Brutus stretched his neck turning it first to the right and then the left. Then he rolled his shoulders, and finally he worked his back- stretching his spine disc by disc.
He licked his lips, sighed, and closed his eyes. Life was good. He wished he had taken a drink before going to bed, but he was too tired to get up and remedy his mistake.
He’d had a good day. Other than his brief encounter with that pesky squirrel, he’d had a good day. Granted, the squirrel was good looking- especially when the sun backlit his tail… gold-plating each fine hair. And yet, aside from the fact that the squirrel was a fine specimen of his kind, Brutus despaired of the squirrel’s behavior.
If the squirrel wasn’t digging in the garden, he was emptying the bird feeder. Sunflower seeds chock-a-blocked his cheeks. And if that wasn’t enough, Brutus could have sworn that the squirrel had winked at him. Talk about adding insult to injury! The squirrel was too smug… too full of himself.
As Brutus fell into sleep, his dreams took a sinister turn.
If you had seen Brutus, curled up on his doggie bed, his legs twitching, his lower lip a-tremble, you never would have guessed that in his dream, he was calling a meeting. All the other dogs on the block were coming. The squirrel’s days of winking were numbered.