Brian Gotta

If you’d like to pick up a copy of my novel, Him, told from the point of view of the good dog, Scout, you can do so here. Below is an except:

I could hear them outside, “Ding, ding, ding. Ha, ha. Ding, ding.” I wanted to go out with them and be friendly to her again, so I climbed down and went to the door. I scratched at it and barked once so that He knew I was in there and wanted out. The door didn’t open so after a little while I barked again, louder.

Outside, I heard His voice, “Scout! No barking.”
I barked again and He said, “No!”
More aromas of meat and vegetables than I had ever smelled began

wafting under the door. My nose was sniffing like crazy. The side of my mouth was leaking, and I began to wonder if He had forgotten me. If I would ever get dinner again. If I would ever come out. I whined and then I forgot He said no barking and I barked.

Finally, the door opened, and He grabbed the thing around my neck and escorted me to the room where my food was waiting in my bowl.