Littlefoot Feet

 

She was describing Littlefoot to friends as they were standing in the event barn, telling them that a few times she’d startled Littlefoot sleeping on the sofa, protected from dogs because the doors were closed and Littlefoot could jump over the half wall.

“About the size of a bobcat, with hind legs much longer than front legs, so it hops like a bunny unless running flat-out. Solid black, tufted ears, flat face and bright blue eyes.”

“Does it have fingers?” her friend asked, pointing at the tracks on the floor.

“Huh. Never got a good look at its front feet…”

Snake

 

He’d never really thought about snakes till he moved to Texas, where the rural farewell phrase was, “Watch for snakes!” even if you were leaving in your car.

He had a general unease about snakes. They were silent legless dinosaurs who seemed to live in an alternate universe from fish, mammals and birds.

Every time he went outside, his eyes panned back and forth ahead of him, watching for snakes, and it became second nature. He felt confident that he had this Snake Thing down.

Then the rat snake plummeted from the big oak, landing on his head and neck.

 

The Only Way Out

 

“The only way out is through” she repeated to herself over and over again.

How many times had she re-invented herself?
At least half a dozen in her 66 years on this earth.

Once per decade, give or take.

Every time she thought she had her ducks in a row and could relax, the damn ducks migrated, turned into pigeons, or exploded.

And here she was again. Bit by bit, all the things that she thought were permanent and stable pieces of her life, she was giving away or leaving behind.

“The only way out is through.”

Step by step.

Opossum

 

She shuddered as she grabbed the naked tail and tossed the motionless critter over the fence.

Her dog had grabbed the teenaged opossum and flung it into the air like a furry sock.

It lay, teeth bared, mouth open, folded over like a macabre little origami, obviously dead as dead can be.

The dog glared at her, then stared longingly at the sad pile of fur on the other side of the fence.

Later, the dog barked in alarm as the dead opossum righted itself, shook the dog slobber off of its fur, and waddled away, not even looking back.

Home

 

It had been a nice, peaceful trip so far.

With the way things were in the world, getting away from it all was a blessed relief, even if only for a few days.

Turning for home, they had a front row seat to what happened next.

The atomic explosions were visible from space, sparking up on almost every continent. There was no way anyone could have survived that.

They were silent for a few minutes, then one cleared his throat, and the other one whispered, “Well, I guess that’s that” and they turned back towards the vast expanse of space.

Owl

 

She never went anywhere without her phone, never.

But she was only going out to the car for her sweatshirt, and the yard light was bright enough.

Taking the dozen steps to her car, she stopped on step eight.

There was an owl on the fence next to her car.

He swiveled his head and stared at her with his amber eyes.

“Stay right there! I’ll be right back!” she whispered and trotted back into the house as quickly as she could without startling the bird.

Almost tiptoeing back outside, she slowly raised the phone’s camera.

The owl was gone.

Book

 

The book glared balefully at her from the countertop where she’d left it.

Just because it didn’t have eyes didn’t mean it couldn’t glare, because that’s what it was doing- she could feel it.

Always a supporter of independent authors, she’d picked it up at a little independent bookstore in West Texas.

The premise of the book was intriguing and she’d had high hopes for it, but when she started reading it, her hopes dropped with a moist “plop” onto the floor and oozed their way under the table, embarrassed.

It. Was. Bad.

But she could never throw it away.