The Best Day by S. Usher Evans

This month's guest author, S. Usher Evans, shares a touching story with us. Grab a tissue. Hug your dog. 

"A dog has the best day of his life."

***

I had the best day ever today.

I awoke between my mom and my dad as I had since I was a puppy. I crawled in-between them and lay my head on my mom's chest. She scratched my ears and told me I was a good boy. Dad asked if I needed to go outside, and I wagged my tail. I followed him outside where I peed on my favorite bush. Dad asked if I wanted to get the ball—I always want to get the ball!—and he threw it and I brought it back to him as many times as I could.

I smelled breakfast and Dad took me back inside. Mom was in the kitchen, my favorite place, at the place that made the good smells. My bowl was empty, and I sat by it, hoping Mom would see that I was hungry, too. My eyes widened and my tail thumped wildly when she brought a plate of yummy yellow food and red strips to the floor.

"Good boy, Bernie," she said, and I attacked the plate. It tasted so good—the yellow food was hot and delicious and the red strips salty and crunchy. I finished my plate in a matter of seconds, and Mom laughed and gave me more.

My stomach was so full of good things I laid down and smiled. Mom said, "I love you, Bernie" and I kissed her face. She tasted a bit salty, so I made sure I cleaned her up. She smiled and laughed, and I had done my job. She rubbed my belly and my ears and I was happy.

Dad announced we were going for a walk and I sprung to my feet. Dad got my leash and tried to put it on, but I was so excited that I nearly knocked him over. He hooked the leash to my collar and I flew to the door, the long strip flowing behind me. I waited impatiently for Mom and Dad to join me—they are always so slow—and when they were ready, we left the house to the smelly-ful world outside.

It wasn't hot, but my tongue hung out of my mouth in excitement. I was on a walk, and walks meant new smells and new things to pee on. I marked every tree that smelled like something else.That's my job, you know, to show where I have been. Mom and Dad were patient and stopped every time I did. They smiled down at me and told me I was a good boy.

When we arrived at the park, Dad took off my leash and let me run. My favorite place was the pond. I could splash in the water and chase the flying things all day. One of them was large and snapped at me, so I ran back to Mom and Dad who laughed so hard they cried.

I met two new friends—Zoe and Pepper. They wrestled and tumbled in the cool grass and let me chase them. I was tired from running, and I could not keep up. Mom and Dad came to get me and told me it was time to go home. I wagged my tail—I loved going home, especially when Mom and Dad were there with me.

When we got home, I took several gulps of water and lay on the couch. Mom sat next to me and rubbed my ears and my belly, calling me her "sweet baby boy." I made sure to give her lots of kisses, she sounded sad and it was my job to cheer her up. I climbed on top of her and gave her all the smooches I could give, until she was red-faced with laughter.

Dad made chicken for dinner, and I was allowed to have my very own piece! I gobbled it up as quickly as my breakfast, and asked for more. Dad gave me his food and told me I was a "good boy." I had never been so lucky to have chicken and potatoes, but I didn't care for the green stuff. Mom gave me a cold peanut butter chewy after, and I licked and gnawed at it to my heart's desire. My tail thumped happily on the ground, and Mom and Dad laughed until they cried.

I smelled a new person at the door. She came in with a bag and a sad face, and Mom started crying. They spoke words I didn't understand, but I heard my name. Mom and Dad came over and sat down next to me. Mom was crying, and I lay my head on her lap, licking her hand. Dad rubbed my ears, and I saw he was crying too.

"I love you, Bernie," Mom said, kissing my forehead.

"You're a good boy, Bernie," Dad said, rubbing my belly.

"I love you, too," I said through my eyes. "Thank you for the best day ever."

***

If you want more feels-inducing work, check out S. Usher Evans' stand alone fantasy story, Empath.

Author Bio

S. Usher Evans is an author, blogger, and witty banter aficionado. Born in Pensacola, Florida, she left the sleepy town behind for the fast-paced world of Washington, D.C.. There, she somehow landed jobs with BBC, Discovery Channel, and National Geographic Television before finally settling into a "real job" as an IT consultant. After a quarter life crisis at age 27, she decided consulting was for the birds and rekindled a childhood passion for writing novels. She sold everything she owned and moved back to Pensacola, where she currently resides with her two dogs, Zoe and Mr. Biscuit.

Evans is the author of the Razia series and Empath, both published by Sun's Golden Ray Publishing. 

Orion's Dog

Sirius rises late in the dark, liquid sky

On summer nights, star of stars,

Orion's Dog they call it, brightest

Of all, but an evil portent, bringing heat

And fevers to suffering humanity.

