Ever since grandma gifted Brian the pet, Mr. Biscuit they had been no day they didn’t train at basketball court. As Brian busied himself with other kids at the court Mr. Biscuit sat at its spot and learnt some of the basketball tricks from top-notch players. Really it had learnt how to punch ball into the rim, using its forehead. Once Brian had thrown the ball at Mr. Biscuit and it thumped up with its head and dunged the ball into the rim- and it had missed the rim only but a few times. Days past, Mr. Biscuit had been the center of attraction; as it entertained onlookers and amassed gifts from loyalists.
“I once had a smart dog as this,” said a sonorous cute voice that sounded like two waterfalls splashing on a rock. She was in her late twenties, average height with narrow hips and annoying bust that pressed on her blouse for escape, and dark short hair over dashing, please-kiss-me face. Brian had been noticing her for some days when he came around and she was fond of getting along with Brian; discussing a thing or gossiping another. She played basketball avidly and often caught attention by riding on her skating board as she played superbly.
“Mr. Biscuit is a human-dog,” Brian remarked, “It conveys most of our abstract thinking, “he stole a glance at the tattoo on her left arm; it was the head of a dog. “That must be your dog,” Brian muttered, looking in the direction of the tattoo.
“Yes, rest in peace, Mr. Biscuit,” she added after looking at it briefly before planting a kiss on it.”
“Oh yours was named Mr. Biscuit too,” said Brian, as they started walking along the lawn after their training session.