Dogs of War: A Ghost Story- First half of the novella

DOGS OF WAR

By

BRADLEY CONVISSAR

Wattpad Edition- First half of the novella

This book is a work of fiction. 

All characters, events and situations in this book

are purely fictional and any resemblance to real

people or events is purely coincidental.

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Copyright 2011 Bradley Convissar

Cover design by Bradley Convissar

The cover is a derivative of the photo “you are way too close” by blhphotography at Flickr, used under Creative Commons 3.0 Attribution License

http://www.flickr.com/photos/blhphotography/520468588/

When Caroline and I divorced six months ago, she tried to take Molly away from me.  Not out of any innate desire to possess the eight year old daschund, mind you; she just wanted to keep the dog from me because she knew how much I loved the old girl.  If left to my ex-wife, I had no doubt that Molly would soon have found herself back in a rescue shelter not much different from the one we saved her from two years ago. 

*****

When Caroline and I married and finally moved from a small two bedroom apartment into a modest house, I was intent on finding a daschund, the comical and diminutive breed I had grown up around, to share our home with.  And I didn’t want a puppy.  I wanted to save one of the poor souls that had been mistreated and abandoned by negligent, abusive or stupid owners.  We drove two hours to the nearest daschund shelter and rescued Molly.

Daschunds, like many dog breeds, have their fair share of breed-specific health problems, issues which are often ignored or dismissed by their owners and can eventually lead to a broken animal.  With their long bodies and short legs, daschunds are susceptible to severe spinal and disc issues if not protected from their own energy and vigor.  No jumping on or off couches or beds.  No going up or down stairs.  No over-eating.  All of these activities can cause an undue amount of stress on the dog’s back, leading to a crippled animal.  Unlike babies, dogs do come with an owner’s manual.  It’s too bad that many owners don’t consult it before buying a particular breed. 

Molly was the result of such an owner, a man infatuated with the idea of owning a weiner dog but not caring about the limitations of the breed.  She wasn’t broken when we found her, but she was close. 

Molly was one of a half dozen dogs currently at the small shelter.  I examined all six of the dogs, but something about Molly drew me to her.  Maybe it was the fact that she looked the sickest of the lot and in the greatest need of a loving hand.  Maybe it was the way she looked at me with those deep brown eyes.  Maybe it was a force beyond my understanding that wanted us to be together.  Whatever it was, she was the one I wanted.  She was reddish-brown in color and technically a tweenie in size, not a mini, not a standard, but somewhere in between.  She carried enough unhealthy fat around her abdomen that she weighed more than a dog of her size should have, and when she walked, she moved like an old man wracked by arthritis, every step etched with pain.