Imaginations
     
    
   
   
    
     
      All
      stories
      printed
      in
      IMAGINATIONS
      are
      fictional.
     
     
      Any
      references
      to
      people,
      places
      and
      all
      other
      names
     
     
      existing
      on
      earth
      are
      used
      completely
      for
      fictitious
     
     
      purposes.
      I
      apologize
      for
      any
      misinterpretations
      since
     
     
      these
      stories
      are
      not
      meant
      intentionally
      to
      offend
     
     
      Sn
     
    
   
   
    
     
      One
      spring
      day
      at
      my
      cottage,
      I
      felt
      a
      strong
      craving
     
     
      for
      a
      watermelon.
      But
      on
      my
      way
      into
      the
      kitchen,
     
     
      I
      was
      attacked
      by
      a
      German
      Shepherd
      whose
      owner
     
     
      was
      coming
      through
      the
      side
      door
      wielding
      a
      pistol.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      "Good
      dog!",
      said
      the
      man.
      "Good
      dog!"
     
    
   
   
    
     
      "It’s
      not
      a
      good
      dog!",
      I
      yelled
      as
      I
      attempted
      to
     
     
      beat
      the
      dog
      off
      with
      my
      fists.
      "It’s
      a
      very
      bad
      dog!"
     
    
   
   
    
     
      "You
      are
      terribly
      mistaken.
      You
      don’t
      even
      know
     
     
      my
      dog."
     
    
   
   
    
     
      "What
      are
      you
      doing
      in
      my
      kitchen?"
      I
      demanded
      as
     
     
      ]
      jumped
      up
      onto
      the
      table.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      "I’m
      just
      looking
      for
      a
      patient
      soul
      who
      will
      lend
      me
     
     
      an
      ear,"
      he
      said
      and
      pointed
      the
      gun
      at
      my
      head.
     
     
      "You
      see,
      I’m
      very
      depressed."
     
    
   
   
    
     
      "You're
      crazy,"
      I
      told
      him,
      and
      jumped
      from
      the
     
     
      table
      and
      smashed
      through
      the
      window
      over
      the
     
     
      sink.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      I
      got
      up
      and
      started
      running
      down
      the
      path
      through
     
     
      the
      woods.
      I
      looked
      behind
      me
      and
      saw
      that
      the
     
     
      dog
      was
      only
      about
      10
      yards
      away.
      I
      glanced
      around
     
     
      trying
      to
      find
      something
      heavy
      to
      hit
      it
      with.
      I
     
     
      spotted
      a
      good-sized
      rock
      and
      was
      about
      to
      pick
      it
     
     
      when
      the
      dog
      lunged
      at
      me.
      Jt
      knocked
      me
      to
      the
     
     
      ground
      and
      was
      about
      to
      bite
      my
      face
      when
      I
     
     
      grabbed
      its
      head
      with
      both
      hands
      and
      pushed
      it
     
     
      backwards.
      Then
      using
      both
      feet,
      I
      kicked
      it
      onto
     
     
      its
      back.
      I
      grabbed
      the
      rock
      and
      struck
      the
      dog
      on
     
     
      the
      forehead.
      It’s
      eyes
      closed
      and
      its
      body
      went
     
    
   
   
    
     
      limp.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      The
      man
      with
      the
      gun
      was
      not
      yet
      in
      view.
      I
      turned
     
     
      and
      ran
      up
      a
      slope
      dotted
      with
      shrubs,
      and
      came
     
     
      out
      on
      a
      high
      rock
      from
      where
      I
      could
      see
      Otter
     
     
      Lake.
      Several
      people
      were
      in
      the
      water
      and
      a
      few
     
     
      were
      water-skiing.
      On
      the
      beach,
      two
      or
      three
     
     
      families
      were
      having
      a
      picnic.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      "Damn
      it",
      I
      thought.
      "I
      don’t
      want
      to
      lead
      that
     
     
      maniac
      to
      all
      those
      people.
      I’m
      going
      to
      have
      to
      go
     
     
      back."
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Terrified,
      I
      turned
      and
      ran
      in
      the
      direction
      from
     
     
      which
      I’d
      come.
      It
      didn’t
      take
      me
      long
      to
      find
      the
     
     
      maniac.
      He
      was
      kneeling
      over
      his
      dog,
      crying
      and
     
     
      whispering
      to
      it.
      His
      gun
      lay
      about
      15
      feet
      behind
     
     
      him,
      where
      he
      had
      dropped
      it.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      "I’m
      sorry,"
      I
      told
      him,
      hiding
      partially
      behind
      a
     
     
      tree.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      He
      jumped
      to
      his
      feet
      and,
      with
      his
      back
      turned,
     
     
      frantically
      wiped
      the
      tears
      from
      his
      eyes.
      "Why’d
     
     
      you
      have
      to
      kill
      my
      dog?"
     
    
   
   
    
     
      "Tm
      a
      first
      aider,"
      I
      said,
      coming
      out
      from
      behind
     
     
      the
      tree.
      "Are
      you
      sure
      the
      dog
      is
      dead?
      Can
      I
     
     
      have
      a
      look?"
     
    
   
   
    
     
      "If
      you
      want.
      But
      I’m
      sure
      he’s
      dead."
     
    
   
   
    
     
      I
      walked
      over
      to
      the
      dog
      and
      knelt
      down.
      After
      a
     
     
      brief
      examination,
      I
      turned
      to
      the
      man
      and
      said
     
     
      "This
      dog
      is
      breathing
      and
      he
      has
      a
      pulse.
      I
      think
     
     
      he
      just
      has
      a
      minor
      concussion.
      I'll
      use
      my:
      shirt
     
     
      to
      make
      a
      bandage
      for
      his
      head."
     
    
   
   
    
     
      "Thank
      you.
      I...I
      really
      appreciate
      it."
     
     
      "We'll
      have
      to
      be
      careful
      how
      we
      move
      him,
     
    
   
   
    
     
      though,”
      I
      said
      as
      I
      ripped
      up
      my
      shirt.
      "Why
      don’t
     
     
      you
      run
      down
      to
      my
      cottage
      and
      get
      the
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
      The
      UPEI
      X-Press
     
    
   
   
    
     
      November
      22,
      1990
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Page
      14