On Being Golden

“When Gregor Samsa woke up one morning from unsettling dreams, he found himself changed in his bed…” The Metamorphosis, Franz Kafka

“Why is it so hot this morning?” I ponder as I slowly wake from oddly lucid dreams of chewing rawhide and hunting flying squirrels.

I fall out of my bed onto the gray floor’s hard ceramic tiles.

“What is going on? Why can’t I straighten? Am I going blind? And, what is that smell?”

I crawl to my cherry Coaster Louis Philippe dresser and slowly paw my way to its top and use it to balance.

“What the-”

I stare at what must be me in the beveled mirror with abject horror!

In the place of me, a middle aged, overweight, dental hygienist, a golden retriever pants!

“But, my husband is allergic to dogs!” I bark.

“Oh no, did I just bark?!”

I frantically scurry around the room trying to understand what has happened and resist my gut urges to simultaneously chase my tail and fetch a ball.

“Oh no, I have a tail!”

I faint.

(For the rest of the story, please go to http://www.amazon.com/Flash-Fiction-1000-Weekend-ebook/dp/B0070WECA0/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1333626690&sr=1-1 :))

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