Monday, May 11, 2009


Today I've decided to share a piece of my writing with you all. It's something I wrote last summer during a project I did with CP. The idea was to write "snapshot" stories for a made up town. Each story was another peek into a different person's life. The following was one that I found amusing. I know it's a little long, but I still hope you enjoy it!


Sam Reed and his dog Rover

“The skies are clear today,” Sam Reed mumbled as he surveyed the almost perfectly painted clouds. “What a perfect day fer fishin’, if I say so miself.” Sam grabbed his leather bag and walked towards a brand new motor boat with his dog. “Rover, mi boy, I say we go fishing.”

Rover, a large, brown speckled dog, simply wagged his tail and proceeded to jump into the bow.

Sam chuckled. “Let’s be off then.” He climbed the red side ladder and took a position near the stern. In the distance, faint and muffled noise reached their ears, but dog and owner paid no mind.

“Now how does this here motor work? Ahh, who cares, we’ll fish from right here. Alright, mi boy?” The dog weaved through orange PFDs and came to rest his head on Sam’s foot. “Good dog. Now where are them fishin’ poles?” Sam Reed scratch his greying head with his soot covered hand and squinted at the boat’s assembled objects. Up near the bow, red and blue buttons marked the control panel and set below that were some storage bins. The back of the boat was box shaped with a ring of seats along the edges. The cushions were removable providing more storage. A long, blue fishing rod rested on the far side.

“Aha! There we go,” he said, as he reached across and grasped the thin stock. Carefully, he unhooked the blade bait from the stick and got the casting ready. “I’m here on mi boat on this summer day, just minden’ my own, lettin’ time slip away,” he began to whisper in a sing-song voice. Carefully he brought the rod back behind his right ear and with a flick of his wrist, he let it fly. “There’s nothin’ like fishin’ to pass the time. There’s nothin’ like fishin’ and makin’ this rhyme.” Sam chuckled and pulled back on the string. “Ooh! Rover, mi boy, we’ve gotsa catch!”

Slowly and with precision, Sam began to wind in the string. “What do you think it is, Rover? Maybe a new pair of shoes or a hat for mi head,” he continued to croon to his dog. “A coat would be nice too, since the nights can be chilly.” Sam heaved and brought the blade bait back into his hands only to discover that a skinny bike tire was attached. “Well it’s not a coat or a hat, but it could be useful.” Grasping the tire with a partly gloved hand he felt the material and examined the inside. “It’s in pretty good shape, I thinks. I bet some man was bikin’ and he tried to bring a spare tire with him. Silly thin’ to do, but people are people, right Rover? Anyways, I bet he had trouble carryin’, it so he just went an’ left it. Oh well!”

Sam carefully unhooked the rubber and prepared to cast again, raising his voice in a tuneless song, “I went down to this here creak, to do a little fishin’, but the fish weren’t bitin’ and that just ain’t...” he paused midway through casting and looked at his dog. “I need a rhym fer fishin’… Oh! Yous can’t help mi.” Raising the rod to his left shoulder this time, he flicked his wrist and watched the blade bait fly through the air.

“Rover, what would’ve happened if I’d gone an’ got more schoolin’? Would I not be fishin’ right now?” Sam frowned a bit but then felt a tug on the line and smiled wide. “A biggun I bet!” He stood and pulled as he reeled in. Once more he grabbed the hook to find, not a fish, but a large, purple hat. “Hmm… I can’t see miself wearing this here hat. What about you Rover?” His dog gazed up at him with large brown eyes and then rested his head back down on Sam's foot. “Yea, I didn’t think so. Well, who’d have lost this hat anyway? I bet a lady owned it. I bet she went to tea one day and a big ol’ breeze came and swept her hat away. Perhaps she got it from her daughter before the wee lass passed away and perhaps it meant much to her. Perhaps.” Sam rested the hat on top of the tire and turned back to the rod. “One more time fer a fish!”

The hook sailed smoothly through the air and Sam heard a distinct thunk as it landed. “Ahh! We’ve caught somethin’ unawares, mi boy!” Hurriedly he reeled in the line and untangle a square slip of card from the blade bait. “What be this?” Holding it in the light, he examined the thin card closely. On the front, the words “Welcome to Jerico's” were plastered in red along with the name “Marcus” spelled out in blue.

“Sam Reed, can I please have my name tag back?” a voice asked from below the gunwales.

Sam stood, and looked over the edge of the boat down at the floor below. A young man in his twenties stood a few feet away on the tiled floor and glared up at Sam. His red uniform vest held a large hole where the name tag should have been.

“How many times do I have to tell you that you can’t fish in the store? The hook can be dangerous if you get someone in the eye, Sam!” Marcus said, his voice laced with exasperation.

“I know, Marcus, it’s just I like fishin’ and so does Rover. With the blue sky above, this here is always the perfect spot.”

Sam watched as Marcus ran a hand down his face and he looked to his dog. “I think we’re in trouble, mi boy,” he mumbled quietly.

“Sam, how many times do I have to tell you that that's a mural, it is not a real sky!”

Sam hung his head in shame and climbed from the boat. He passed Marcus the name tag back and said, “Come on Rover, we’re not wanted here.” Rover hopped from the boat and walked beside his master as the two headed for the exit. “Good day of fishin’ it was too,” was the last thing he mumbled before leaving the store.

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