War Dog

Heavy bombing.

“RUN! RUN! RUN!”

Artillery pounding.

“Get out! Get Out! GET OUT!”

Snipers shooting.

“Mayday! MAYDAY! MAYDAY!”

We’re surrounded

“RETREAT! RETREAT! RETREAT!”

Where to?

“HELP! HELP! HEEL-“

Deathly silence in the bustling mists of war.

Where to go?

What to do?

When to run?

Why are we here?

Who brought us here?

Who brought me, in to this artillery cannon, in the midst of war?

who tone me away from my dog, my family, my hope, my dream and all I care about?

Breathe, Charlie, breathe.

Keep loading in that ammunition.

Fire, Charlie, fire.

Ignore the screams and pounding.

Shoot, Charlie, Shot.

Keep yourself alive.

Don’t run Charlie.

Don’t be a coward.

The Germans are coming to us. The rush of bullets.

That intense furore reminds me of something.

My dog.

He would run along with me, fire himself of things furiously, any thing.

Stop thinking of him, Charlie.

He was lost a month after I left.

The Germans are coming. The Germans are here. The Germans are right up to us.

And me, frozen, body not allowing a single step.

And the Germans, screaming, about to kill.

And a white rush of fur zooming in.

A white rush of fur knocking down Germans.

A white rush of fur that is my dog.