Free write 1/4/21

Outside rain came down. It fell in sheets and wind howled about the man’s head, pushing back his hood.

He walked with purpose toward a slow-moving river. A ferry dock was on its bank and in the doc was the smallest ferry. its total capacity was five cars, given their size, and it had no engine or motor but was instead pulled from one side to the other by a winch that pulled a large chain bolted to the hull of the ferry.

The ferryman looked across the river and saw the headlights of a car shimmering through the rain. He sniffed and smelled desert sands and humid air, and knew he’d have to turn them away, no matter who they were.

Still, he climbed the stairs to the cockpit and stepped into the cabin and out of the rain. He pushed the buttons and swiveled the nobs that would release the ferry from the dock and with a grown and buck the ferry began to inch across the slow river, that, despite the wind, had not a ripple upon its surface.

Within minutes he was to the other side.

He walked briskly to the car, noting that its engine was running. It was cold out, there was no doubt of that. When he got to the car, a man rolled down the window.

“How much to cross?” he asked in English.

“No crossings tonight,” said the ferryman.

“What?” asked the Englishman as though he hadn’t heard. “But we have reservations just across the way.” He pointed as though to his accommodations.

Freewrite 10/26/20 (Demon Dog continued)

Of course, at the time, we didn’t know Demon Dog urine was the most potent acid this world had ever seen. But now that I do know it, I make sure to be attentive when she’s inside or at a dog park, or in the car–or pretty much anywhere.

But that first time in the garage of my parents’ home, the spot where she peed hissed and smoked and ate right through the concrete floor. I was little, so I didn’t really understand. But once they made sure the puppy was safe for me they picked it out of the little cage they’d wrapped around the spot in the garage. I remember how snuggly it was. Sure, Demon Dog might sound like a dog that isn’t really a dog and more of demon, but, to tell you the truth, Demon Dogs, and puppies especially, mostly behave like regular dogs. The only difference is the consequences of them biting people. . . well–I’ll get to that.

We named her Ashley, and for a couple years everything was pretty great. Sure, we’ve have slip-ups. Like when I was carrying her when she was sitting on my lap when I was 4 and she was asleep and just couldn’t hold it in. Only a drop or two came out, but they left my favorite sweatshirt ruined. Then, there was a the time she wandered into dads office. I was probably 10 by then, and Ashley was 7 in human years and 49 in dog years. She closed the door on herself and couldn’t get out. She’s always been smart. You can see it in here eyes and brows when she’s trying to puzzle something out. The way she looks at things from different angles. Regardless, nothing she could do in my dads office could make up for a lack of apposable thumbs. She went crazy. Started chewing on just about everything within reach. When we found her, we didn’t find the cords to the computers mauled through, or my dad’s filing cabinet dented. No. We found ash. She was still chewing on the leg of the table when we opened the door. As we watched, the table slowly turned to ash in her mouth and she let it fall on the ground. The whole office looked as though it had spontaneously combusted, but without spreading to the rest of the house.

Free-write, 5/29/20

If you’ve grown up without a demon-dog, I envy you. I didn’t know it was such a rare thing back when I was a kid, but apparently little girls and some little boys grow up without a demon-dog, but with just normal dogs. That doesn’t seem fair to me–but there you have it.


So, you might be askin’ yourself what’s a demon-dog and how did I, of all people, get one? After all, I’m just a normal person, like you or your mom, or your granddad, or you best friend. Yep. I’m just like you. The only difference other than that, is I have a demon-dog.

Here’s some history–and this is only stuff I learned after-the-fact.


Demon-Dog: A Demon-Dog is born just as any other puppy is. The first Demon-Dog was born during the Spanish Inquisition in Granada, Spain. Nobody knows why, but there are some pretty good guesses. Like, all the horrible torture and death and persecution drew a Demon-Dog to the mortal plain, I guess. And once there was one Demon-Dog puppy here and it discovered how fun and chewy everything is, well–more followed, I guess.


My Demon-Dog came on Christmas. Fitting, right? I was young then, like a little kid full of bright eyed curiosity and my parents put a bunch of presents under the tree that night–but they weren’t for me. They’d thought it’d be funny to make me open a bunch of dog toys and be confused–they’d never mentioned getting a dog and I just looked at the ropes and chewies and asked them what they were for and they told me they were good to play with and chew on so I put the rope in my mouth and they told me to shake it so I did and it wasn’t very fun and hurt my jaw a little bit so I took it out and put it down and started to cry because all I wanted was a body paint set so I could paint myself pink like a Tiefling like the one daddy played as with his friends every Sunday. I wanted to be a Tiefling child so bad and have little horns and pink skin and a devil tail. . . I know–I know. Maybe I deserve my lot.


Anyway–after all the dog toys had been opened, which included a dog bed that was way too large for a puppy but much to small for me, and that my parents told me was MY new bed and made me try to lie down in it, they told me to go out to the garage. I did and they followed as I waddled along and they opened the door for me into the lit garage and there she was. My puppy. My Demon-Dog, though I didn’t know it yet. She was cute and stinky, because she had peed on some puppy pads and I didn’t notice or understand by my parents were a little confused how her urine had melted the pad through and even made holes in the concrete.