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 —-