Only kill to eat

Since Sue passed away, this year it was Frank’s job to prepare the Thanksgiving meal.

“Only kill to eat,” Frank told his kids, as he proceeded to feather the tiny bird. “Dad, that thing is too cute to eat!” said Sally, his youngest.

When Frank finished cleaning the tiny bird, he  put it in the pot with the rest of the meat and vegetables.

“There sure is a lot of meat in the pot” exclaimed Bobby. “Hey Dad, where is cousin Phil?  I thought he was joining us for supper.”

Frank winked as he repeated his words.

“Only kill to eat”


PHOTO POMPT © Douglas M. MacIlroy

This offbeat little Thanksgiving story is brought to you by the fine folks at Friday Fictioneers. Bon Appetite! Click on the froggy (which is also good in soup) for more stories based on the prompt.


Go ‘in


“Friggin’ Ramea, the most boring place on the  planet” thought Michael, as the MV Gallipoli made it’s way across the rough water and headed towards the mainland.
Michael grew up in Ramea, a tiny island of less than 600 people, located off the coast of Newfoundland. Michael’s family were primarily fishermen, and the fishery has been in steady decline these days.
When the ferry finally docked, Michael jumped out and began waving his hands and hollering.
“Now that I am in the big city, the sky’s the limit” thought Michael, as he glanced at the sign.


This tale of bettering yourself in the ‘big city’ is brought to you by the fine folks at Friday Fictioneers. Be sure to click on the froggy for more stories based on this weeks’ photo prompt.


special bread

“Yes sir, I want to return this bread, it has a hole in it!”

“I am sorry, we have a policy. No returns if half the bun is eaten!”

“How was I supposed to know there was a hole?” asked the disgruntled customer.

“We cannot help it, that’s how bread is!” said the confused clerk.

“I cannot even spread butter without covering my hands with it!”

“You are looking at this all wrong. This is a special loaf of bread, it’s made with flour, water, yeast and the baker’s special ingredient.” said the clerk.

“What’s that?”

The clerk replied “Love.”

PHOTO PROMPT Kelvin M. Knight

Last week I wrote quite the shocker. I received more negative comments than ever before. I promised the people who were repulsed by my story that this week, Things would be different, less gritty and repulsive. I hope this helps redeem my reputation.

For more stories based on the Friday Fictioneers’ photo prompt, click on the froggy

The Apprenticeship of a serial killer

PHOTO PROMPT © Danny Bowman

He took her to his private place

in a wooded area;

he sedated her so she could not move.

He undressed her, ripping her clothing.

He forced her to watch as he plunged the knife deep into her bare stomach.

she didn’t last long, in minutes she was gone.

He came twice.

Luckily the soil was easy to dig.

He lay her in a shallow grave

and prayed for her soul.

This life he learned

from his father;

who would be proud like no other

if his boy’s first victim were not

his very own mother.


this creepy little tale is my take on this week’s photo prompt on Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ Friday Fictioneers.

Tents, tempers and …squish


“Gimmie some blankets” Holly screamed.

George responded “You wouldn’t need so many blankets if you got close to me”

Surely camping has lost its allure after 25 years of marriage.

“I would cuddle you, but its impossible to relax with your tossing about!” she pleaded. This went on for hours, until the two of them finally  fell asleep.

Awakened suddenly, the couple finally agreed on something: “OH MY FUCK!”



This tale of wedded bliss and camping in the great outdoors was brought to you by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Friday Fictioneers weekly photo prompt.




Fostering Love

Back in May, my wife approached me with what she called ‘a wonderful idea’. She was with a friend who fostered puppies, and wanted us to do the same. At first, I was against it; we planned on renovating the house, and also we needed to build a piece on our shed. Definitely too busy to ‘foster’ animals.

Of course, we fostered. It’s not that the wife always gets her way (she does), the truth is, I am an animal lover, have been all my life. My only fear was letting the animals go. I feared we would end up being what is referred to as a ‘Foster Fail’ where the foster parents end up keeping the pets. No, we wouldn’t want that.

