Byron's Dog

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“Quiet, Manny,” Byron muttered as he woke up. His phone showed it was 2:30 a.m., and the dog was making a racket. This was two nights in a row.

Byron heard Manny howling from the front of the house and making a general commotion.

Byron pulled himself out of bed and stumbled in s groggy half-slumber to the living room.

“Great,” he thought. The sofa cushions were scattered around the room, ripped to shreds. He heard more noise from the kitchen.

Byron half-heartedly said “Bad dog!” as he wandered into the kitchen.

The kitchen was a wreck. Cabinets were flung open and food was scattered all over the floor.

“Wait,” Byron thought, passing from semi-awake to wide-awake as he remembered that Manny was at the vet’s being held overnight after swallowing a sock the night before.

He turned just in time to see the man crouched in the corner lunge at him eyes wide and glinting in the dull light. He was howling.