Teeny, the small, pale chihuahua (with ears that no one knew how they fit on his head) energetically bounced up onto a bench in the dog park. He was sitting beside a much larger canine, presumably a German shepherd - Irish wolfhound mix.

“Heya Mort. Whassup?” The smaller of the two yapped, folding into a lying position.

The ragged looking canine spoke, his voice a deep rumble. “Not much.”

“Heh- you’re supposed to say ‘The Sky.’ Get it, bec- HOLY MOLY, Mort, what happened to your eye?” The chihuahua squeaked, bouncing upward in alarm.

Mort replied solemnly. “I was a bad dog, and I deserved it.” This was all he said.

Teeny kept on. “And your ear?!”

Mort spoke again, very softly. “I was a bad dog, and I deserved it.”

Once again, the little dog yelled. “And your shoulder and back!”

Again, the same reply. “I was a bad dog, and I deserved it.”

A moment of silence, and Mort stood, and began walking home.

Teeny called out. “Wait, deserved what?!” He hopped, bouncing.

“To be taught a lesson.”

————- That Night ——————- - — - —- -

Lying on the floor in a pool of blood, lights dimming, consciousness leaving him, Mort whispered very slowly.

“I was a bad dog… and I deserved it.”

. . .

—- END —-