My wife and I picked up two little pups from a foster home in the area. Their mother was abused and too skinny to properly feed her babies. My wife handed me the little boy dog. it was love at first site for the both of us. He really took to me, and I to him. Here is a pic.


See, how could a person get attached to something like this? We also fostered his sister. Her name is Gracie.


Apparently, the pups were at ‘Death’s door’ when they were given to us. The owner had the pups threw outside, and was tossing adult food at them. The pups were swollen due to the fact they could not properly digest adult dog food.

It didn’t take long for the animals to begin looking better. As I said, Harley took to me, and wherever I went, he wasn’t far behind. In one night, I managed to house train both doggies, and actually had them barking to go outside within two days.

We socialized the two doggies, taking them for walks in the park. Already having three dogs of our own, the pups grew accustomed to other dogs, and our cat loved them as well. When they were ready for adoption, the group we are so actively involved in, The Southwest Coast SPCA found great homes for the pups. The new owners were amazed how well behaved the pups were. I was okay with them going at first, but when Harley pulled on his leash to follow me rather than his new owner, I nearly cried.

We keep in touch with the new owners, and the dogs are doing great. Me not so much.

My wife had a cure for my dull drums. Three kittens who had been rescued from a home. The kittens and their mother were surrendered to the town animal pound, and rescued by the SPCA. The group at the SPCA agreed to separate the kittens from the mother, as she had finished feeding them anyway. We got all three kittens.  We removed them from the town kennel one kitten at a time. First was a cute calico. We named her ‘Callie’callie



Then we reached in and took out Rascal. Very cute little thing.



Last but not least, there was one little kitten left in the kennel. Meet Milo.



The three kittens in a box:


I know what you are thinking, its going to be difficult to give those kittens up. Totally right. We found a good home for the Calico, with my sister, who had a calico cat for over 15 years. The little cat, who she called Scrappy, got her through some rough times. Callie, now Molly, loves her new home, and I get to drop by and visit very often.

We found a home for Rascal, now Mr. Schmiddy, with a co-worker of mine. Schmiddy is living in another city, but from the pictures we were sent, it is no doubt he is happy.

That leaves Milo. Another co-worker fell in love with him immediately, and we practically had the adoption papers done up when she admitted she couldn’t take him. She already had two other cats and two giant dogs, and a husband who didn’t want any more pets. It would be off to the shelter for Milo.

That evening, my wife came home. “You want that cat, I can tell. Admit it, You want her!” she cross examined me. I did want the cat, but didn’t admit it. “You sound like YOU want the cat!” I joked. I was right. Long story short, we wanted the cat.

So then we had only one kitten, and he was staying. That evening, my cousin called. She runs a cat rescue in the area, and ‘over rescued’ 13 kittens. She asked if we might foster a few for her. I agreed we go and look, maybe take one or two home. My wife came along, and we ended up taking four kittens home. They were cute!

Tortoise Shell kittens. I had never heard of this before, apparently a black cat with orange coloring, and always female, (like the Calico). There were two black ones too, and these kittens were tiny.

The kittens allowed our newly acquired cat Milo someone to play with. Our older cat was a bit jealous of Milo, so he got along with the younger cats better. They are here:


Cute, right? All four kittens have homes as of now.

So now, our house is back to normal. Normal if you call normal three dogs, three cats, and two budgies. We just got a call. A dog we rescued a while back just had 7 puppies. Think the house is going to grow again.

If you want to become involved in a great thing, look at fostering a pet. You wouldn’t believe the rewards. Thanks for reading.


Life’s rewards

While at the local vet clinic to check on a few SPCA kittens I dropped off, I overheard an older lady dealing with the vet. As of late, my wife and I have been fostering puppies and kittens, and just recently, we accepted positions on the SPCA board of directors. Very rewarding to say the least.

