Flash Fiction, Writing

The Church Grim

I was the best guard dog in my life, so naturally, they gave me the job. My owners were sad when I died. I heard them weeping as I lay on the ground after getting hurt from the coyote that was going after our chickens. I fought it off with all my might. I think I injured him, too. It hurt too much to move. I wanted to lick them to tell them I was okay. I did my job. I was a good dog.