeration. The dog LOVES British television.
Thanks for reading!

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