Today’s story is “Ham” by Killick, who has short stories published in several furry anthologies, and is currently working on his first novel. You can find more of his writings on his blog, or on Fur Affinity.

Read for you by Khaki, your faithful fireside companion.

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You’re listening to The Voice of Dog.

I’m Khaki, your faithful fireside companion,

and Today’s story is

“Ham” by Killick, who has short stories published in several furry anthologies,

and is currently working on his first novel.

You can find more of his writings on his blog, or on Fur Affinity.

“Ham”

by Killick It was as hot,

like the saying goes,

as balls. The bus window dripped with condensation,

air conditioner struggling to keep the outside heat at bay.

Scrub and paperbark trees whizzed past,

letting through quick flashes of red tiled roofs.

Beyond them, a wide mountain

covered in thick tree growth

dominated the horizon.

Linda, a black and white speckled blue heeler,

stared through the window at the mountain and tried to focus on how beautiful it was.

The view from this particular suburban road was gorgeous,

but Linda still felt her ears droop,

just a little. The bus stopped

and Linda collected her things.

She dug in her shorts pocket for her GoCard,

and tapped it against the electronic reader which beeped at her in thanks.

“Thank you, Merry Christmas,”

she called to the bus driver who just waved a paw in response.

The side door hissed open.

Heat slapped into Linda’s body like a wet towel,

instantly destroying even the memory of the wonderful chill of the air conditioned bus.

Her glasses, big round ones,

fogged up for several seconds,

and she felt an immediate stickiness in the fur under her armpits.

She swore in resigned horror at the sudden temperature hike,

as was the great Australian tradition of literally anyone walking outside from a cooled place during the summer.

She still wasn’t used to this kind of heat.

Each day she swore that it could not possibly get any hotter, and then each new day

would usually prove her wrong.

She breathed in a lungful of thick,

humid air, and started to walk.

Cicadas roared around her,

almost as loud as the bus as it took off.

Above her in the trees,

magpies’ gentle warbles would turn into aggressive screams when she passed below.

The fog finally vanished from her glasses

letting her see clearly the haze of heat that rose from the concrete path ahead of her.

It wasn’t even noon yet.

Linda’s paws clutched at a tupperware container full of hand-iced Christmas biscuits,

and a plastic Woolworths bag that contained a bottle of wine

and a wrapped present.

A tiny part of her resented what she was doing.

It was her first Christmas in Brisbane,

and more importantly, her first away from family.

She already missed the family traditions.

French toast for breakfast,

followed by the present exchange at nine sharp.

Table set for eight with the good plates and fancy napkins,

everyone wearing their best shirts and jackets

(except for Uncle Dan, who insisted on wearing the brightest, most ridiculous hawaiian clothes possible),

and Dad divvying up the slices of glazed ham

with the fervour of a circus ringleader.

Not to mention the fresh prawns.

Oh man, those prawns.

Linda couldn’t imagine prawns from anywhere else tasting as good as they did back home.

She balanced the box of biscuits

in the crook of her elbow

and dug her phone out of her pocket,

quickly wiping it against her shorts to remove the thin layer of sweat from the screen.

She checked for any updates on the group chat that doubled as the party invitation.

A few friends had reported as being on their way or already arrived,

which was good, as Linda hated being the first to show up at social events.

This party was a barbeque,

according to the invite.

Linda liked barbeques,

but on Christmas Day?

It seemed way too casual.

She liked a bit of pomp on the most

wonderful day of the year.

She also liked it about twelve degrees cooler.

Linda closed the chat,

but her black nail hovered over the text app.

No! She thought, pulling her paw away and shoving the phone

into the recesses of her shorts.

Don’t read it again.

It’ll just piss you off more.

The last thing she wanted was to be angry on Christmas day.

The walk from the bus stop was only about eight minutes,

but it may as well have been an eight kilometre run.

By the time she walked up the driveway of the house, Linda was panting like crazy

and she could smell herself.

Swatting away a few flies,

she briefly considered that she could probably kill a man for a drink of ice cold water.

The house was an old Queenslander style, timber,

built on stilts to avoid the occasional tropical flood and, apparently,

to keep them cooler in the heat.

Linda was convinced the latter feature was a complete myth,

as every Queenslander house she’d stayed in

got just as hot as any other.

The colour of the house

had once been white,

but decades of weather had stripped much of the paint away, along with several chips of wood.