“You mean to tell me if I can’t pay for this blood work, I have to take my little dog home to die?” she said, crying.

She was an older lady, and obviously living on a fixed income. “My husband raised the dog from a pup”. Often he cussed at himself for not taking an already trained, older dog, but still he trained the little dog all by himself. He named his pup ‘Barak Obama’ because for some reason, every time the President’s name was spoken on the TV, the little dog came running.

I couldn’t help but interject. “Where is your husband now? Home waiting for the dog to come home?” I asked.

Crying, she told me her husband died last year, little dog at his side. “Barak needed a flea treatment, the vet recommended using Revolution. He had a reaction to the medication, now he takes seizures.” She said.

I spoke to the vet, and asked which essential blood work the dog had to have, and why. Turns out the blood work cost was $83 plus tax. They needed to do the blood work to determine the exact amount of medication to administer to the little dog. He would also need medication which would cost around $40 per month.

“I can manage to save enough for the meds each month, but I can’t afford $100 right now, or ever really” She said, breaking down.

When I realized we were both crying, I offered to pay for the blood work myself. “I am paying for the blood work.”

Of course she refused. “I don’t know you, you don’t have to do this” She said, graciously.

“If you don’t let me pay now, I will come in after you leave and pay for it. If this were my dad or mom, and one of their cats were sick and they couldn’t afford it, I would like someone to help them, so let me help you.” I told her, a shudder in my voice.  I was crying.

After about fifteen minutes, she finally agreed. “I will pay you back” she said, but I refused. “My name is…” but before she could tell me her name, I cut her off. “I don’t need to know your name, and you don’t need to know mine, just give me a hug and call it a deal. I told her. She hugged me and sobbed.

As I walked out of the clinic, the vet brought her little dog out, and the two of them scheduled an appointment for the blood work.

Someone in my town won the lottery today, $4 million dollars. It wasn’t me, I never had any numbers right, but today was one of the most rewarding days I have had in quite a while. I hope everything goes well for the lady and her dog.




He took souvenirs,

and played with them

as if they were his own.

Until guilt set in

and he would bury the tems

next to the bodies

in the dirt behind his home.

Nobody knew he existed

because his father, the mayor

hid his son

and his secret

from the world.

Once a day he threw


to his child

who he hid away in the basement.

He wasn’t supposed to get out

but at night he did

and he found kids

asleep in their bed

who had toys

but won’t be needing them

because soon they will be dead.

This morbid story of a young serial killer is my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers.



PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

After the bomb exploded, bodies were strewn everywhere. Teams moved quickly to remove the dead, before the entire congregation arrived to help with the cleanup. Despite their hard work, the place would never be the same again.

Those responsible admitted it proudly, as if it was their destiny.

Whoever thought they could bring down the house of the Lord with a bomb were sadly mistaken.

Despite his grief, the old pastor gave the sermon of his lifetime. he started out with these words: “This place is but a building. The Lord’s home is wherever we shall gather in his name.”

This is my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers. My condolences to the families of those lost in the Manchester Bombing. Senseless killing seems to be commonplace those days. What is most disturbing to me is how people are claiming responsibility, as if this is something to be proud of. Thanks for reading.

There’s no other kinds


PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

Harry took his wife out to a local diner for a Mother’s Day meal. The man was outraged when the waitress brought a bottle of No Name Ketchup to the table.

“No name brand Ketchup? You call yourself a restaurant? Fake Ketchup?” he hollered, embarrassing his poor wife.

“I only use Heinz Ketchup! If it ain’t Heinz, there are no other kinds!” he yelled. “I have been using Heinz all my life, just ask my wife!”

“Relax Harry, you have been using No Name brand for years, I just refilled the Ketchup bottle with whatever was on sale” she admitted.

Happy Mothers Day to all the special moms out there, especially those who live with stubborn men like Harry. This story is my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers. I hope you enjoyed this, and thanks for reading.