Daily Flash Fiction Challenge

The Ambush

The dog was scratching at his face. Curled over in a yoga position with his back leg like a machine gun scratching away frantically at the unseen enemy.

Then he got up and wagged his tail, confident that the early part of the battle had been a success and now he was free to go looking for bush turkeys in the back yard.

That battle was more fun and it had been ongoing for several years. The bush turkeys would hop down off the fence and rummage in the flower bed and dig up bits of the lawn looking for food and his owner would yell 'Turkeys!' which was the signal for him to charge and let loose with deafening barks and much tail wagging.

Only nowadays, he liked to wait in ambush and not wait for his master to give the command. He found a concealed spot under a tree.

His eyes scanned the long fence line, interrupted by overhanging trees and plants from the garden next door.

His patience paid off. A magnificent large black bush turkey landed with a thump on the fence. He'd flown across the street with such ungainly effort that the landing was a relief. They were not designed to fly.

The dog went into alert mode. His lower jaw jutted out and his eyes widened ready for the attack the minute the bush turkey made the jump from the fence to the lawn.

Then the fleas began their second attack and bit him with such ferocity that the dog had no option but to give away his stealth position by whining in pain and retaliating with wild leg scratches to his chin.

Tomorrow would be better. He'd overheard his master talk of bombing the fleas with chemicals and that battle would be over.