Its current condition

screamed cheap and shitty student share house,

but as with all houses of that calibre,

it wasn’t the outside

but the people inside that made it a home.

Linda breathed deeply of the jasmine

that grew up the front latticework

and threatened to tear down the front gutter.

It was in full bloom and smelled

wonderful. Hopefully it would also mask a little of her own stink.

She wished she’d brought a can of deodorant with her.

She knocked. The thumping of heavy footfalls approached,

almost shaking the entire wooden frame of the house,

and a large kangaroo

appeared wearing a tank top,

bright orange board shorts,

and fuzzy santa hat on her head.

“Hey, girl! Merry Christmas!” said Kay,

pushing the screen door open and then pulling the dog into a hug.

Linda did her best to hug the tall young woman back,

while still balancing the plastic container and bag of goodies.

“Merry Christmas, Kay.

I brought biscuits and some wine.”

“Ooh, fancy,” said the kangaroo,

peeking in the bag at the bottle. “Come on

in. Everyone’s out back.

If you have anything that needs to go in the fridge...

then you might be out of luck.

Me and Erick went a bit crazy with the salads.

And Angus brought a huge bowl of trifle, it’s bloody insane.”

Kay led Linda through the house as she talked.

The living room, usually packed with textbooks,

abandoned crochet projects and old guitars,

was even more cramped with the Christmas decorations up.

Anything that could support tinsel was heavily tinsel-ified.

A plastic christmas tree stood in the corner.

Only four feet tall and radiating cheapness,

it had still been lovingly decorated

with glitter spattered baubles.

At the very top sat a felt angel dingo,

dressed in a white gown and lace wings,

a stereotypical cork slouch hat,

and holding what was unmistakably

a can of VB. It was much too heavy for the plastic tree,

making the entire thing droop to one side.

A far cry from the elegant glass and gold star

that would be adorning the top of Linda’s parent’s tree,

but it still made her giggle.

Kay turned and spoke over her shoulder.

“We got an esky out back with softies, ciders and beers.

You’re welcome to help yourself.” “Beer? It’s not even noon.”

Kay grinned. “Nothing wrong with a cheeky Christmas bevvy. Although most of us will probably wait until lunch is ready.”

Linda followed Kay through the kitchen and sniffed at the air.

“What’s cooking?” “My famous Christmas ham!”

Kay said, puffing her chest out.

“Ham?” Linda licked her muzzle,

the melancholy lifting just some of its weight from her mind.

“I thought it was just a barbeque?”

She regretted the word “just” as soon as she spoke it.

Just a barbeque. Like she was too good for her friend’s party.

Like it was beneath her.

However, Kay didn’t seem to notice.

“I always do a ham.

Doesn’t feel like Christmas without one to me.

I’ve got a bunch of snags and chicken as well for the barbie to keep us all fed though.”

Linda forced a smile,

her brain working overtime trying to decide if she needed to apologise or not.

This, Kay noticed. She placed a paw on the dog’s shoulder

and spoke softer,

privately, knowingly.

“Linda, how is everything going?

Are you doing okay?”

“Oh, yes, yeah, I’m fine.

I’m just hot, really.”

Kay shook her head.

“Your muzzle’s saying one thing, but your tail’s saying another.”

The kangaroo crossed her arms.

“Is it your Dad again?”

Linda sighed. “Have you called them yet?”

Kay asked. “No. I want to,

but I also really don’t want to.”

“I get it. I’m not going to tell you whether you should or not,

but whatever happens,

I got your back, girl.”

The affirmation brought back the tiny smile to Linda’s muzzle.

“Thanks, Kay.” “C’mon,

let’s go round the back.”

A cluster of fold out camping chairs,

the cheapest that Bunnings had to offer,

formed a rough circle around an inflatable kiddies paddle pool,

with a yellow, scraggly lawn stretching beneath them from fence to fence.

The animals in the occupied chairs looked up,

waved, and shouted a rousing round of

“Merry Christmaaaas!” as Linda and Kay descended the steps from the house to the backyard.

Kay introduced Linda to the small group.

Angus the rat gave a smile

and simple hello;

Linda had no idea how he was wearing black skinny jeans in this weather.

Erick the rabbit, a fellow theatre geek she already knew.

And finally, a thickly built boar named Maso

who lazily wandered between the circle of chairs and an old, flat-topped barbeque. “G’day, Linda, howyagaahn?”

