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Tiny Dog Stories

Dog love in short form: miniature, reader-submitted dog stories of no more than 100 words.

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Hair, No Hair

One day early in her fight with breast cancer, Genie came home from work, took off her wig, and changed clothes. Then she came downstairs to relax. Our three dogs came running.

When Genie hit the bottom step, she stopped, a hand going to her head. “I forgot my wig!”

The dogs slid to a stop and threw their front paws on Genie. They reached up and licked her face.

Genie laughed. “It doesn’t matter, does it? Wig, no wig, hair, no hair—they know it’s me. They love me regardless.”—David Weiskircher



Chester did not come to the shelter empty pawed. The Cocker puppy brought along toys and a letter from his original rescuer who couldn’t keep him: “I just really love this little dog so much, and I hope you will grow to love him the same.” The note added that the family’s six-year-old had named Chester after her favorite US president, Chester Alan Arthur.

I met bright-eyed, waggly-tailed Chet at the shelter and at first sight, grew “to love him the same.” The morning he became eligible for adoption, I rushed to apply for him—and got there first!—KL Snyder


A Tribute

This is a memorial to Kathe Jeffries. She ran The Spay & Neuter Society Animal Shelter, British Columbia.

After adopting our dog from her, we returned to the shelter every Christmas bringing toys and treats. With her special humour and quirkiness, Kathe would try and convince us to adopt yet another pet. A smile comes to my face recalling having to check our car, including the glovebox, in case she snuck a Chihuahua in there.

I feel blessed to have known her and for receiving the gift of our two rescue dogs, Coyote and Harry.—Pam Grossman


The Left Hand of Dog

I wake up suddenly in the middle of the night. Too soon for yesterday’s problems to have faded, but early enough for tomorrow’s worries to rush in. Instinctively I reach out my left arm to find Kringle. She’s a petite Golden Retriever who is always there when I need her. For eight years, her last sleeping spot of the night is tucked into my left hip. Always right there for me, within reach, to calm my mind and ease me back to sleep. She knows, she just knows. Gradually I drift off with my left hand resting on her back.—A.D. Major



I adopted my Chihuahua/Italian Greyhound mix during law school, and her ginger hair confirmed her name would be O’Connor instead of Ginsburg. She gnawed on the corners of casebooks, nudged my pen when I tried to take notes, and whined to go out at 4 a.m. But eventually her spindly legs and sharp face filled in the gaps the law took out of me. Just as Justice O’Connor led the way for the Supreme Court, dog O’Connor leads the way for me—she is the first to jump and greet me, nuzzle my face when I’m sad, and love me through the bad cases and the good.—Grace Hansen


Photo by TatyanaGl/

 Dogs Not Allowed 

Molly was a pregnant stray who found refuge in the open door of a school bus and the open heart of the bus driver, Miss Lulu. Miss Lulu found Molly and her new litter one morning and took them to her apartment which had a strict rule of no dogs allowed. After stressful weeks and near misses hiding the dogs from her cranky landlord, Miss Lulu came home to an empty house. She frantically searched and found the landlord laughing and playing with Molly and the puppies in the backyard. Dogs really are very much allowed!—Rhonda Enloe


Good Cheer

My now 14-year-old Maltese, Jazzy, and I volunteered as a pet therapy team for five years. We visited a hospital floor where patients waited for placement in a long-term care facility. One patient was very animated during our visit, talking about the dogs she owned over the years. When we left, the nurse told me that the patient had been in the hospital for three months, and she had not uttered a word to anyone. I was so proud that Jazzy was able to provide a moment of cheerfulness and normalcy in a trying situation.—Jan Lynch


Letting Go

Lena Beana, you are here for us. We are here for you. We know someday perhaps soon or perhaps long into the future you won’t be on my lap or looking for pets from my daughter or wig-waggling your butt at my husband. We won’t know how long, an uncertainty we don’t often think about. But have as of late. We know we might need to decide when your time with us comes to an end. We hope you’ll help us with that, showing us that it’s OK. OK to let go. Ok to love. And OK to have lost.—Kate Edenborg


Not A Lap Dog

I thought I was getting a lap dog. When I adopted him, I thought: Ronald Weasley is a 10-pound Chihuahua; surely he’ll want to snuggle in my lap every night. It turns out Ronald prefers blankets to my lap. He will completely disappear under a blanket and I won’t see him for hours. Sometimes his tail, head or paw is sticking out from the blanket. I don’t have a lap dog, but that’s okay. Watching Ronald burrow under his blanket has brought me endless smiles and laughs, and he’s happy and cozy. I wouldn’t change a thing.—Katie Allen

Get published in Modern Dog! Submit your dog story of no more than 100 words (word count strictly enforced) to By submitting you are consenting to publication of your story.

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