“I know I threw your toy too far into the ocean. Quite whining. That’s not helping.”
“We will find it. I promise.”
Macalister circles once… and then again… and lays down.
“You just getting lazy… “
Macalister looks up. His eyes have glazed over and have rolled slightly back into his sockets.
“Ho… It’s your sea legs. They a little weak, boy.”
There was a whimper in response.
“You take a nap. Soon as I spot it, I’ll tell you. Probably be able to net it and you won’t even have to go in after it.”
Macalister was already sound asleep.
“If you hadn’t already swam halfway out into the ocean, I wouldn’ta had to come out here and pick you up. Now where is that blasted Frisbee?”
Written for Saturday’s Photo Prompt: Requirements: Using the photo prompt, create a story of 100 words. (This one is over the 100.)