In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “A Dog Named Bob.”
I live in a neighborhood association. All of our streets are named after birds and I just happen to live on Blujay drive. One day I decided that our weathered mailbox had seen its better days. I replaced it with one of those fancy plastic ones. As I sat on the porch admiring my handiwork my daughter brought me a plate of fresh blueberry pancakes dripping with syrup. Suddenly, the neighbor’s dog named Bob came trotting by with no owner attached to his leash. He lifted his leg and pee’d on my handiwork! I was appalled and began to chase him down. Before I could get back the mailman came and dropped my mail directly into the freshly sprayed pile of dog pee. With sticky fingers and exhausted breath I leaned down and picked up my mail which now had ink running off the side accompanied by Bob’s morning water. With head hanging down I walked, defeated, back into the house to hose off the mail, take a shower and start the day over.
Donna Wells, June 11, 2015