Homer, The Iliad

***

Sirius A (white star on left) and Sirius B (blue star on right)

***

Lady Jane Blackmore crept down the darkened hallway, her hand fisted around her father’s pocket watch. It was one of a handful of his possessions that she retained, the remaining items having been sold off to cover his debts when he passed.

Penniless and orphaned, Jane had almost been forced to the foundling hospital. But, she was saved from such a travesty by her father’s dearest friend, Lord Wickware. For eight years, Lord Wickware treated her as a member of his family, and not a mere responsibility or a burden. She was greatly grieved by his passing last year, for he had become a second father to her.

Now she was the ward of the new Lord Wickware, Nashland, the boy she regarded as a brother. In her mind he would always be Nash, her playmate and co-conspirator in childhood pranks. Now he was her provider and protector. At least until a suitable marriage was made, or until three years hence when she reached her majority.

She hoped her lack of dowry would allow her to remain single until reaching her majority, having no wish to enter a loveless marriage. Not that she opposed marriage, mind you. But the one she longed longed to marry would never do. It would be a scandalous affair, one that must be avoided.

Banishing her wayward thoughts aside, she slid the watch into the pocket of her borrowed trousers praying no servants, or worse Nash himself, would see her attired thusly. Her steps light, she inched past her guardian’s room and hurried to the stairwell leading to the attic. Breathing a sigh of relief that she remained undetected, she climbed the stairs, stepping over the squeaky third step so as not to disturb the household.

In the attic, she climbed the short set of stair leading into an window enclosed cupola. After his father’s passing, Nash had ordered this room built. He drew the designs himself, claiming he needed a place to observe the heavens without obstruction from the trees surrounding the country manor.

Tables were pushed against the east and west windows allowing for maximum light while compiling notes and making drawings of Nash’s scientific observations. On the northern wall, a ladder led to an unenclosed observation deck where only a waist high railing surrounded the platform that sat four stories above the ground.

Moving to the east windows, Jane set the paper and charcoal beside a handheld telescope that lay on the table. When Nash first showed her the device, she had thought it a spyglass, as it looked similar to the one of her father’s that sat on the shelf in her bedroom here at the manor. Jane picked up brass tube and tucked it into the pocket of the borrowed trousers she wore. Satisfied the instrument was secure, she continued on with her task.

Jane had never been atop the cupola without Nash. Until tonight.

She nimbly climbed the ladder, pushed open the trap door, and stepped onto the flat, slate roof. Outside the air was still and quiet. And warm, as an August morning should be. It was too dark to see, but Jane knew a haze filled the air. One always did during the sultry days of summer.

With a shake of her head, she banished her drifting thoughts and set about her work. Dawn would break soon, and her chance to spot the constellation she sought would vanish.

Her heart filled with memories of happier times, she withdrew her father’s pocket watch from her pocket. With the time noted, she allowed the watch to dangle from its chain, knowing she would need to lift it quickly. Hands steady, despite her proximity to the edge, she raised the telescope and focused on the eastern sky near the horizon. A blurred white dot glowed against the deep blue of the pre-dawn sky. Her fingers gripped the tiny dial on the side of the contraption and moved it in tiny increments until the dot became a star. Not just any star, but Sirius. Orion's Dog. Omen of evilness.

Or so the unlearned believed.

Jane believed it a coincidence that Sirius’ rise afore the sun was followed by hot and humid days. Nor did she attribute the stormy seas, the spoiling of milk, or the madness of creatures, dogs most especially, to the Dog Star. If Nash had taught her anything it was that there must be a logical explanation.

When the star was swallowed by the glow of the rising sun, she grabbed the chain of her watch and lifted it, noting the time once more. With a sigh, she returned both the telescope and her watch to her pockets.

She took a moment to enjoy the sunrise, awed at the beauty as the horizon blazed red. The red faded to orange, which melted into a pale yellow as the sun itself lifted into the sky, bathing the world in its light.

“Jane! What the deuce are you doing up here?”

She started at Nash’s voice, so transfixed by the sunrise that she hadn’t heard him approach. He wrapped a strong arm around her waist and pulled her close to his muscled body and away from the perilous edge of the roof.

“Steady. I have you.” His breath trickled over her ear and she shivered. “You are right to be afraid,” he scolded. “Once we are back inside we will discuss your transgressions.”

Jane jerked free from his grasp and spun toward him, glaring. “I am not afraid, Nash.”

