Work Title



Mary Ann Malott


The mid-afternoon sun gleamed against (he double French doors at the side of the bungalow. The bright sunlight touched the dulling blue rug in rectangular slits through the venetian shades and changed it for a moment into a sea-blue hue. A gangly pup sprawled as close to the sun as possible, her ears a golden mass of curls dragging the floor and her mitten-sized paws tucked around her. The only movement was a stub of a tail twitching back and forth. In one sudden motion, she bounded at the doorknob and made the metal shades come with a deep clang against the wood of the door. "Mary Ann, your dog wants out," a voice called from the basement. The dog hunched on her long hind-legs and knitted her droopy forehead into the yellow wrinkles. She finally spoke with a hushed "wuff," which was answered with "Mary Ann!" from the basement. I came from the front room and looked at my pup squatting there.



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