A Powerful Short Story

Recently we moved north.  Changing states isn’t something that slows my family down, but it does interfere with being connected. Which was a nice reprieve.

While I haven’t time to write a meaningful post I do want to again provide the link to my short story. It’s raw, powerful, real and an adult read.

Below is a link to the story. Cheers.



His Friend – A Short Story

A Short Story Written by Matt Taggart, aka -M. Taggart

Fiction:  His Friend


His Friend

The dog whined to go.  He told him to sit and wait for him to put his boots on.  It was hard to put them on.  The rain had stopped and the sun was now shinning.  He could hear the frogs.

The dog turned in circles.  He opened the front door and watched his friend run from the deck, into the front yard, and then to his truck.  The wind had blown all morning from the southeast.  It made for a driving wind that wore on you.  He remembered how this wind would ruin their day when they’d planned to be outside.  At first it was fine. Especially when they were young.  But then they were not young and it was not fine. When they were young they would joke about the menacing blow and then later in life they would simply say it was blowing again.

His friend hung his head out the window and his tongue was out.  Kids would wave at his friend and sometimes his friend would pull his tongue in with dignity while they passed by.  He would watch from the corner of his eye to see how long it would be before the tongue was again in the wind.

The entrance to the park was nice because American flags were hung on each side. When the dog saw the flags he’d pull his head inside the cab to watch him steer and be sure he’d do the right thing.  As soon as he turned into the entrance the dog would again place his large head out the window.

There was one more vehicle in the large parking lot.  He scanned the soccer fields and the walking track to see where the owner might be.  Sometimes children were in the soccer field and his friend would like to go there first.  There weren’t any children in the soccer fields. There was a girl walking on the track.

‘Are you ready?’

The dog spun in the passenger seat.

‘Give me a minute.’  He pushed the truck door open.  His legs were stiff.  He slowly made his way around the front of the truck to the passenger door.  His friend rushed from the truck and ran toward the girl.

‘No. Come.’

The dog stopped and returned, ‘She doesn’t know you and you might scare her.’

They walked in the opposite direction.


She watched the truck park and saw a large dog that looked like a German Shepherd jump from the passenger seat.  She thought the dog wanted to see her.  She wanted to pet the dog but the man had called him back.  Now they were walking in the opposite direction.

She walked on and thought about her work and then didn’t want to think of work.  The track was a mile long loop and she hoped she might see the man with the dog soon.


The track circled around the soccer fields and then a cluster of trees.  He could see the girl who was walking quickly.  His friend was pushing the pace.  ‘Leave her be.  She doesn’t know you.  And, look at me.  I’m no fine sight.’

The dog pushed on.  He watched his friend work the edge of the woodland and smell to learn.  She was close enough now to see the shape of her face.

‘Can I pet your dog?’ She called.

He stopped walking.  He had thought of putting his friend on his leash. ‘If you’d like.’

‘What’s his name?’ she asked with a large smile.


The dog waited.  He had heard everything but needed now for her to ask.

‘Come here, Friend.’  She was excited to finally pet him.  The dog hesitated.

‘Oh, go on.  Go see her.’  And the dog tore off.

She bent her knees and slapped them lightly to welcome him.  She pet his head and told him he was a good boy.  The dog leaned into her.

‘He’s a good one.’ He said, ‘We’ve had him since he was a puppy.  He’s only two now.’

‘He’s very sweet.  I wanted to pet him earlier when you let him out of your truck.’

‘I thought you’d be scared.  I called him back.’

‘No.  Not me.  I grew up with German Shepherds.  I trained them.’

‘They really are a good breed.’

‘And good with family.’ She said.

‘This one’s name isn’t really Friend.  That’s why he hesitated.  We had two more.  I know it sounds like a lot.  We had two more and then one passed.  That was when this one had just joined our family.  He was sad, but didn’t know much about it. Then, the other passed and my wife took it hard.  She told me I better take care of this one because she was going soon too.  That night she sat in her chair with this one at her feet.  She died the next morning.  So now, I have him and I don’t see many people and he’s good to me.’

Tears rolled from her eyes to her nose and then to his friend.


Don’t Be A Sally – Based on True Events

If you enjoy beer with your whiskey you may enjoy this story.  It’s based on true events. The hardest working men and women I know drink.  They’ll watch the foam slide down the glass and empty the contents and order another.  Some are covered in mud and dust from working in the fields and other’s pull on their suit to be sure they haven’t wrinkled.

The first chapter is tough.  Don’t Be A Sally is based on true events. Cheers.Sugar Loaf

Photo taken by me.  Use your smart phone, kindle, laptop, or iPhone reader and click the link below to read the story.

A Short Story – Based on True Events

From time to time I’ll mention a short story I wrote for my cousin. He was in a tough situation and the only item left for me to give was to write. And I did. I wrote from the heart. He read the story and loved it. His mother read the story and his life was changed. She no longer enabled him to drink. Cutting him off, he became homeless.

Fast forwarding to the now, he’s employed and doing well having just hit his one year mark. He called to talk about that, life, our family. I love my cousin.

After I wrote the story, Megan, self published it for me. It’s called Don’t Be A Sally- Based on true events. I make mention of this story in my ‘About’ and haven’t a clue if any of you have read it. It’s not perfect and it’s not professionally edited.

Megan is the reason I write. She found a box in the closet.  I had printed a few short stories I’d written while in College and placed them in the box, forgotten. College was a decade ago. I wasn’t sure I could write. I wasn’t sure I ever could. I wasn’t an English major. I know very little about the proper usage of anything. Oddly enough, I don’t want to know. I know that words land on the page and somehow they came from me. That’s all I want. I don’t wish to be perfect, only perfectly me.

Now these words chase me. I can’t make them stop. I can’t ignore my past and I won’t. Eventually I’ll write about that too. But, not yet. For now, I’ll finish ‘Colby and the Ravine’ a novel about a child’s innocence lost, written for adults. The ravine is the ravine I grew up in. I might as well have been a stick lying at the bottom of the ravine. I fit well there.

I didn’t mean to sit down and write this post. Now, here it is. It’s December 7th and I have to publish this post. 7 is my favorite number. It’s a number I feel thankful for.

Don’t Be A Sally – Based on True Events

His heart pounded in his chest and his ears rang. He was in hell. He was sure of it. This moment; with this feeling of sickness, and pure hatred for what he felt, was hell. Welcome to hell.

No vomit came from his stomach. No vomit came from his throat and no vomit came from his mouth. His mid-section wretched up and down looking like an October cat in a filthy dance. Up and down his body rose and nothing came out. Yet he smelt his own vomit lingering all about him. Again, he rose up, and again he produced nothing. Beads of sweat were on his forehead and it wasn’t long before they fell onto the surface of the tub. He lurched heavily downward with a massive cough and something came up. Something vile and red landed onto the tub’s floor. Black. He saw nothing but black as he slowly faded and fainted again.

The full story is published and can be found via a link on my profile.  – M. Taggart

An excerpt from Chapter 1. ‘Don’t Be A Sally’ –  Written and published by M. Taggart