O Dog Novels & Stories

Ben muttered under his breath, but Joslyn didn't seem to care the least bit as she literally jumped on me, engulfing me in a bear hug. "Oh my sweet little honey comb! My precious Doodly poo! What had that psycho beast done to you?" Yup. Definitely over reacting. And Doodly poo? Before I could even answer, Jos begin lifting my arms, turning my head this way and that as if checking for something. "He hasn't left any marks has he? He hasn't tried any shit right?" "If breaking two ribs is not considered shit then no I guess." I shouldn't have said that, not when Jos released a long wail and fell back in my arms, comforting me or getting comforted, I didn't know.

I asked as I looked at the brown dog. Lupa giggled as the brown dog looked at me with what I swore was disgust. Hey, it's not my fault that doodles have become a fad. "A Chesapeake Bay Retriever. They're a hunting dog similar to a lab, but cooler. So, where'd you find him?" Damian answered my question and repeated his own.

The smell was stronger now—unwashed fur, hunger, and exhaustion. I pushed through a final line of bushes and stopped dead. The dog was huddled near the base of an old oak. It was a husky, but she looked terrible. Her coat was matted with burrs and mud, and I could see the sharp outline of her ribs through her thinning fur. She looked up as I approached, her bright blue eyes wide with a mix of fear and defiance. She didn't run. She stood her ground, her hackles rising as she stared at the massive wolf looming over her.

The morning of our thirteenth year in Portugal begins with fog and oak at my feet. He's not a young dog anymore — seven now, quiet and steady, the way dogs become when they've learned that the world is not something to fear. His one blue eye and one brown eye watch me as I make coffee, as if he's cataloging my movements, learning my rhythms. He's nothing like Fig, nothing like Pippin, nothing like Orwell. He's just Oak. Himself. Enough.

Time goes by so fucking fast…until shit hits the fan and your own life is scattered to the wind all around you. Smoothing out my hair once again, I get out of the truck and follow Owen around the house. We enter through the garage, and a brigade of dogs comes barking as soon as we step into the house. “Easy,” Owen tells them, but his voice is lost under the scrambling of paws and excited barks. A large German Shepherd comes barreling over, nearly knocking Owen to the ground in his excitement. “Dex!” Owen drops to his knees and lets the dog get up close and personal for a few seconds. “You’re getting fat,” he tells the dog, who’s now lying down for a belly rub. “This is Logan’s dog, Dexter.”

The dog ran towards me, bobbing on his feet and hopped onto my lap and gave a friendly bark and I chuckled and scratched behind his ear. "Here boy," Ossey called and the dog whimpered then trotted away. I puckered my lips and whistled before he vanished. Well, it was a less than impressive attempt at whistling but it seemed to get the Dalmatian's attention. He came back with his tail wagging behind him and I reached down and scratched his ear again with a smile. "You can whistle?" Ossey asks shocked, "most women don't know how to." I looked up at him still scratching the cute little doggy's head.

This time Alexander curiosity was finally piqued as he raised his eyebrows and both of them gave Ash questioning looks. "So what's the full note all about, Ash?" "First off, a Donna is a title. The Donna bears a high rank in the Balck Wolf Clan world. Or maybe, just as what you said. This Donna might be the mole in the Clan. And, the note doesn't end there." Ash grabbed a piece of paper from his pocket and put it on the table. It was a piece of note where the handwriting was too similar. As if it was a part of the mysterious note.

“I can only say that things will always work out. No matter how bad it may seem.” “Thanks, Zaine. Do you have any plans for the weekend?” “I was going to my dad’s place but he had to work so it’ll be me and Oreo.” They both tilted their heads curious about who that was. “Who’s Oreo?” “That’s my dog. He’s a black and white pit bull.”