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    Really, Cher? A Story With a Dog in It
    Really, Cher? A Story With a Dog in It
    Really, Cher? A Story With a Dog in It
    Ebook56 pages29 minutes

    Really, Cher? A Story With a Dog in It

    By Julian M. Coleman

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    About this ebook

    A lonely woman adopts a canine diva. Joy struggles to turn her frenemy into a best friend. She isn't sure how to do it, but through her attempts, she's discovering her dingo bestie has a sense of humor.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJulian M. Coleman
    Release dateNov 13, 2017
    ISBN9781540130396
    Really, Cher? A Story With a Dog in It
    Author

    Julian M. Coleman

    I'm a 2016 IAN Paranormal/Supernatural Award Winning author who grew up in Richmond, Virginia. My family was poor, but my imagination was rich. I suffered from bad dreams. I still dream about demons, but now those dreams provide the sauces to my stories.  By day I'm run-of-the-mill analyst grinding out data within a dark blue cubby, but by night I churn out horrific stories based on the demons that haunt me in nightmares. 

    Read more from Julian M. Coleman

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      Book preview

      Really, Cher? A Story With a Dog in It - Julian M. Coleman

      Prologue

      MY NAME IS JOY BRADFORD. I’m a rotund mom who has had some joyless years in my life, but I’m not complaining. There’s been more happiness than pain. I don’t smoke, I don’t gamble, and except for chocolate, which is my drug of choice, I don’t do drugs. I’m okay with my addiction.

      Large women don’t eat any chocolate on television. Actually, large women are invisible in pop culture. You don’t believe me? Take a look at the commercials. We don’t exist to sell many attractive things. It’s like we don’t have money. Even the dating websites don’t show us. I believe that weight diversity is virtually nonexistent.

      But this story isn’t about my pounds. It is about my relationship with my pooch.

      I prefer male dogs. Yes, I do, and I’m proud to acknowledge that ... most of the time.

      There is that level of testosterone I’m used to dealing with in a male canine persona. They have traits like aggressiveness, attitude, and cleverness in achieving an end despite the consequences. Yes, I’m still talking about canines.

      Here’s my example: If confronted with a juicy steak on a kitchen table, a male dog may consider being good but usually there’s no dilemma, no crisis of conscience. From his perspective, if the chef of a scrumptious grilled meat was stupid enough to leave the room, well then, damn the risks and full meat ahead. Bone appétit. Chomp, chomp.

      A female dog like Cherie—or Cher, as she is lovingly referred to by other family members (to me she is just plain Bee-itch), is often calculating but also very, very patient. No stealing the chomps from her. She’s better at looking pitiful, thus loading up a pile of poor-starving-me like a plateful of pasta until I feel compelled to give her half my meal. She has never absconded with any food. Ever.

      It is episodes like I just described that force me to believe that males are riskier while females are calculating. I’m still talking about canines.

      I’ve suffered Cher for years. We’ve been together from spinsterhood to grandchild to marriage. She loves my husband, and daughter. She adores my granddaughter. But she hates me. Maybe hate is too strong a word? Maybe it’s jealousy or just plain old contempt? Read and judge.

      These are her tales (or my story about a roguish she-dog with a diva complex).

      Chapter 1: Sunny-Girl? Are You Serious?

      I CAN’T TELL THE CHER tale without first enlightening you about Mario. Their tales, not their tails, are entwined.

      We adopted Mario first. He was this sucker’s compromise.

      My saga begins with my daughter, Zane. She is, and has always been, super-smart. She used to make excellent grades in school seemingly without any mental exertion. She used to piece together Lego bricks before she could talk. By the time she was in kindergarten, her Lego designs had functionality. There were to be no silly dolls for Zane. She was destined to be an engineer.

      One day my very bright 6-year-old daughter asked for a sibling. As a single parent with zero dating choices, much less falling in love and getting married, I decided that in vitro, adoption, and cloning weren’t options. So how was giving my one and only a sibling going to happen?

      By chance, 101 Dalmatians had hit the theaters. We’d seen the movie, and I saw an opportunity for a compromise. What about a Dalmatian?

      Zane focused those huge brown eyes on me. She smiled deviously and said, Okay. She had agreed too easily and too soon after we had seen the movie. I suspected then

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