Little Dog Died oh Died in the Ditch
Thomas Kleaton
Joe loped under the radiance of a full moon.
A genetically-modified vision of razor-sharp claws, he’d been sent on an assassination mission.
Have to end it now, before I transition into something worse…
Joe leaped into the headlights of the big Lincoln. A single attribute glowed in his mind, a feeble coal in the blackness of his thoughts:
Loyalty to his master.
“What is it?” Senator Blackmon peered at the dark lump in the ditch.
“Just a dog. Dead. Someone’s pet, surely,” the chauffeur frowned, prodding Joe with his toe. “Reminds me of that missing German shepherd of yours, Senator.”
