Doggie

"Would you cut it out?" Triskit kept on yapping. "I said... STOP!" The beagle kept hopping around my legs, jumping a foot in the air and gnashing its tiny teeth. I guess she was trying to strike fear in my heart.

I put my hand on the dog's back and held it down on the ground, but it just wriggled free and continued to bark in my ear. It wasn't a deep, slow bark. That would've been easy to ignore. No, it was one of those fast, biting, loud little barks that sort of grates at your soul.

"Shut up, Triskit! Play mute, dog! Zip it!" Nothing worked. It'd been a mistake to volunteer to watch my roommate's dog while they were out of town. "Sit already! Play dead! .... Just die already, Triskit!" Still, that little beagle clung to life with a high-volume vigor that wore down what little patience I had left.

"I SAID SIT DOWN, TRISKIT!" I didn't state it. I didn't scream it. As in the traditional sense of taking in a lot of air and then forcing it out into a smouldering furnace, I bellowed those words. And, you know what? Triskit sat. Her ears were flat against her head. For a moment, I feared I might have deafened her. Guilt began to nag at the corners of my mind. I knelt down next to the dog, unsure of my next move. She got up and licked me on the nose in a sort of conciliatory way. And all was well for a brief moment, until I realized what just happened. "I SAID SIT, TRISKIT. NOT LICK."