His gaze raked over her and her cheeks heated, knowing she had broken many of society’s rules this morning. He lifted a brow and pointed at the ladder. Without a word, Jane huffed out a breath and climbed back inside with Nash following close behind.

Nash secured the trap door before descending the ladder into the cupola. “Now Jane, shall we discuss your sins?” He didn’t wait for her to respond before listing her faults. “You were on the roof. Unchaperoned. Wearing my old clothes.”

She lifted her chin and ticked off her answers on her fingers as she spoke. “You were sleeping and I did not wish to wake you. None, save yourself, have seen me dressed thusly. Wearing your discarded trousers seemed safer than attempting to navigate the ladder in a skirt.”

Nash’s lips quirked in a semi-smile and a chuckle escaped him. He schooled his features and his gaze bore into hers, suddenly quite serious. “Well, I can see you are not the least repentant for your misdeeds. Tell me Jane, was your disobedience worth it?”

Jane dropped his gaze for a moment, then looked him dead in the eye, excitement bubbling up inside. “Sirius rose afore the sun this morn. We are still in the Dog Days.”

“Do not be ridiculous. You know as well as I that the Dog Days are mere superstition.”

“Truly?” Jane smiled. He had taken her bait as expected. Now if she could get him to commit to more. “Then why do we not prove it superstition. Perhaps you can discover what causes the days to be so warm, if it is not the heat of Sirius combining with our very own sun.”

“It would take more equipment than I own to prove that, Jane. However, there are some other myths about the days we can put an end to, if you so wish.”

Jane nodded, pleased to have any excuse to spend more time with Nash. “I so wish.”

“Excellent.” He grinned. “But first, you must change into proper clothing and fetch your maid. If a prospective husband learned of our time alone, and your manner of dressing as a boy, it would be scandalous.”

“Only to you.” Jane rolled her eyes. Sometimes Nash was too much a stickler for society’s rules.

“Although we were raised as siblings, we are not flesh and blood, Jane.” He grasped her elbow and ushered her toward the door, “I am your guardian, and an unwed male. Society would damn us both. Now change, gather your maid, and return here. I will have Cook send up breakfast for us and we shall begin breaking the myths of the Dog Days.”

***

While mulling over this month's topic, I wondered where the phrase "dog days of summer" came from. So I did some research and learned it came from the belief that when the constellation Canis Major rose before the sun, the star Sirius adding its heat to our son, making the days hotter and people and animals act in odd manners. Of course, this set my mind off and running about a girl coming of age, raised by a guardian-with whom she was in love- who dabbled in the sciences of astronomy and weather.

***

Twisting tales one story at a time. 

YA author Mary Waibel’s love for fairytales and happy-ever fill the pages of her works. Whether penning stories in a medieval setting or a modern day school, magic and romance weave their way inside every tale. Strong female characters use both brain and brawn to save the day and win the heart of their men. Mary enjoys connecting with her readers through her website: marywaibel.blogspot.com

***

Into the Fire: A Super Villain Academy short story by Kai Strand

Crime does pays and crime costs.

“Dogs? Dogs I got.” –Mystic from King of Bad

***

Source

“Stay!” Wilson yelled.

The whirring of helicopter blades approached the field. All sixty of his dogs sat in a circle around the outer edge of the field.

“Staaaay!” the man croaked again, always accompanying the verbal command with the hand signal.

Fur stirred as the helicopter descended. None of the dogs even looked at the copter overhead.

“Good.” Though he knew they could no longer hear him, the canines’ behavior encouraged Wilson.

Ears bent or flapped under the force of air and still not a single dog budged. Wilson was just about to curve his lips into a craggy smile, when seven of the dogs bolted.

“Ah!” He flapped his arms in frustration and yelled obscenities at the retreating dogs regardless of the fact he couldn’t be heard. The woman had specified she needed all of his dogs to tolerate a helicopter. She was paying him enough money for him to make sure all sixty complied.

He hobbled over to the copter, its twirling blades still pushing an excessive amount of air toward the grass. He stood next to the open door and, using hand signals, called each dog over. One at a time the dogs ran to the door, hopped into the craft and then back out again, returning to his or her place in the circle. All but those last seven who had retreated toward their kennels near the house.

By the time he’d made his way around the circle, the sun was beginning to set. He gave a thumbs-up to the helicopter pilot and limped toward the house as the craft lifted off. When he could finally hear his labored breathing instead of the thumping of the blades, he issued two short whistles to release the fifty-three dogs still sitting at attention. A cacophony of barking and yipping erupted behind him as the dogs fell into their usual happy canine frolicking.

