"The vet said he was eighty-three pounds."
"He doesn't look fat."
"She said she couldn't feel his ribs but in the same breath said he looked great."
"She must have a different concept of "can't feel his ribs" than I do."
Resting on his big round dog bed, Zivon is curled up on his side like one of those 'potato bugs,' his hind feet tucked next to his front feet. He is peacefully sleeping and dreaming dog dreams. He quivers and whimpers as the adventures and players in his dreams become more and more animated. Is he chasing the local rabbits? He never catches them in real life, but all bets are off when his legs run in his sleep. His tail will tap the floor in a steady rhythm as he dreams, dreams of meeting us when we come home. I imagine that he dreams of frolicking with Molly, the black lab, and Mabel, the yellow lab. Or maybe he's trying to get Fred's attention. Fred, a border collie, is too interested in playing fetch with a pinecone and shows no interest in Zivon. He stands up in his dreams to the bull moose we saw yesterday down by the mailbox. The moose followed us for a little while, and Zivon was interested in meeting him, but the leash kept them apart.
A whisper of a W-A-L-K, and he's ready. He jumps up, leaving the dreams on the big round dog bed so he can rejoin them later.
Practice Flash Non Fiction