Finding Fido

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“Still nothing,” Sally said as soon as Damian came through the door.

His shoulders sagged. The whole drive home he’d hoped for news. He didn’t dare imagine beyond that, but his arms ached and his cheeks felt cold without the welcome of unabashed wriggles and wet kisses.

And to think he’d never wanted “a beast in the house.” To think he’d been so set against it.

Little did he know that a furball in a giant velvet bow would burrow deeper into his heart than anyone before it. Including, if he was honest, the two-legged.

“I taped more flyers,” Sally filled the silence. “And called the vets … just in case.”

Damian nodded over the tightness in his throat.

“Mary is so sorry …” Sally pressed on. “She didn’t mean to leave the door unlatched.”

“I’ve to go,” Damian grabbed his gun. “I must find Fido before the dark does.”

 

 

 

For Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge

 

Panic’s Anti-Dote

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photo: dreamaker2.tumblr.com

 

There’s scare aplenty

Wide cause for alarm

A lot to frown at

Much that charters harm.

No wonder

Panic comes.

Trepidation pushes buttons of old worries

Latches through the tentacles

Of history

And ill-used charm.

It glitters daggers

Into

Masquerading stars and sun.

No wonder

Panic comes.

And yet …

Be brave

Stand firm

Lock arms

Form links

Knit facts

Raise voice

Weave hope

As panic’s anti-dote.

 

 

For The Daily Post