"Hey, are you alive?" I barked. "How'd you get down there? What's the meaning of life?"
"What has gotten into you?" Einstein snatched up my leash. The camera dangled from a strap around his neck. "Bad dog, Meat Head. Bad, bad dog."
Using both of his hands and all his strength, my human dragged me away. Just before the hole disappeared out of sight, an arm punched free of the soil. It was dirty and stark against the blue sky.
Ooooo scary. (I'm being sarcastic in case you didn't know.)
It would be twenty-four hours before I met my first zombie. In the meantime, Einstein spent the whole trip back to the car, quite a walk as it turned out, repeating, "Bad dog, bad dog."
"That's annoying," I barked. I was trotting beside him down the main trail, tail waving like a flag.
As we rounded a curve and the parking lot came into view, we encountered an attractive couple (by human standards), the guy muscular and tall, the girl curvy but slim. They stopped to ask about me, commenting on my size and how beautiful and well-behaved I was. Einstein frowned at this last bit. He explained that I'm only good when I want to be. This is true; I run the house.
Laughing, the couple continued down the trail holding hands, and, unaware that Einstein had lingered to watch them, kissed gently. My human's shoulders sagged, and he turned back to the car dragging his feet. Over the last year or so, he smelled lonely and sad every time he saw a couple. Loneliness smells a lot like moldy bologna. I sneezed.
"Don't be sad. You have me as a friend," I woofed.
Einstein's mouth twitched, almost smiling. He patted me and then trudged across the parking lot to a green station wagon, lowering the tailgate and slumping onto it. I jumped up beside him and licked his face to let him know I still loved him even though he had interrupted my digging. Human skin often tastes like soap or moisturizer. (Have you ever tried to eat that stuff? Well, I have. Trust me when I say it's not very tasty. That doesn't mean I won't eat it. I'll eat anything.)
I also took the time to investigate the camera around his neck. It smelled like a camera.
"What have you been in?" Einstein pinched his nose. "You stink like a ten-day-old roast stuffed with rotten cottage cheese."
"Don't I smell goooood?"
"When we get home, you're getting a bath."
"Don't bet on it." I walked a circle, messing up my blanket until it was piled just right. I dropped into the middle. Einstein shut the tailgate, got into the driver's seat and pulled onto the road. "Don't forget to roll the window down," I barked.
As the air began to blow, I had what we dogs call a conundrum. Dogs will know that conundrum means a tough decision. Did I stick my head out the window or go to sleep? Was there a way to do both at the same time? After much thought—ten seconds—I stretched my neck out like a giraffe, laid my head on the rim and closed my eyes.
Meat Head the Worst Dog in the World will be posted here in easy to read increments. Read for oldest to newest if you haven't been following along.
Can't Wait to find out what happens next?