Round 3 Challenge: Incorporate the death of a dog into your next passage. It should be no more than 400 words long.
This was trouble. He always said he couldn’t tolerate the whole Facebook scene. Now he was its poster boy. He shut down the desktop.
His niece had set up his Facebook account last week. He forgot to delete it. She’d never asked first for his consent, at least not when he was sober. It was just another reason to quit drinking. Not that he would. Drink was the cause of his problems but also the cure. So he did the next best thing. He headed to sea.
He didn’t bother to call Wade. They’d steamed in last night because it was picking up southwest. It wouldn’t make sense to go back out chasing jumpers. One can’t throw harpoon in that weather. Besides, he wasn’t going out for tuna. He was going out for himself.
He was 50 miles offshore when he sighted a sperm whale. It’d been a good two decades since he’d seen one. They’re sighted in the Gulf of Maine only once every two or three years. He could tell by the blow. A right whale’s blow looks like a V, while a sperm whale blows rearward at 45 degrees.
There’d been strange sightings this summer. A few days ago, a tuna chummer said he “chummed up something biblical.” The crew saw the fish come up in the chum slick and then go down. Maybe a monster mako, maybe a great white. Normally he wasn’t one for signs, but “something biblical” followed by a sperm whale wasn’t something to blow off.
At sunset he jigged for a cod to fry up. Within a few minutes, there was a bite. He could tell by the pull it was a dogfish. Small one. Those green-eyed bastards were everywhere. He hauled the doggie up out of the water, holding it by the jig, and then smashed it with an overhand swing against the hull. You can’t work the hooks out by hand because of the poisonous barbs on their spine.
The impact ripped the hook out of its mouth. No point in jigging for dinner anymore. Puppies travel in packs.
Watching the dogfish float away, his mind soon drifted to bluedogs, then to bluebras, then to Olga. So much for relief in the open seas.
He steamed back towards his desktop. His pride could wait. A message needed to be sent.