| Writing Fiction posted March 9, 2017 | Chapters: |
...7 8 -9- 10... 
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Just a short story about my furry friends
A chapter in the book 2018 Bernie and Howie Stories
Bernie and Howie
by Mustang Patty
Bernie started his day the way he always did. First, he stood up and placed his front paws out in front of him with his rump in the air. Having stretched thoroughly, he set about his second chore of the day.
Waking up the Mistress was easy enough. Nuzzling up to her face and licking her eyelashes always did the trick. The big brown eyes peeking at him from her face were warm and full of good humor.
"Good morning, Bernie. Did you sleep good?" Bernie answered with a thump of his tail on the bed. "Are you ready for your morning treat?"
At the word "treat," Bernie turned in circles. His antics disturbed his sleeping brother, Howie, and he could hear a low growl. Howie isn't a morning dog.
Throwing the covers aside, the Mistress swung down her feet and slid them into her slippers. Jumping from the bed, Bernie rushed her tiny feet and pretended to grab them with his teeth. While he played, he made a low moaning sound – his version of a growl.
Bernie's tawny and silver body rushed to the kitchen where the treats were kept. All twelve pounds of his furry form stared intently in the direction of the morsels of goodness. His feet were prancing in anticipation of his morning goody.
Never one to disappoint her furry babies, the Mistress fished two treats out of their container. Both dogs knew they needed to behave before they got their goodies. Approaching the dogs sitting obediently, the Mistress doled out the tidbits like a Priest giving communion. She waited for a reply to her request to 'speak,' before dropping each biscuit.
Howie's much better at obeying commands than Bernie. Waiting for the Mistress to comment on this, Bernie hung his head. Two years younger than Howie, he hadn't gotten the strong discipline given to Howie when he was the only pup. Besides, there were just too many rules about barking. They were asked to 'speak' for a treat, but they were hushed when they barked at a knock on the door.
The cuckoo announced the eleventh hour of the day, and the Mistress settled on the couch. She spent most of the morning doing her chores. Bernie watched with mild interest as she flitted from one room to the next. He wasn't entirely sure why she couldn't spend more time with him, but she seemed intent on loading the white whirling machines with clothes, and the pull-down silver thing in the kitchen with dishes.
But now that she was on the couch, Bernie could get some serious cuddling in. He inched his way from his perch on top of the couch's back to sit next to his Mistress. Her hand absent-mindedly rubbed his head and he couldn't think of anything better. Moving close to her side, he curled up and lay with his nose on his tail. It was time for a serious nap.
The rap rap on the front door had both dogs up and barking. With a harsh "No," the Mistress went to see what was making the sound. She pulled open the door to discover a small box on the doorstep.
It seemed to take forever to Bernie. She went and got her box-cutter thing, and slit the blue package tape. Rustling through the packing paper, she pulled out a container. It was more doggy treats! What a lucky little dog he was.
Bernie started his day the way he always did. First, he stood up and placed his front paws out in front of him with his rump in the air. Having stretched thoroughly, he set about his second chore of the day.
Waking up the Mistress was easy enough. Nuzzling up to her face and licking her eyelashes always did the trick. The big brown eyes peeking at him from her face were warm and full of good humor.
"Good morning, Bernie. Did you sleep good?" Bernie answered with a thump of his tail on the bed. "Are you ready for your morning treat?"
At the word "treat," Bernie turned in circles. His antics disturbed his sleeping brother, Howie, and he could hear a low growl. Howie isn't a morning dog.
Throwing the covers aside, the Mistress swung down her feet and slid them into her slippers. Jumping from the bed, Bernie rushed her tiny feet and pretended to grab them with his teeth. While he played, he made a low moaning sound – his version of a growl.
Bernie's tawny and silver body rushed to the kitchen where the treats were kept. All twelve pounds of his furry form stared intently in the direction of the morsels of goodness. His feet were prancing in anticipation of his morning goody.
Never one to disappoint her furry babies, the Mistress fished two treats out of their container. Both dogs knew they needed to behave before they got their goodies. Approaching the dogs sitting obediently, the Mistress doled out the tidbits like a Priest giving communion. She waited for a reply to her request to 'speak,' before dropping each biscuit.