God, he loved these animals.

His oldest and most loyal dog, Wingman, trotted up beside him. Wingman wasn’t the first dog he’d trained. Far from it, but he was currently the oldest in a long line of specially trained canines. Wingman pranced beside him, head and tail raised high, his graying black muzzle opened with a pleased grin, knowing it had been a good training day.

“We need to bring those last seven pups along, Wingman, old boy.” Wilson scratched the dog’s forehead as they walked. “Will you help me?”

Wingman’s only response was to let his tongue loll lazily out of the side of his mouth.

“How are we gonna do that?” The stooped, old man patted Wingman on the forehead before hobbling up the hill to the house. The young dogs that had deserted their post sat in a line at the top of the hill, no doubt waiting to slobber their apologies all over Wilson when he got up there.

“I’m running out of time,” Wilson huffed to himself. “How am I going to break these dogs in a week?”

Wilson thought back to the most difficult dog he’d ever trained. A hound mix with a thick skull. Nothing resembling sense made it into that noggin’. Not without a fight. He’d been about to give up on the dog completely and drop him off at the pound when a fire broke out in the kennels. That dog had employed every single trick and agility Wilson had taught him to break the rest of the dogs out of their kennels. He’d single-handedly—or single-pawedly—saved all forty-five dogs in the kennels that day. The next day the danged mutt went right back to completely ignoring commands. But anytime he was out on assignment, he was an ace performer. First dog on the scene. Fastest in the pack.

Grunting with the effort to limp uphill, Wilson eyed the line of deserters again. Maybe it was time to throw them into the fire – per se.

After feeding the dogs and performing the never-ending task of picking up poop, Wilson selected twelve dogs to spend the night in the house. He always took twelve dogs inside with him. Settled in his favorite leather armchair, with his feet propped on a footstool and his dogs reclining around him, Wilson sent a quick email to the helicopter pilot asking him to bring the Black Hawk the next day. Wilson was going to need something big.

In the morning, Wilson fed the seven troublemakers in their kennels. Twenty minutes after they ate, he let each one out so he or she could do his or her business, then put them back in their kennels. The littlest one, an American Bulldog name Trixie, was already staggering. Wilson gave her a good scratch before closing her inside. “You just take a little nap, Trix.”

He didn’t like to dope his dogs, and in a case like this kept the dosage very light. But he couldn’t have the dogs panicking and hurting themselves, so it was easiest to make sure that when things got going, they just didn’t care what was happening.

When the pilot arrived with the big Black Hawk, Wilson asked him to turn off the rotor. Once the craft was quiet, he loaded the seven kennels, occupied by drowsy dogs into the helicopter, then climbed aboard and sat next to the pilot.

“Okay, let’s take them up.”

The pilot’s mouth was pinched with concern. “You’re not gonna toss them out or anything are you?”

“No, of course not. But if we don’t get in the air before they start coming around, my plan will be ruined, so let’s get this thing up.”

The pilot handed Wilson a headset to wear. When the rotor started spinning, Wilson understood why and secured the noise canceling headphones over his ears.

The pilot’s voice was clear as a bell through them. “Looks like you’ve got some jittery ones back there.”

“Yep, but it won’t last forever,” Wilson replied.

The pilot reached over and pulled a microphone down until it sat flush with Wilson’s mouth.

“Oh, sorry ‘bout that.” Wilson chuckled and then repeated his original reply.

The pounding noise of the helicopter pulled the dogs out of their stupors. A couple dogs sat up straighter with their ears alert. Most jumped to their feet and wobbled with each shift in direction the chopper made. Whenever Wilson saw a dog bark he made the hand gesture for them to quiet. At first he must have looked like a man afflicted with palsy—his hand was flopping around so much—but eventually the dogs stopped. After a while all dogs even laid down. A few rested their chins on their paws and dozed.

Wilson turned a pleased grin on the pilot. “I think we can land again. Keep the rotor on though while I let the dogs out.”

The pilot nodded and banked toward the large grass field behind the big stone house.

Wilson let those seven dogs spend the night inside. Each dog had made him proud by jumping fearlessly out of the helicopter, retreating to the ‘circle’ and sitting at attention until he had released them long after the helicopter left.

All sixty dogs were finally ready. For what, he had no idea. His business was training special ops dogs. What people did with the dogs when they were out on contract was none of his business. As long as the dogs didn’t get hurt. Most important was that they came back alive.

