Small stone #20

The black Frisbee sails through the air as if trying to outfly its fate. The dog, who knows what kind, but it was brown and wiry, leaps like a shark breaking the surface. He is three feet off the ground, tail and back legs twisted around toward his head. His eyes reach through the spiral, his jaws find the catch. He thrashes his head back and forth, up and down. The Frisbee can’t get dead enough for him to let go.

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