Fetch

            The phone rang loudly. The generic ring tone, some combination of digital notes trying to imitate smooth jazz and failing miserably mixed with the buzzing of its acrylic case vibrating against the glass coffee table. The display read ‘Unknown Number’ across the top while the middle display logged the history of seventeen, now eighteen missed calls.

            The cacophonous device was then joined by the clicking of un-clipped nails on the polished, hardwood floors.  A mastiff, slobber and brawn, padded his way over to the coffee table. His fur was matted on one side of his face, the puddle of drool he usually slept in leaving its mark on the clueless dog’s face. The mastiff was a good dog. He knew a few tricks, lie down, eat, harass the neighbor kids, and fetch. He loved fetch.

            The mastiff dragged his jowls along the glass, pressing his muzzle up against the offending device, and sniffed deeply, enjoying the warmth of the phone’s incoming abuse. In addition to the already relentless noise, the phone began to buzz with warnings: ‘Battery Low. Please connect charger!’

            The mastiff slowly lurched forward, sinking his cuspids into the device, and lifting it from the table. He adjusted the phone deeper into his maw, the screen cracking under the force of his jaws. He turned, and bounded up the steps, leaving a trail of glass and acrylic shards behind, and stopped at the master bedroom door. With another chomp he lay back down and began to snore.