A Story About Bailey

Here is a short narrative I wrote. It’s about my dog. It’s sad. It actually won the Pulitzer Prize, so…it has that going for it.


I once heard a saying from someone who believed that, uncompromisingly, women fantasize about being rescued, and men fantasize about being the rescuers. I can’t attest to the statement’s ubiquity, but when I was young, this belief, in part, held to be true.

Looking back now, it’s almost alarming the amount of time I conjuring up ludicrous scenarios in which I could step in, the valiant white knight, and save my distressed damsel from whatever catastrophes descended upon her. Maybe this urge stemmed from a desire to be noticed, recognized for my feats of bravery, and then appreciated thereafter. Of course, I know now that it’s a false way of thinking, to protect someone out of selfish intentions. At the time, it all seemed the same to me. Continue reading “A Story About Bailey”