This story tries refusing the tedious curve of rising action/spasm/falling action for a few reasons, but mostly because it's about a dog.
white Its setting is the end of the late Anthropocene, so much death all around.
white The dog loathed moving. All the neighbors called him "Dogalog," for, still as a log, he lay in a trench almost all the time because he'd always been there.
white Dogalog's face seemed eager: the apparent sweetness of passivity. Neighbors sometimes called him Rufus—pity, since all names mask, box, or smash a life a little.
white His ever-present rut in the earth lay somewhere beyond the home of his master, who was originally named Carl Driggs, in later years becoming Carl Diggs, for, with age as with teeth, men lose letters from their names.
white Carl Diggs mentioned the dog to the neighbors leaning from their windows, and he let them know: "That hound obeys me." One homeowner called out and waved kindly to Dogalog, as if any creature can exist without a tissue of absurdity. Then Dogalog licked himself where most do, tenderly.
white Carl Diggs checked his watch. Diggs' body and eyes, and the earth, impelled him to believe that time flows forward as a river, though time does not do this; in Carl Diggs' view, the story lagged; it had no beats. A powerful injunction bore down, insisting that action and conflict, masculine-style, must play throughout its pages, moving the story on, so Diggs cried to the dog, "Get out of here!"
white So Dogalog ran to a tree. When does a story fail for its structural lack? He put his hands on the tree's skin; another neighbor hollered from the sidewalk, "A tree is like a story! It springs up with fruits! And funguses too which are parasites that fasten to their hosts!"
white Looking back at Carl Diggs, trapped in the story, seeking another one to which he might run, Dogalog scrabbled at the tree's skin; he ran to the grasses. Surely Diggs wanted the story to have a denouement! Yet no story can fully express or contain our living, and the parts of life that don't fit into methodologies spill from the sides, similar to the aggressive blue mold which advanced threateningly toward the characters from the confines of the story's structure; it crawled toward hapless Dogalog, each of them in fact born innocent—
white In the days after this, the dog traveled to Pasadena. He found a house. He said: "Well I'm not doing anything else—I might as well get married!"
white So Dogalog met Debbie Hansen, a quality individual. He married himself out of the story and away from Carl Diggs.
white Was it real?
white Certain people from history simply stand out, and others are better for knowing them. Debbie Hansen was one of those. Prepossessing, disarming, she elevated all living things. She girded the story. For a while it went on living.