My dog impatiently asked me when my next top mystery books would be coming out. I perked up and said, “Soon, maybe early next year. Why? Are you eager to read it?”
He answered that he wasn’t but just wanted to know when to leave the planet.
“Listen Dog,” I replied sarcastically, temporarily forgetting his name, as is my tendency when I’m upset. Indeed, I can’t remember the last time I did use his name. “They have Amazon in Outer Space as well,” I continued, “in fact I know it’s on Venus, so you can’t escape my literary fiction books.”
He told me I was full of hops.
I stormed off to the kitchen to prepare myself some coffee, fed up with being treated in such a derogatory manner. He followed, but in demonstrating what a good sport I can be, I offered him a cup. He accepted while reminding me that he likes plenty of milk added – a minimum of three-quarters of a cup. I silently thanked my good fortune he preferred his coffee in this way, saving us considerably in our coffee expenses at the grocery store. Of course, we also average six hundred dollars a week in milk.
I brought him his coffee and we both sat at the dining room table. While I drank mine, I gazed out the window at our neighbor’s house. I wondered to myself if they were in the market for another dog.
My ungrateful K-9 sipped from his concoction briefly before complaining to me it was too cold. I graciously offered to put it into the microwave for him, but he declined, saying he was accustomed to my semi-suppressed hostility. He then asked, “So, where’s the chick?”
“If you’re referring to my wife,” I ferociously snorted, “she’s at work and will not be home for several hours.”
“Oh.” He nodded in contemplation while taking another sip. “I just need some things thrown into the wash. She enjoys doing it for me, so I thought I’d throw her a bone.” He followed my gaze out the dining room window and asked, “You think the neighbors want another dog? Wouldn’t hurt to ask them.”
Insulted as I could be, I demanded, “How can you think of such a thing?” before vaguely recalling I had been thinking of exactly such a thing.
He replied he was simply making conversation, then mentioned he had read my short story, The Ticket.
“Well, what did you think of it? I mean, I realize it’s short, only about five thousand words. That’s why it’s free. But, um, did you enjoy it? Maybe you thought it was too short.”
He said he thought it was too long, by about five thousand words.
I jumped to my feet in exasperation. “I don’t get it! Why on earth does everybody hate that book?”
He said that not everybody hates it, just those who have read it. “I hear they love it on freakin’ Venus though.”
I immediately felt better.