Thinking of the sum of money the woman was going to hand him when she showed up made him feel twenty years old again. He cackled giddily. Wingman, who was curled next to him, sat up and rested his chin on the arm of the chair.

Scratching between the dog’s eyes, Wilson wheezed. “We’ll be able to retire, old boy. I’ll finally be able to repair this drafty old manor and still afford to feed all of you for the rest of our lives.”

Wingman huffed and licked his lip.

“You would’ve been proud of them, Winger. The seven did good work today. I threw them into the fire and they all came out of it all right. Almost as good as that old hound. You woulda liked working with him. He coulda been your general.”

Wingman sighed and lay back down again. Wilson dreamed of spending the rest of his days just like that. Him tucked under a flannel blanket, Wingman content at his side. Yep, one last gig.

Six days later, an impossibly tall, unreasonably gorgeous, young woman showed up to collect the dogs. Wilson was as impressed with her set up as he was with her. There were a dozen non-descript black vans with two handlers per van. After a short lesson in the basic hand signals, the dogs were loaded into clean kennels.

“I’ll have them returned to you by the weekend.” The young woman handed over a box filled with cash. “I put in some extra for your discretion.”

“Discretion is all a part of it girly.” Wilson all but drooled on the box. But then a burst of fear erupted inside his mind. It disappeared as quickly as it came, but it scared the day lights out of him nonetheless.

“Girly?” The girl’s voice was a lit fuse and she was the bomb. “Don’t be so derogatory.”

“Okay.” Wilson nodded. “My apologies.”

He wasn’t even sure what he was apologizing for, but the young woman was terrifying when she was angry; sharp angles and shadows and harshness. Her anger dropped away and once again she was stunning. Wilson blinked. Maybe he’d imagined the transformation.

He spent the next three days roaming around his huge, quiet house. He cleaned the kennels every day, even though he didn’t need to. He bleached the concrete pad the dogs used as a latrine, and hosed it down over and over again until even he could have eaten off of it.

He was never so happy as when the twelve black vans drove up his long driveway. He hobbled out onto the front porch and waited as the handlers let the dogs out of the vans. The dogs looked good. Healthy. Happy as ever. Except…?

Wilson lumbered down the steps, his gaze sweeping over the dogs. They were moving too fast for him to get a head count, but…

“Where’s Wingman?” he asked the nearest handler.

The man turned toward Wilson. “There were three casualties. The young lady extends her most sincere apologies and assures you she did her best to protect the dogs. They went out honorably.” He handed Wilson a large manila envelope. “Though it will not replace your dogs, the young lady hopes it will help ease your suffering.”

Within minutes, the vans rolled down his driveway and disappeared around the corner. Wilson collapsed onto the steps; tears leaking down his face, a wail of pain escaping his mouth. His fifty-seven dogs gamboling around him like a pack of puppies.

But the most important dog, his favorite dog, Wingman, was never to return again.
***

This story is a supplemental short story to Kai's Super Villain Academy series. It takes place between King of Bad and Polar Opposites. Kai will be making an exciting announcement regarding King of Bad soon. Join her mailing list so you don't miss out.

***

When her children were young and the electricity winked out, Kai Strand gathered her family around the fireplace and they told stories, one sentence at a time. Her boys were rather fond of the ending, “And then everybody died. The end.” Now an award winning children’s author, Kai crafts fiction for kids and teens to provide an escape hatch from their reality. With a selection of novels for young adult and middle grade readers and a short story blog, Lightning Quick Reads, Kai entertains children of all ages, and their adults. Learn more about Kai and her books on her website, www.kaistrand.com.

August Theme: Dog Days

Here in the United States, we are in the dog days of summer. Those long, sultry days of heavy heat and swarms of mosquitoes. This is the time of year when we start dreaming of falling leaves and pumpkin spiced everything. We fan ourselves with the electric bill and think about decorating for Christmas, or better yet - ice skating. Those of you in the southern hemisphere who typically experience the oppressive heat of summer in February and/or March, might even be yearning for the return of skin baking sunshine.

This month, our theme is Dog Days. Though the inspiration for the theme is the common phrase I used above, you never really know how our Lightning Quick Reads authors will interpret it, do you? Which is exactly what makes this blog so much fun! So grab a large glass of ice cold lemonade and enjoy a month of Dog Days.

As extra added fun, we'd love for you to share a picture of your dog(s) with us. Current family pet or a beloved pet who has frolicked over the rainbow bridge, post the picture on our Facebook page or tweet the picture, but in either case use the hashtags #LQR and #DogDays.