Boss

The dog was known as Boss by the Belfast housing estate kids. They heard harsh scratching as he desperately tried to crawl away from his tormentor, his muzzle leaving a dark trail of blood from where the first round had hit him in the face. His life trickled away from him through the short grey hairs on his jaw; an occasional desperate snarl ripping apart the cold morning air before he began whimpering again like a child.

Lining up the rifle sight, his tormentor watched the heaving chest, pressed the trigger and the pavement was awash with blood and fur.

From Guest Contributor Bernie Hanvey

Turning The Tables

The darkness was like ink, but that did not bother the mouse's keen eye sight, and smell told him where to go for the food. Its tiny heart was racing with fear because its mortal enemy was out and about as well. He’d lost several of his litter mates to that awful feline beast, but tonight things may be different.

Suddenly there was that awful snarl. Behind him its claws slashing through the air, where he’d been just seconds ago. Twisting and turning, he dodged; suddenly that awful snap of the trap! The cat cried out, the mouse scurried away.From Guest Contributor Derrick Fernie