Flash Fiction

Mr. Alastair

Mr. Alastair locked his legs against the sliding door, rested his head on the cold floor, and waited for a slight sound from the porch. Hearing footsteps, he spring into action and sprinted to the door barking in alarm.

“It’s the mailman Mr. Alastair,” said Molly Ann. And then she muttered, “for the thousandth time.”

Mr. Alastair still wasn’t sure, and he waited until white envelopes and flashy advertisements poured through the mail slot. Satisfied he had prevented an attack, he returned to his perch, locked his legs against the door, flopped his head down, and waited.

He rose slightly up and cocked his head to the right. “Lay down and be quite.”

Mr. Alastair replied with a Boxer-grimace, licked his lips, and rested his head. Not two seconds had passed before he returned to the door and started barking.

“It’s just a meter reader,” Molly Ann said. She looked up from the video feed on her tablet to watch Mr. Alastair slump back to his starting place.

Although she could watch the house from the doorbell camera, it was nice to have a little guard dog to keep her company. Even if his bark was bigger than his bite. He made her smile.

Mr. Alastair licked his lips, rested his head, and waited.

© 2018 – 2019, Michael Shawn Sommermeyer. All rights reserved.

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