Farely was gone. They had taken him to the vet. His tail thumped on the gurney. Then it stopped. The eyes glazed, and he was gone. Dianne was surprised to find herself thinking about it two days later. She had not particularly liked the grubby old dog—he was Doug’s. But she stood at the kitchen … Continue reading Washing the Dog’s Blue Dish
This is a repost of yesterday's post. Writelee could not resist adding the word "grubby," which qualifies for the Ragtag word of the day. "Grubby" should have been put into the original. There are a few other edits. Writelee has a discomfort about this sketch and the whole series that began with "I Only go … Continue reading Feeding the Grubs at the Feed-the-Hungry Feast
When you answer all the wrong questions, they do this to you. They asked, “who was the greatest writer in the Universe?” “I am unaware of any great writers outside this solar system,” I told them. They persisted, “Who is the greatest writer of this solar system,” they said. They caveated this with, “for God’s … Continue reading Answer Correctly and Nobody Listens
“I don’t suppose anyone here has ever heard of the Olicanucian Flyinitus,” said the person we knew as Robin. Her obsidian eyes glimmered and flickered with light from fireplace and the few dim bulbs hanging from a timber beams. Outside the wind moaned through the hemlock and tamarack. Wind whipped snow pelted and shook the … Continue reading Bird Woman Speaks
The silence was deafening. Except for the whir of the wind in the grasses and the clicking of grasshoppers in their yellow flight, except for the hiss and pop of the small fire on the rock, Eric couldn’t hear a sound. The sagebrush and sweet grass fire flickered in the wind, blue and yellow, on … Continue reading The Emptiest Empty is Silence
Vardis Huntre was settling on the plot for his new historic romance. The setting would be a mining camp in the Tobacco Root Mountains of Montana in the nineteen twenties. The idea came to him as he was downing a beer in Darcy’s, a dive at the intersection of U.S 287 and Meadow Creek Road. … Continue reading Truth is Not a Good Plot
The little people were not welcome. But they came. They sat in the rocks of the Arnie’s wall, trilling and ducking into the gaps between the rocks whenever Arnie opened the door or came around the corner of his house. They had turned the gaps in the rocks into doorways to their homes. They ate … Continue reading Arnie’s Wall
Del Darlson leaned on his shovel and watched the muddied water burble across the dry alfalfa field. What it murmured he could not say, but he heard the unmistakable laughter of a certain young woman. Above him the clouds unraveled and reraveled the shape of her face, her long slender arms, an angle of her … Continue reading Maria Joseph and the Hills Like. . . .
How and why and when Jonas Ammitian caught the biggest rainbow trout in the world is in part because of the man he met in a bar in West Bench, Montana, but mostly because of the kerfuffle being made of his life at the time. Jonas was not even a fisherman. He was a plain, salt … Continue reading How Loud Does a Thirty-Two Finned Fish Whistle Blow?
The song of Ferni Diswalter’s life was like a vinyl 78 rpm record with a scratch across it. It went round and round on the turntable and kept playing the same small snatch of song over and over again. As you might expect, the snatch of lyric for Ferni’s life was from the hippie song … Continue reading After Forty-Five Groovin’ Years Ferni Diswalter Heads for San Francisco