My dog snores. Correction: my wife’s dog. Wheezes and whimpers while breathing taking cat naps by my side or at my feet. I wonder what a blind dog dreams of—what does she “see?” Besides “mom,” we share diabetes. A diabetic dog! Who’d of thought. She has her food-shot-treat routine at 7’s. My job is to guide her to the grass and back and retrieve what she leaves behind. She navigates the familiar with minimal nose bumps. She naps beside me. I close my eyes and sleep-walk through a shot of new at dusk and dawn looking to avoid nose-bumps.

[exactly 100 words]

Inspired by

Modern Love in miniature, featuring five reader-submitted stories of no more than 100 words.

1 thought on “Nose-Bumps

  1. 100 words about my dad.
    I love my dad. He writes stories about and poems about his diabetic dog and life and putting salt on the tails of birds and how many books it takes to get the knowledge to reach the moon. He is a storyteller, funny, youthful and amazing. He currently is missing a gallbladder but maybe his other organs will play nice, so get the memo pancreas! Organic fruit seems to be the ninja food needed for a recovery and rest and cat naps with the diabetic dog on a couch that has been hope chested to me. I love my dad.

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