Of Pumpkins and Labradors

         Dodger was a good boy. His master had told him several times that he was a good boy. So it was only natural that Dodger believed he was right. But the pumpkin his master had brought home was bad. He could smell it just as clear as when his master farted in the bathroom. He stared at the pumpkin and wondered why his master did not smell the same thing. He knew that people, like his master, weren’t equipped with the same sense of smell that dogs have. It was a shame because Dodger knew that the pumpkin was bad news.
         His master had walked in the house earlier today with it, patted him on the head a couple times and said some words to him that he didn’t understand. Little do people realize that dogs learn by association of words with things. Or even people. He understood the words like and boy but that was it. His master had also shook the pumpkin in his hands when he talked. That normally meant that his master was talking about that particular thing. He came to the conclusion that his master was asking if he liked the pumpkin. The answer was absolutely not.
         The pumpkin sat next the door outside. Dodger laid next to the front door watching it through the tiny sliver of glass that was on both sides of outside. He wanted to go outside and get rid of the pumpkin, but he had to get his master to let him outside. That wasn’t always easy. Especially since his master was asleep upstairs. It was night-night-time now. Dodger would watch the pumpkin. He didn’t trust that pumpkin at all. Smells can tell you a lot about something. People don’t understand that at all. It occurred to Dodger that people must not be able to smell at all or they would be a lot smarter about some things. He watched the pumpkin and felt his eyes getting heavy. He would try to stay awake as long as he could to watch it. He noticed that his master had left the candle burning in the pumpkin. He couldn’t see the front of it, but the flickering firelight splattered orange ribbons all over the porch. It was oddly soothing.

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         Dodger was awakened by a loud THUNK from somewhere in the house. He looked outside and did not see the pumpkin sitting there any longer. That was not good. He jumped up from the floor and began to sniff frantically. He knew he would be able to find it if he could just pick up the scent. The bad scent. He ran to the kitchen and waved his nose in the air, much like his master would shake his stick. Nothing. The tick-tack of his claws on the floor made its way to the living room. Nothing again. He looked around the darkness of the house and tried to guess where the pumpkin might have gone. He decided that he needed to go upstairs. He had to check on his master.
         He barreled up the steps to his master’s bedroom and there was the pumpkin. Dodger had never seen a pumpkin walking before but there it was. It stood on long green vines for it’s legs and grabbed onto the bedpost with one other flapping appendage. It was trying to crawl up to the master. Dodger would not let that happen. It was his duty, as he knew it, to protect the master.
         Dodger shot across the room and jumped on the pumpkin. It was a big pumpkin, but he was a big dog. His master had said he was a lab-row-door. He knocked the pumpkin to the ground with a thud and began to viciously tear it to shreds with his teeth. The pumpkin thrashed and flopped about in a desperate effort to get back to the edge of the bed. Dodger bit and chewed and shook the pumpkin and finally it was in pieces all over the floor. He had protected the master. He had make sure the pumpkin had not…
         “DAMMIT, DODGER!!”, his master yelled, “I just got that pumpkin!! What are you doing?!”
         His master did not sound happy. He didn’t understand why. He had destroyed the evil pumpkin and had protected his master from whatever the thing had wanted to do to him.
         “BAD DOG!!”, his master yelled, “BAD! Go downstairs!”
         Dodger turned to leave the room and turned around to look at his master. He was not a bad dog. He was a good boy. Why did his master just say that?
         The master walked over to the window and looked at it in surprise.
         “I don’t remember leaving that open…”, his master said and slid it shut, flipping the latch.
         “Great… now I have to clean this mess up, “his master groaned, “Damn dog. I can’t have anything nice.”
         Dodger walked down the stairs hanging his head. He wasn’t sure why he was in trouble, as his master called it. He had destroyed the pumpkin because it was bad.

But Dodger was a good boy.

He was sure of it.