Story prompt: The story’s protagonist is female and a shopkeeper. An dog plays a significant part in the story. The story is set on a dock in the industrial age. The story is about doubt.
Sylvia looked around the shop. No one left. Good! She went to the front and locked the door, turning her sign to indicate the shop was now closed. Then she went to the back room and traded her apron for her coat and hat. She tucked her reticule under her arm, took one last look around and headed out the back door, locking the door behind her.
It was a pleasant spring evening, so she took the longer route home that took her past the docks. As she ambled along enjoying the warm spring breeze she pondered on her life. She had a small pleasant apartment facing the river that she shared with her mother. Her mother would have dinner piping hot and waiting for her when she got home.
She paused on a bridge to admire a tall ship sailing into port. The crew looked so tiny in the distance as they scrambled to furl the sails. She continued across the bridge to the dock. She waved to the harbormaster and to the stevedores she knew as she passed.
Commotion just ahead along her path caused her to wonder about its source. Shouts and curses and a couple started screams seemed to be making a beeline for her location.
Stop him! Get him! Quick!
Then she watched as several people seemed to be upended and dropped on their keisters.
Oh! Oooh! Ouch!
Then she saw it. A small dog no more than a foot high was running and dragging a rope behind. She paused and then instinctively stooped down holding out her hand. With her other hand she felt in her pocket for a piece of cookie she’d plucked from the barrel as she was tidying up the shop. As the pup suddenly turned and ran straight to her, she held her ground with her eyes cast down so the dog would know she meant no harm.
The brown and black mutt slowed in its tracks and suddenly its tail was wagging so hard the dog seemed to be dancing.
Come here, she coaxed. I’ve got a treat for you.
The pup finally reached her and hesitantly took a bit of the cookie. As she was looking it over, she determined it was a female and appeared to have been through some hard times with multiple scars and matted fur that was partially worn off around her neck by the thick rope tied around it.
Just then a man burst through the edge of the crowd nearest her. He was panting and sweating profusely. When he saw the dog he advanced slowly as if hoping to surprise her. Sensing his purpose the dog ran behind Sylvia’s skirts and cowered.
“You there! Gimme back m’ dog!”
“Pardon me, sir, but how would I know it was your dog?” she inquired sweetly.
The man paused, surprised by her forwardness. Then sputtered, “Whadaya mean how’d you know the bitch is mine?”
“O’ course she’s mine, I’m chasin her ain’t I? Who else would chase her mangy carcass this far?”
“Well sir, many people have reasons for chasing dogs and not all of them are because they own the dog.”
“She took my blasted sausage!”
“That fact does not imply ownership, it merely implies a possible encounter over food.”
What is her name?
‘What!? Are you crazy?! Gimme my dog!”
No, she said simply. I have no way of ascertaining your ownership and you appear to mean this poor mongrel harm. If she is indeed your dog, you must have named her?
Why would I bother naming that bitch? She’s a worthless mutt! Now, gimme my dog!
“No,” Sylvia replied calmly.
The man started sputtering and appeared to be considering lunging for the rope, but Sylvia held her ground and the crowd around her watched curiously.
A voice in the crowd hollered.
The man glanced around at the growing crowd and reconsidered. Tucking his shirt back into his pants and pulling his belt back up he, grunted and turned. “Aaah you’re right, she’s a worthless bitch – she’s all yours,” he mumbled as he stomped off.
As soon as he was out of sight, Sylvia bent down and picked up the rope.
“Well, Dolly, I guess we can go home now.”
And they turned back toward the apartment.
With thanks for the story prompt to The Speculative Fiction Muse http://www.katfeete.net/writing/specfic.php
And to my writing partners, Mary C Sutton and D Anthony Brown danthonybrown.me for the support and the laughs.
What do you think? Did I honor the spirit or the letter of the writing prompt? Enter your thoughts in comments below.