Maso slurred loudly,

a stubby of Four X dangling from his trotter.

“I’m doing alright. How are you?” “Yeah, not bad. Fuckin’ buggered though.

This fuckin’ heat, aye?

Fuck.” Erick the rabbit turned and smiled.

“How are you enjoying your first Brisbane Christmas?”

I’m not, Linda thought, trying to stop her tail from drooping.

It’s too hot, I didn’t get any French toast,

I can’t afford any decorations for my garbage apartment, I miss my family but I also hate them right now.

Out loud she said,

“Oh, I’m still getting used to things.”

“So, Linda, where are you from?”

asked Angus in a voice that was light, but way too cool. “Launceston.

Tasmania. I moved up in June to finish Uni.”

“That’s awesome,” said Angus. “I’ve been to Tazzy.

Only Hobart though.

Decent drinking scene. Amazing art gallery.”

Linda felt her phone buzz,

and her attention tore away from the conversation.

Damn it. She hated how wound up she still was.

Jumpy, even. She pulled out her phone, without thinking, and checked it.

It was a message.

From Dad. Call us please.

Three little words and a full-stop that screamed louder than any Caps Lock could.

Linda started breathing in sharp breaths.

What did it mean? No ‘Merry Christmas’,

no ‘hello’, no ‘love you.’ Just three

words. Was it an order?

A demand? Were they angry? Or was it a plea?

A desperate scratch for validation?

Or was she just completely over-analyzing a message sent by a boomer who didn’t understand text etiquette?

Dad could be oblivious when he wanted to.

Why did she have to call them?

Why the hell couldn’t they call her, if they wanted to talk to her so desperately?

Linda realised she was squeezing her phone.

She stood up suddenly,

quicker than she meant to,

mumbled “excuse me,”

and shuffled away from whatever conversation she’d interrupted.

She stared into her phone.

Moving from Launceston to Brisbane

had been the plan for quite some time.

Work prospects were more promising,

but honestly it was because most of her friends lived up here.

She’d met so many wonderful people online

and made the kind of strong connections that she just couldn’t seem to find in her hometown.

At first her parents were doubtful.

In time that doubt had turned into support,

and six months ago

Linda had made the move,

something she’d feared would always be out of her reach.

It was the happiest she had ever been.

Then the holiday season started to loom.

The regular phone calls to her parents became increasingly strained as December approached.

At first they simply asked what her plans for Christmas were.

When she truthfully told them she had no idea,

they had responded with

“You’re always welcome here with us.”

Linda assumed they were just curious in that

parental kind of way,

letting her know they still loved her by offering a symbolic place at the table.

Truthfully, Linda would love to fly back home for Christmas.

But the final say in the matter came from her bank account.

There was no way she could afford a plane ticket to Tasmania, not in December.

The airfares were always so jacked up for Christmas.

So in Linda’s mind

that was the end of it.

But then the hints got heavier and more overt.

About two weeks before Christmas day,

her Dad called and said,

“You should come down and spend Christmas with us.”

The way he’d said it was final.

A demand without being an order.

She knew what her Dad could be like,

and she dreaded what came next.

“It won’t be the same without you.”

“You’re breaking traditions”

“Moving up there wasn’t a smart idea.”

“Why are you trying to upset us?”

The calls and texts

came like little pinches,

making her wince and hesitate everytime her phone buzzed.

On the rare occasion she got to talk to Mum instead,

she told Linda not to stress.

“You know what Dad’s like.”

She did know. But it was hurting her, and she didn’t know how to tell her parents that.

They were her parents.

She loved them. The last message between them

was a text from Dad.

I just don’t see why you can’t come down here for Christmas. We always have Christmas together.

That was three days ago.

She’d never responded.

She didn’t know how.

Her feet twisted against the yellow grass,

almost digging into the dirt.

Her lips tensed up

revealing teeth and she caught herself about to snarl at her phone.

A strong, tanned paw caught her shoulder.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

The touch of Kay’s paw on Linda’s shoulder soothed the dog,

as it had done several times before.

Still trembling, Linda showed the kangaroo the most recent message.

“Ah. Right.” Kay nodded slowly.

“Honey, maybe you should call them.

Otherwise this is going to eat at you all day.

It might not be so bad. They can’t exactly order you to get on a plane right now.”

