Point of View
“BURNEY!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “Get over here!”
From around the corner of the house, Burney came at a sprint, but when she saw me standing next to Mom’s flower bed with my hands on my hips and my feet spread in my most authoritarian stance, she stopped dead in her tracks.
“Burney! Come here!”
She looked up at me warily, her head hung low in dejection. She inched her way toward me ever so slowly. Half way she stopped. She knew what she had done and she knew what was in store.
“Burney! Get over here!”
She slid closer. When she finally reached my feet, she rolled over, revealing her stomach in a sign of submission. It didn’t work. I rolled her over and spanked her.
Then I grabbed her by the collar, pulled her to the offending hole, and stuck her face in it.
“No!” I yelled. “Bad dog!”