May the Bluebird of Happiness …

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “A Dog Named Bob.”  You have 20 minutes to write a post that includes the words mailbox, bluejay, plate, syrup, and ink. And one more detail… the story must include a dog named Bob.

I’ve been on pins and needles waiting for a response from a publisher with the verdict on the fate of my novel.  Following my daily ritual I rinsed the syrup off my breakfast plate, sent out a silent plea to the universe and leashed Bob so he could do his doggie business on the way to the mailbox where I will either suffer my daily disappointment or, perhaps, the joy of acceptance.

We made our way down the drive with Bob sniffing every bush and flower and generally taking forever to decide where to cleanse his colon. Finally, arriving at the mailbox I retrieved my letters.

Halleleujah!  An envelope from the publisher.  I shouted in jubilation and tore the envelope open to read the verdict on my life’s work.  My shout caused Bob to act like an idiot, prancing and barking which flushed a bluebird from a nearby tree.  As it flew over my shoulder it crapped on my letter.  A gooey gob of guano smeared the ink on the letter so I still don’t know whether my manuscript has been accepted or rejected.

Oh, shit!

Literally.