At Large

at largeI pretend fate is a dog. Not a Retriever. Nor is fate a working dog; fate has never worked a day in its life. And not a Shepherd or a Dobie. Fate doesn’t bark at mailmen or catch Frisbees.

Fate is a simple dog, bored, just wanders in, and leaves without a stir. Sometimes fate grunts, but doesn’t growl when I tenderly kick to see if it’s awake.

And because it’s a dog, it makes cocked faces when I ask it why, why?

So I put the bowl of water on the porch. In the morning it’s always gone.

Barret Warner’s stories have appeared in Quarter after Eight, Berkeley Fiction, Gargoyle, Phoebe, and other places.

Photo credit: Mark Strozier

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