Linda sighed. “You really think so?”

“You should. I hate to see you like this.

If you talk to them you might feel better.

It’s worth a shot.”

“I hate that I think you’re right.”

“You deserve to be happy.

Especially today.”

Linda smiled weakly.

“Thanks Kay.” “You gonna need backup?”

Kay said, crossing her arms over her muscular chest and frowning.

“I wouldn’t mind having a couple a’ words with your Dad.”

“I’ll be right.” “No worries then.”

The kangaroo stepped away.

Linda was grateful for the space.

She took a deep breath

and dialed. “Oh, Linda! Merry Christmas!”

“G’day, luv. Good to see you.”

The two dogs on the other end of the video call were blue heelers like her,

but the black fur around their muzzles had started to fade into a dark grey.

“Hi Mum, hi Dad, Merry Christmas.”

Linda tried to put as much smile into her muzzle as she could without looking insane.

She was glad they couldn’t see her tail in the video call as it would have given away her true mood.

Mum beamed through the camera.

“Sweety, I miss you so much.

How is everything up there?

Are you having a good Christmas?”

“Everything’s fine,” she lied.

Everything would be a hell of a lot better if Dad would stop pestering her,

but she would never say that.

Besides, she wanted to keep this call pleasant,

simple, and most of all short.

“I’m at Kay’s. She’s making Christmas lunch.”

Dad nodded and smiled.

“It’s a real shame you couldn’t get down here.

It’s not the same without you.”

Linda’s tail started to move in short strokes.

She hoped the same anxiety wasn’t showing in her face.

“That’s fair, Dad.

sometimes that’s just how things go.”

She was about to ask what kind of crazy shirt Uncle Dan was wearing this year,

desperate to keep the conversation light,

when Dad decided he just couldn’t help himself.

“You still could have come down.

We could have paid half the air fare.”

A hollow buzz started at the base of Linda’s skull,

eating up her words.

Dad had never offered to pay any part of the plane ticket before.

Why would he say this now?

What did he think it would achieve except to make her feel even more like a villain for not thinking to ask it herself?

Not that it would have mattered anyway;

she still would not have been able to afford even half a plane ticket at Christmas prices.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, eyes darting around.

“But I couldn’t-” “I know you’re up there to visit friends, but it’s left me and your Mum in a bit of a position.”

Linda’s jaw clenched tight. ‘Visit

friends?’ This wasn’t some holiday,

it was permanent.

His complete dismissal of the change that she’d forged for herself

made her blood boil.

Treating it like some temporary schtick,

like it wasn’t a permanent and meaningful decision she’d made on her own,

like she was supposed to scurry home any day now with her tail between her legs.

“Dad, I…” Dad’s brow rose minutely,

barely a twitch of muscle.

“Just try to be more prepared in the future, please.” Linda’s careful grip around her phone turned into a clawed vice

as something inside her snapped.

“It’s literally Christmas Day and I have no money.

What the fuck do you want me to do?

Run to the airport right now and hijack a plane?”

“Linda!” he barked. “Do not talk to me like that.”

“I’m not allowed to say ‘fuck’ but you’re allowed to make me feel terrible for-”

“I just want us to have Christmas as a family like we’ve always done.

You moved up there without considering anyone’s feelings but your own.”

Linda’s grip around the phone

tightened. “I… How dare you,

you… you hypocrite.

Do you have any idea how shitty you’ve been making me feel with all that guilt shaming you’ve thrown at me?

You act like I don’t want to come back, but I do, I so do. I can’t afford it right now, because I don’t have any money, because I don’t have a decent job, because I haven’t finished Uni yet!

Patience, Dad, is all I’m asking for.

It’s really that simple.

But you’re turning it into this weird feud,

and it’s making me feel like a worthless piece of shit!”

Dad opened his mouth to retort,

but Linda was damned if she was going to let him interrupt her again.

“Shit changes, Dad. Things don’t always stay the same.

I’ve had to make some hard decisions to make sure my life is going to be a good one, and I’m sorry that’s making your perfect holiday uncomfortable!”

The inside of Dad’s ears turned a bright pink.

“I… Stop making this about you!”

Mum, whose muzzle had slowly moved out of frame of the video as Dad dominated the call,

suddenly spoke up.

“Andy, I think that I’d like to talk to Linda now please.”

“Not now, Luv, I-” “Andrew!”

Mum said the name short and sharp.

