Floyd Got Raptured

“Frank, the dog got raptured!” Ginger screamed at the top of her lungs from the front porch. “He’s in here, drinking water,” I lied. “And there is no canine rapture, anyway.” Ginger, her robe wrapped about her arthritic frame, hurried into the kitchen, her slippers sliding across the floor. Floyd’s dry and empty water bowl sat in the corner where it had been for eighteen years. “Thank God!” she said, grabbing a dish rag off the counter to wipe the fear from her brow. “I don’t think life would be the same without old Floyd.” “Sit down, Ginger,” I said, … Continue reading Floyd Got Raptured