Howie's much better at obeying commands than Bernie. Waiting for the Mistress to comment on this, Bernie hung his head. Two years younger than Howie, he hadn't gotten the strong discipline given to Howie when he was the only pup. Besides, there were just too many rules about barking. They were asked to 'speak' for a treat, but they were hushed when they barked at a knock on the door.
The cuckoo announced the eleventh hour of the day, and the Mistress settled on the couch. She spent most of the morning doing her chores. Bernie watched with mild interest as she flitted from one room to the next. He wasn't entirely sure why she couldn't spend more time with him, but she seemed intent on loading the white whirling machines with clothes, and the pull-down silver thing in the kitchen with dishes.
But now that she was on the couch, Bernie could get some serious cuddling in. He inched his way from his perch on top of the couch's back to sit next to his Mistress. Her hand absent-mindedly rubbed his head and he couldn't think of anything better. Moving close to her side, he curled up and lay with his nose on his tail. It was time for a serious nap.
The rap rap on the front door had both dogs up and barking. With a harsh "No," the Mistress went to see what was making the sound. She pulled open the door to discover a small box on the doorstep.
It seemed to take forever to Bernie. She went and got her box-cutter thing, and slit the blue package tape. Rustling through the packing paper, she pulled out a container. It was more doggy treats! What a lucky little dog he was.
Waking up the Mistress was easy enough. Nuzzling up to her face and licking her eyelashes always did the trick. The big brown eyes peeking at him from her face were warm and full of good humor.
"Good morning, Bernie. Did you sleep good?" Bernie answered with a thump of his tail on the bed. "Are you ready for your morning treat?"
At the word "treat," Bernie turned in circles. His antics disturbed his sleeping brother, Howie, and he could hear a low growl. Howie isn't a morning dog.
Throwing the covers aside, the Mistress swung down her feet and slid them into her slippers. Jumping from the bed, Bernie rushed her tiny feet and pretended to grab them with his teeth. While he played, he made a low moaning sound – his version of a growl.
Bernie's tawny and silver body rushed to the kitchen where the treats were kept. All twelve pounds of his furry form stared intently in the direction of the morsels of goodness. His feet were prancing in anticipation of his morning goody.
Never one to disappoint her furry babies, the Mistress fished two treats out of their container. Both dogs knew they needed to behave before they got their goodies. Approaching the dogs sitting obediently, the Mistress doled out the tidbits like a Priest giving communion. She waited for a reply to her request to 'speak,' before dropping each biscuit.
Howie's much better at obeying commands than Bernie. Waiting for the Mistress to comment on this, Bernie hung his head. Two years younger than Howie, he hadn't gotten the strong discipline given to Howie when he was the only pup. Besides, there were just too many rules about barking. They were asked to 'speak' for a treat, but they were hushed when they barked at a knock on the door.
The cuckoo announced the eleventh hour of the day, and the Mistress settled on the couch. She spent most of the morning doing her chores. Bernie watched with mild interest as she flitted from one room to the next. He wasn't entirely sure why she couldn't spend more time with him, but she seemed intent on loading the white whirling machines with clothes, and the pull-down silver thing in the kitchen with dishes.
But now that she was on the couch, Bernie could get some serious cuddling in. He inched his way from his perch on top of the couch's back to sit next to his Mistress. Her hand absent-mindedly rubbed his head and he couldn't think of anything better. Moving close to her side, he curled up and lay with his nose on his tail. It was time for a serious nap.
The rap rap on the front door had both dogs up and barking. With a harsh "No," the Mistress went to see what was making the sound. She pulled open the door to discover a small box on the doorstep.
It seemed to take forever to Bernie. She went and got her box-cutter thing, and slit the blue package tape. Rustling through the packing paper, she pulled out a container. It was more doggy treats! What a lucky little dog he was.
 Recognized |
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Bernie is the star of this story, but I will probably write another story from Howie's point of view later. I really don't know what I would do without these little guys in my life. Though I'm blessed with a wonderful family, my hubby works - sometimes out of town, and the children both live far away. The boys are my constant companions.
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