My name is Bitefighter. I am a 10 lb. Terrier Extraordinaire. I have singlehandedly revolutionized multiple disciplines, including the study and implementation of zero-point energy, weaponization of occult energies, as well as interdimensional tourism. Not only am I the most formidable being within this 54-galaxy cluster known as the Local Group, but I am also respected and feared within the Bloom (the space between dimensions) as the baddest ass organic intelligence in the sixth-dimensional Calabi-Yau manifold that humanity currently occupies. To give you an idea of how cool that is, keep in mind that the manifold doesn’t just touch OUR Universe, but overlaps across several others as well. But forget all that—autumn has come. So I have something way more important to attend to.
LEAVES!
I race away from my pet human—called “Kent Wayne” by others of his kind—and streak through a meadow at Golden Gate Park, where some fine souls have clumped together an enormous pile of dried leaves. I sprint closer to the pile and—TERRIERS ETERNUS!—leap into the air, lengthening my furry body into a hairy missile. I see the insects below gazing up in awe at my gorgeous 10 lb. body (I engage in a vigorous regimen of exercise, so I’m super ripped. You may not be able to see them through all the fur, but I’ve got abs that put any roided-out bro’s to shame. The lady canids love my hard, chiseled flesh slapping up against their backsides. I’m like the Bruce Lee of dogs; that’s why I can bat outside my league and fuck anything from a Corgi to a Great Dane. Doesn’t matter how big they are—I leave them ALL satisfied.)
In the midst of my leap I close my eyes and bask in the crisp fall breeze as it ruffles through my mustache. For some inarticulable reason, I think of Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries.”
sker-PLOOSH! I land in a crinkly, crackly paradise. As I tunnel through mounds of pleasantly scratchy leaves, my senses ignite with the brisk smell of Outside, the promise of winter, as well as the cool rustle of crunchy greenery. At that moment, it’s safe to say that I feel 100% Dog.
Ah…despite all the wonder I’ve experienced, all the miracles I’ve been privy to, I can state with total conviction that this is the very definition of perfect bliss. 🙂
But it doesn’t last. Through a haze of broken leaves and stems, I spot a figure flying toward the pile.
SKOOSH! It lands on the side of the pile, nearly squishing me and causing me to jounce in place.
FUCK!
As I try to recover from the impact, I look up through the leaves and see another body flying toward me. I start tunneling away as fast as I can. I’ve almost made it to the edge of the pile when—
sk’BASH!
GodDAMMIT! My feet fly out from under me as a wave of displaced leaves pushes me up and back, tumbling me toward the center of the pile. I snarl in frustration and begin tunneling with renewed fury. Finally, I poke my snout through the pile and wriggle out of it.
I turn around to look at my would-be killers. My eyes are greeted by four young boys, maybe eight or nine, all in the throes of mouth-breather ignorance as they proceed to wrassle with each other in MY fucking pile!
I give them a good helping of What For: “ARF ROOF ROWF MCBARK!” (That’s Terrier for: “THE FUCK ARE YOU MORONS DOING? YOU COULD HAVE KILLED ME!”)
They pay me no heed, and I keep barking at them. Little shits deserve an earful, and I’ll be damned if they walk away from this encounter without learning some kind of—
At that moment, their heads snap toward me, their piggy little eyes gleaming with malice. One of them raises an arm and points directly at my face.
“DOGGY! COME HERE, LITTLE DOGGY!!!!”
SHIT! I shoot a panicked look towards Kent Wayne. He’s failed to notice that I almost got squished; he’s too busy batting his eyes and flexing at a Soccer Mom. She giggles in response. Her left hand’s fingers curl through her hair. Her other hand is up by her cheek, fingers dancing in a coquettish wave.
(I have never understood how my oafish pet human manages to seduce intelligent, functioning females into accepting his penis. Despite the fact that I possess an 83rd level intellect, some mysteries remain firmly beyond my god-like comprehension.)
My eyes snap back to the children. Here they come: slobber-coated chins, booger-flecked fingers, skid-marked underwear. If they manage to grab me, Rex knows what horrors they’ll subject me to. At the very least, I’ll have to endure a battery of shots that ensures my immune system holds up against their filthy bacteria. This isn’t good; not only have I left my utility belt at home, I have no access to the photonics-based weapons that I usually keep within paw’s reach. It’s one lone terrier against four degenerate humans.
You might call them “kids,” but please—spare me the pretense.
They’re monsters.
And that’s coming from a 10 lb. mustachioed terrier who could convincingly pass as an angry Ewok. Believe me—I know monsters when I see them. Unfortunately, I have none of my monster fighting gear on my person right now; it’s too bulky to schlep around, and it’s only practical when I apport my way into a Buddhist hell-realm, or the Upside Down. It’s not really conducive to me stealing gobs of Noms from the legions of mouth-breathers that infest this dimension. A mechanized suit—especially one built from weaponized philosophies and reinforced with living arcana—doesn’t really contribute to a stealthy approach, if you follow me.
But there is ONE thing that can help: Kent Wayne carries a reality distortion device in the guise of an eReader. When he opens it to Echo, Good Stuff happens.
I zigzag through the meadow and my pursuers give chase. As I run towards Kent, I try to let him know what my intentions are:
“ROWF ROOF ARFSKIES MCBARK AROOOOO!!!” (“Kent—stop trying to mate with that soccer mom and prep the reality distortion device! My health and dignity are at stake, you nimrod!”)
But true to his Man Child nature, Kent ignores me and keeps flirting with the soccer mom. I look back over my shoulder and see the four virus-factories in hot pursuit. They’re getting closer—only a few seconds left before they accost me with their disgusting phalanges. I grit my teeth and face front.
When I run past Kent, I jump as high as I can. Mid-leap, I dart my face into his pocket and bite down on his eReader. I hit the ground in a Mission Impossible-worthy barrel roll. When I stop tumbling, I nose the eReader open to Echo. Magic flash.
Shining rips appear across the meadow, carving interdimensional portals that connect to a realm known as Monstro—Land of the Monsters. Shrieking gaggles of clowns—all wielding rusty chainsaws—begin pouring across the field, eliciting pure screams of terror. The four biological weapons that were just chasing me turn tail and run, crying for their mommas. Soon, the entire field is vacated.
One of the clowns produces a tiny toy car from his right-hand pocket. He sets it onto the ground and it grows into a full size automobile, one that’s roughly the size of a Smart Car. All of them—I’d guesstimate a hundred or so—pile into the pint-sized car, then drive through one of the portals. The interdimensional gateways shrink and disappear.
I turn to Kent Wayne, who’s desperately trying to convince the soccer mom he was flirting with to resume conversing with him. But she’s sprinting away from the meadow as fast as she can, expelling hitching breaths that are partway sobs, partway gasps.
“Hey!” he yells in a last ditch attempt to lure her back. “If you’re impressed by my books, you should see my penis!”
I cover my face with my paws and shake my head.
My pet human is such a fucking idiot.
Are you a mad genius terrier who’s forgotten to leave home without packing your usual array of science fiction weaponry, and are now being attacked by kids that stand a good chance of drowning you in Bubonic Plague? Never fear! Get Echo Vol. 1 on Kindle here: Vol. 1 on Kindle. Vol. 2 on Kindle here: Vol.2 on Kindle Vol. 3 on Kindle here: Vol. 3 on Kindle #kindle #kindleunlimited #sciencefiction #scifi #books #novel #book
Kent Wayne 
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