An order. Linda stood,

frozen in the middle of the hot sun filtering through the leaves of a mango tree,

watching a confused burst of images on her phone

as her parents’ device was manhandled over seventeen hundred kilometres away,

the movement too quick for the camera to keep up with.

Her ears twitched of their own accord,

trying to focus on individual sounds,

but stayed confused when all that noise came from the same tinny speaker. She heard her parents

voices but not the words;

dull claws clacking against the device drowned those out.

Eventually, Linda heard Mum say, “Alone, please,

Andrew,”

followed by the slam of a door.

“Really, I could bloody belt him one,”

said Mum, more to herself than Linda.

“Oh sweety. I’m so sorry,

I didn’t realise we were upsetting you so much.

I’ll make sure to have words with your Dad.”

She shook her head,

paused, and looked sheepishly at the screen.

“He’s being very immature about this isn’t he?”

“Yeah, he is,” Linda said softly.

“What you’re doing is very brave, I hope you know that.

Your Dad’s just not quite ready to move on yet.

We’ve always lived here.

He loves you, and misses you.

I suppose he’s just not dealing with it very well.”

“He can’t expect me to stay around forever.” “You’re right,

and it’s selfish of him to think that you should.”

She sighed. “I’ll let you get back to your party now.

Can you call us again, please?

Perhaps in a day or two?”

“Sure Mum, I can do that.”

Great another call to wait anxiously for.

But maybe Mum could talk some sense into Dad.

Maybe. “I love you, Linda.

Merry Christmas.” “Merry Christmas, Mum.”

The phone went silent in her paw.

Linda stared at the screen for way too long.

It was easier to just stand there,

analysing the bright pixels,

that it was to interact with the outside world again.

“How’d it go?” Kay’s voice pulled Linda out of her trance.

“Not as bad as I thought, but somehow also much worse than I could have imagined.”

“Christ, nothing awful happened did it?” “I don’t…

I don’t know.” Her face brightened.

“Mum’s being reasonable.”

“That’ll help deal with your Dad, won’t it?”

“Yeah. I hope so.” Kay leaned in for a hug.

The kangaroo always made Linda feel soft and warm,

even if Kay herself was sturdy and lean. Kay pulled

back and held the dog by the shoulders.

“Lunch is ready. C’mon.

A good feed’ll help you feel better.”

The kangaroo didn’t take her eyes off Linda until the dog gave her a nod.

Then she turned and called out,

“Okay you filthy animals,

lunch is officially served!”

Whoops and hollers marked the migration to the plastic picnic table,

weighed down by the various glad-wrapped plates and tupperware containers that had been brought to share.

More friends of Kay’s had arrived,

each bringing their own tribute to the midday feast.

A tray of sliced watermelon,

pineapple and aromatic mango cheeks sat next to a bowl of shiny cherries.

A green salad, pasta salad, and potato salad

were lined up in descending order of healthiness,

and ascending order of which would be eaten first.

Slices of cold turkey breast

were arranged in a careful circle,

right next to a bamboo bowl full of fried pork dumplings with soy sauce.

A foil tray of still sizzling snags and chicken wings.

And prawns, of course,

bright orange in their shells.

Linda’s biscuits were yet to join the table,

laying in wait with the other desserts in the cool refuge of Kay’s fridge.

In the very centre of the table

sat the undisputed champion of the lunch:

Kay’s Christmas ham.

Surrounded by little pots of mustard,

cranberry and apple sauce,

the baked ham glistened from the juicy pink meat to the almost black sheen of the thick glaze.

Linda caught a whiff of the scent

and immediately started to salivate.

The smell alone was enough to shake away the funk of the phone call.

Plastic forks and paper plates were handed out,

and then crammed with enough food to compromise the structural integrity of the waxed paper.

Linda filled hers

with mostly the ham,

potato salad, and a pile of prawns.

She’d go back for the other salads later.

The potatoes were soft and creamy,

with a little too much mustard for her liking

but it was still the perfect comfort food.

She balanced the paper plate on her knees

and cut herself a big forkful of the ham,

making sure to get a hefty scraping of the black,

goopy glaze. Kay sat down next to her.

“How is it?” She looked expectantly at Linda,

or more accurately,

at Linda’s ambitious forkfull.

Linda smiled and shoved the meat into her muzzle.

Her tongue lit up,

followed quickly by her eyes.

