Our Turn

“He should be fine, now, OK?” Brandy says, handing Oscar back to me. The little jerk immediately puts his paw on my boob and sits up, which he hasn’t been willing or able to do in a week. “He just needed some doggy chiropractic lovin’.”

“Great, thanks, Brandy. How much do I owe ya?” Not that I care, since it’s a tax writeoff anyway. All the money I spend on the rescue dachshunds, that’s an above the line deduction. Plus the whole thing got easier when I started working for Chiaroscuro full time instead of Caliginosis. Holly loves having the pups in the office, says they calm everybody down. Not that anyone needs calming but Cali.

Continue reading


Five crows sit, watching me count. Twenty-nine, and twenty-nine again. I’ve become obsessed with the missing piece. Does it matter? Twenty-nine will have to be enough. Surely the potter can want no more than that for my lonely corner of his field.



Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 54 other followers