Sunday, December 11, 2011

A Story I Wrote When I was Nine

It was written in cursive, and went exactly like this:

"My Dog"

My dog's name is Snowy.  He is a snow dog he likes to jump and play in the snow.  He was in a sled race with some other dogs.  He was in two sled races and he won them all.  I was taking him home that night and when I was walking with him I noticed that his foot was bleeding.  So I picked him up and took him home.  I took out my first-aid-kit and put a bandage on his foot.  The next day his foot wasn't hurting him anymore.  That night he was laying on the carpet and I was sitting in my chair reading my newspaper I read an article about a sled race.  After I read about the article I read the rest of the newspaper.  And then I went to bed.  The next morning I got up and ate breakfast I gave Snowy some dogfood.  After we ate I took my dog over to the sled race.  The race was over and Snowy was sad because he didn't win.  We went back home and went to bed.  The next day we got up and ate.  And then Snowy went out to play.  He was out there for a very long time.  I went out to look for him.  When I found him he was laying down with his foot in a trap.  I put my hand up to his nose he was dead.

And the point of the story is: What in the hell was wrong with me?!


Space Hospital said...

This is the way I remember all of the Disney "Boy and his Dog" stories going, except there is usually a fight with wolves in there somewhere. This could be "Where the Red Fern Grows", but I think there's too much plot development.

Jason said...

Yeah, it's weird, but you can actually see depth in this if you look really, really hard. And back then life must've been all about eating breakfast and going to bed and dogs dying.