Lizzie and her Angel

Prompt from DailyPrompt.com

I have a good life. Nobody would recognise the half-drowned puppy she fished out of an alleyway box. Now my fur is clean and bouncy, my limbs strong, my eyes bright. She named me “Elizabeth” and says we are Queen Bitches together. She also calls me Lizzy, and Lolly, and Manhunter, and Sillybilly. She calls herself Jean but to me she is my Angel.

My life is structured. Ordered. It’s comforting.

At 6:30 her alarm goes off. She snoozes it. We cuddle for ten minutes.

At 6:40 her alarm goes off again and she cusses about needing to get up and frets about being late.

At 7:00 we have breakfast. Tinned food for me, unless there’s mince left over in the fridge. She never has time to make fresh first thing. It’s fine. The tinned food is tasty. It gives variety. She has coffee and toast. I always check if she’s put marmite on it but she rarely has. None of the other toppings she likes are tasty.

At 7:15 she gets her bag and we get in the truck. She radios the night shift and we start driving the perimeter. Checking the fence. Making sure there’s no sign of breach.

If she sees something interesting we get out of the truck and I go to work. Snuffling and listening. If I find something I wuff. Not bark. We need to be quiet in case the intruder is still close. If I don’t find something I go back to the truck.

No breaches today. I whine restlessly at the window, shoving my nose into the opening at the top, and she reaches over to scratch my ears.

“Don’t worry, Lizzy.” My angel smiles pure loving reassurance. “We’ve got plenty of meat in the freezer.”

My tail beats the seat and I relax.

At 12:00 we stop for lunch. Since we haven’t caught anyone she opens the tin she keeps stashed in the truck for me. I lap up the rabbit chunks in gravy and guzzle water while she inhales a sandwich and radios the other teams. Her gun sits beside her and we both keep one ear on our surroundings.

At 12:30 she packs everything back into the truck, gets the thrower arm, and we run and play fetch. All the tension building in my limbs is unleashed in predatory joy as I chase and track and leap and retrieve.

At 13:00 the glorious fun is over and we resume our patrol.

At 15:00 our window is closed. No luck today. We didn’t catch a single whiff. She radios the night shift and we drive home.

From 16:00 is our time. As soon as we get in the door I’m whining.

“Ok, ok, I gotcha girl.” She delves into the freezer. “Need a hand?”

I bark and lap at the arm she’s dangling. She laughs and ruffles my ears. I follow close behind as she heads for the grinder.

Prompt was “Write a story about a dog who figures out their owner is evil.”

[Probably should have had more reflection and self-awareness to match the prompt. I originally had this idea of a dog having eaten enough humans to gain understanding of what was going on, but got distracted again.]