Robinjazz

Collaring My Puppy

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Could anyone be kind enough to comment on this. Thanks.

Collaring My Puppy

Like the majority of eight-year olds, I longed for a puppy. Hardly a day passed when I wasn’t begging my parents for one. Yet despite my persistent nagging, I always received the same answer, always that tormenting “no.” Growing tired of refusal after refusal, I eventually gave up until, that is, my sisters decided to get involved. The girls, who frequently witnessed my failed attempts to persuade my parents, unexpectedly intervened on my behalf.

The unlikely intervention occurred one morning while I was on my way to the refrigerator to get some milk for a waiting bowl of corn flakes. Passing by their room, I heard a voice calling out my name. It belonged to Phyillis, who at fifteen was the oldest of the three girls. Softly but urgently, she said, “Johnny, come here quickly. We have a puppy.” No longer interested in breakfast, I dashed into the room, expecting to find a puppy there.

Once inside, I looked around thoroughly but didn’t see any puppy. What I did see, however, was enough to raise my hopes up high. I observed the girls huddled by the opened door of a clothes closet, and this led me to believe that a puppy must be hidden inside. Enthused, I rushed toward the closet and asked if the puppy was inside. Giggling, the three nodded “yes.” Then, I peeked through the partially opened door to try to locate the puppy, but it was impossible to see anything because clothes were hanging everywhere.

Closely watching my actions, my sister Phyillis took hold of my wrist gently and said, “Do you want to pet it?” I wasted little time answering “yes,” and then she thrust my hand through the opening and guided it along the closet’s bottom. The first thing my hand touched was a sneaker. Then it brushed against a bulky, crumpled sweater. Next, it bumped into a wicker handbag, before finally coming to rest on top of something furry. With my hand lying on the puppy, Phyillis said, “Go ahead pet it.”

I immediately began stroking its soft fur, but eventually grew tired of the petting.. I wanted to see it, cuddle it in my arms, and kiss it on its head. Turning to Phyillis, who still held my wrist, I said excitedly, “Can I take it out?” But, before she could answer, my other sister Betty tapped me on my shoulder, pointed into the kitchen, and said, “First, you’ll have to get permission from mommy to keep it.” As fast as I could, I yanked myself free from Phyillis’ grasp and ran into the kitchen to ask my mother.

I came to a screeching halt by the kitchen table where I found my mom drinking coffee. From my previous experience, I knew it would require a small miracle for her to change her mind. Nevertheless, with the puppy so near—in the next room—I just had to beg again, even though my chances were slim and even though I might get scolded for doing so. “Mom,” I said politely, “Phyillis has a puppy for me. Can I keep it?” My mother stared at me and answered swiftly through the anger in her eyes.


My plea, recited in a tone designed to melt the hardest of hearts, failed to budge her. This time, however, her refusal was much more difficult to accept than any of the others, and not knowing what else to say or do, I just broke down and started crying. As the tears began streaming down my cheeks and my sobbing became louder, my mom put her hands on my shoulders and tried to comfort me. And, it was just at that moment that both of us heard a raucous laughter erupting from the girls’ room.

The racket annoyed my mom, who left her chair and stormed into their room. Confronting them, she said angrily, “What are you girls up to? What puppy do you have?” The three, laughing hysterically, didn’t hang around to provide answers. They zoomed past her to seek refuge in some other part of the house. Now, with nobody in the room, I returned to the unprotected closet for my puppy. Reaching in with both hands, I lifted it out and finally cuddled it—a faux fur collar.

Damien.

Oh, that's so sad! I like your writing; the pace is quick, interest is held.

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Come down down, they'll say,
But everything looks perfect from far away.
Come down down, but we'll stay.

nineteen

quite good i suppose. light hearted. i think we've all wanted a puppy at some time or another. i have one which is now a slobbering dog.

the begging does lack something thought, it does not flow incredibly well:

the first sentence is fair enough but the second on is possibly a bit messed up. i would suggest something like:
"Like the majority of eight-year-olds I longed for a puppy, hardly a day passed when I wasn’t begging my parents for one."

that makes more sense to me because the comma replace an "and" which i think is ok.

the sentence that starts "Growing tired of...." jarred me a bit because it's a bit of a sharp change of subject. it's something lots of people do and it's like jumping forward in time in the space of one full-stop. i think a little more elaboration would pay off here.

overall the grammar in the first paragraph is a bit wonky. too many commas in many cases. i didn't notice it later on. but i always think the first bit of a story should be pretty close to prefect.

it was a lovely story

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(Please don't take my advice too seriously)

Oh Vanity, thy number is 19.

righting

enjoyed the story. It reminded me of when i asked for my first pup

If you get rid of the word "waiting" this sentence would have a better flow to it , IMO.
I agree with what nineteen said.

Thanks for the read.

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Robinjazz

Thanks, all. Your advice is appreciated.