Angel On Earth- A Dog Novel

1🐾 Ghost

PBA; this novel is very fast-paced after its starter chapters. There's multiple reasons for this but 1 is to challenge myself to do a plot-centric novel rather than character-dynamic focused. Of course all of that is included, but I'm skimming past so-called filler chapters, traveling, or the slow aging process of newborn puppies.

It was a late spring night in April when the shelter dog first saw the ghost.

Now, Gypsy didn't know anything about supernatural beings. She was just a dog, after all, and one with a limited understanding of humans. And Pitbull #17 in a high-kill animal shelter, at that.

So when the ghostly glowing figure said "Hello." Gypsy was inclined not to answer. She couldn't understand humans- and they couldn't understand her. So, really, she was just hallucinating all this. Supposedly.

"You're really not going to answer a ghost?... Well, perhaps you can't understand me. In that case, why did I appear to a dog? Seems kind of messed up, how the only person I can talk to is a dog who's set to be euthanized in two days." The ghost's mouth moved as he blabbed away. "And... what's my name??" The man stroked his chin questioningly.

"How would I know? How do you understand my language?" The white Pitbull challenged with questions of her own.

"And what's euthanizied?" Gypsy asked. She spoke quietly so that she didn't wake Ace, a dog asleep in the cage next to hers.

"It means a humane way of dying. Without pain or terror. And it's set to happen to you two in two days. Says right there on the cage label- agressive euthanasia for you, and shelter overflow for him."

Gypsy stared at him quellingly as he read off the labels, his scruffy moustache moving as his lips moved. She hadn't an idea what any of that meant. But the man kept talking anyway.

"Now, how do you figure that? I know what euthanizing is, but not my own name."

The white Pittie wasn't concerned with whether this guy knew his full name or not. She at least knew enough to know that dying was the end, and the opposite of freedom. Dying was like ducking underneath a river, not knowing what you'd find there. It could be pitch black and nothingness, or it could be full of plants and light. The uncertainty is what really got her.

"So... that's why we were moved down here. But... I don't want to die here. I want to die out there." She looked towards the basement window, a tiny slab of glass and plastic windowsill against the concrete walls. Upstairs was much nicer, where the walls were all covered by paw-printed wallpaper and large "Adopt Us!" Signs perched around every corner. Down here, there was no adoption rooms. There was no cages full of countless old dogs, sick dogs, sad dogs. It was just Gyspsy and Ace, in their separate cages with their separate thoughts.

She wasn't paying attention as The Ghost gasped. She was beginning to grow fearful, her fur lifting at the principal
of euthanasia. The ghost-man gasped as he looked just ahead of him with wide eyes.

"I had a vision just now. Fancy that... my first vision. I'm some kind of sorceress after death! Can I vision-up my own past? Here, let me try...." He closed his eyes and squeezed them so hard that Gypsy would've seen the wrinkles pop up around his forehead if she'd been looking.

"I could get you out of here. I know how to open that gate!"

This time, Gypsy really looked at him. He was a fully-grown man, with boot-cut blue jeans, dusty old brown Carthart boots, and a tussle of brown messy hair atop his head. The hair was squashed beneath a white cowboy hat.

Gypsy realized that he had some age-lines around his face, but not enough to consider him an old man. His shirt was a Harley Davidson motorcycle shirt, with a tan Carthart jacket hugging his shoulders to match the boots. He had an extremely faint 'shine' around him, a sort of halo of light that seemed stuck to his apparition. He is a ghost, If I ever saw one. But why is he here? Why is he dead? And can I only see him because I'm about to die, too? The she-dog stifled a whimper of fear.