Citrus and earthiness washed over her tongue,

ultimately carrying the buttery,

fatty, ham flavour with it.

It was so juicy! How?

And she was very surprised by how salty it wasn’t,

if that made any sense.

Her Dad’s ham needed a good spoonful of cranberry or apple sauce to cut through the briny flavour,

but this ham needed nothing.

It did it all on its own.

She chewed for a moment and then almost squealed.

“What is that?” she asked through a muffled smile.

A dark, treacle like sweetness spread over her tongue as a piece of glaze crusted fat

danced over her taste buds.

“Marmalade,” Kay answered.

“Found the recipe online a few years ago.

Haven’t had any complaints since.”

“It’s fuckin’ amazing.”

Linda greedily wolfed down the rest of the meat,

then just sat and let her mouth hang on to the flavour,

committing it to memory.

The prawns were next.

Linda removed the head and shell

with delicate, precise movements,

then popped the flesh into her muzzle.

It tasted just like it did at home.

Fresh ocean. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

She finished the prawns,

despite them making her think of her family.

They were still delicious after all.

But now she wished she’d eaten them first.

Shaking the memory from her head was about as easy as shaking cobbler’s pegs from her fur,

but perhaps another round of ham would help.

She also collected a spoonful of each salad,

like she promised,

before returning back to her chair.

Kay was waiting for her,

and held up Linda’s Woolworths bag.

Linda chuckled. “That’s mine.”

“Then why,” Kay responded,

reaching into the bag and pulling out a gift wrapped in white and gold,

“does it have my name on it?”

“I was going to give that to you later.”

Linda snatched the present away,

but felt a small grin pulling at her cheeks.

Kay just laughed. “Now is the perfect time for presents.

But…” She paused to reach behind her generous tail.

When her paw came back up

it clutched a swaddle of bright pink paper

held in place with what looked like half a roll of tape.

“I think you should go first.”

Checking for ants before placing the plate of food on the grass,

Linda took the badly wrapped gift

and tore away the paper with her claws.

Inside was a cardboard box that held a wine glass,

deep, and patterned with a slight twist.

“Oh my god, it’s crystal,”

said Linda, pulling it out of the box and letting the sun shine through it.

“It’s beautiful.” “Just like you.”

Kay said it as a fact,

confident and certain.

“It’s a shame we don’t have any wine to christen it with-

Oh wait we do!” She pulled Linda’s bottle out of the bag,

cracked it open and started pouring.

“Don’t worry, I already washed it.”

Then she poured herself some into a clear plastic cup.

“Classy,” said Linda.

They touched their glasses

and drank. Kay twitched her nose.

“Mmm.” “That’s, um...” Linda started.

“Really cheap,” Kay finished with a smile.

Linda laughed, and finished the glass.

“Now open yours.” She handed back the neat,

white and gold coloured present.

The kangaroo ripped open the wrapping paper to reveal a plastic container.

Inside were a dozen biscuits,

cut and iced to look like kangaroos. “Aren’t

these…” Kay glanced up at the kitchen,

where Linda’s other box of biscuits sat.

“I made these for you first.

They’re for you and you only,”

said Linda. “The others are leftover dough, and a few burnt ones.”

“You little scamp.” Kay pulled her into a hug.

Then they relaxed into their chairs,

the jabber of friends drifting over them.

It felt good to take a moment.

“These are really good,” said Kay, biting a biscuit in half.

“How’d you get the icing so straight?”

“Practice,” Linda breathed.

A breeze rustled the mango tree.

It wrapped around them like silk,

slowly beating away the humidity of the day.

Kay finished the biscuit.

“How you doing?”

Linda let out a sigh.

One of those deep sighs that fills the lungs,

leaving a feeling of satisfaction when it all rushes out again.

“Still kinda shaky about Mum and Dad.

I have no idea how I’m going to deal with that.”

“Family’ll do that to you.”

“But I’m finally having a good time today.

I’m glad I came. I feel a lot better.”

Kay smirked. “And friends’ll do that.

Linda’s paw drifted to the kangaroo’s.

“Merry Christmas, Kay.”

“Merry Christmas, Linda.”

This was “Ham” by Killick,

read for you by Khaki,

your faithful fireside companion.

You can find more stories on the web at thevoice.dog,

or find the show wherever you get your podcasts.

Thank you for listening

to The Voice of Dog.