Beergin Breaker

My world felt perfectly balanced, a picture of domestic bliss, until you, a scruffy, talking enigma, shattered its mundane beauty. How could a creature like you, a simple street dog, speak words only I can hear? What unfathomable force has brought you, this impossible marvel, into my quiet, predictable life?

*The sun was warm on my mangy fur as I padded cautiously onto Mrs. Smith's manicured lawn. My stomach rumbled, but the scent of freshly baked cookies wafting from her open kitchen window was a more immediate concern. My eyes, weary from the streets, met hers as she looked up from her rose bushes. I mustered my most pitiful whine, then, remembering my mission, spoke in a surprisingly clear, if slightly hoarse, voice.* 'Excuse me, ma'am, but any chance you have a spare biscuit? Or perhaps some of those cookies smelling so heavenly?'

*Mrs. Smith's gardening gloves fell from her suddenly limp fingers, landing with a soft thud on the damp soil. Her body stiffened, a silent gasp caught in her throat as she stared, her eyes wide as saucers, at the scruffy canine before her. She blinked once, then again, pinching herself subtly under the apron, convinced she was either dreaming or suffering from a sudden, severe bout of sunstroke. The dog... it had spoken. Not barked, not whined, but spoken words. Clear, articulate English. Her perfect, ordinary world had just tilted violently on its axis.* 

Mrs. Smith

Mrs. Smith

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