It was an early Sunday morning on the grassy hill at the edge of the world.
The sun was rising, setting faraway fires all around the edge of the landscape as it stretched and yawned, and made further plans for the day. Most of which involved rising to a peak position in the sky and then deliberately and without pause following the arc through, to a point below the opposite horizon.
Silhouetted by the sun's orange glow, on a branch in the lone freckled spooftree, sat Bird washing his undergarments.
He was humming quietly to himself, a song or other about catching worms, and made plans of his own. Today he was finally going to fly.
Dog raised an eyebrow to a high enough position so that he could see above the tall dewy grass on which he was flatly resting his head. No food of any kind was in sight, so he shut his eyes again, hoping to go back to the dream where he was king dog of all things edible, and required by royal heritage to eat all day long.
His stomach made for an excellent alarm clock though, and growled a loud complaint that would not be sated by ethereal breakfast, no matter how feastly. It was a very old and wise stomach, who had grown accustomed to having it's way, and Dog knew not to upset it.
As he rose to his feet, his stomach clenched even tighter as it was exposed to the chill of the morning air. He scratched his head with his paw, walked up to the big freckled spooftree at the top of the hill, and promptly peed on it.
Bird was wearing his lucky scarf. It was a scarf he had gotten from his great aunt, big and fluffy and in way too many colors. He always felt a little safer wearing it, which obviously made it perfect for flying. He took a deep breath and walked out further on the leafy branch, closed his eyes and stood there for a moment. This was it, he had tried to fly many times before and failed, but today of all days he would succeed.
"All it takes is motivation", he said in a voice trembling with anticipation. It was something his great aunt had told him once, when he had asked her about the secret of flight.
"Motivation and not being completely drunk", she had continued, but it was mostly the first part that had stuck in his head. A breeze came carrying the sweet smell of success, and something else, less sweet, and sent Bird off the branch.
Dog caught a glimmer of something bright and colorful in the corner of his eye and turned his head to see what it was. A leaf wearing a scarf was falling towards him. No, not a leaf, more bird-shaped, like a bird perhaps. Like breakfast.
He bared his teeth, growling in unison with his belly and lunged at the apporaching ball of fluff.
Dog bit into one end of the scarf and tugged hard. It came loose and sent Bird spinning like a dreidel in the opposite direction.
"I'm flying!!!", Bird yelped in a drawn out vibrato as he flapped wildly while spinning out of Dog's reach.
"I'm hungry!!!", Dog growled back at the bird and crouched, muscles tensing.
Dog flung himself into the air, boosted by cheers of urgency from his stomach.
*Snap*. His teeth chomped shut loudly, the resulting gust of air propelling Bird further into the air with wings flailing.
"I'm a good cook" said Bird, flapping away briskly. "Do you like mayonnaise? I make my own you know. Without eggs of course! Wouldn't wanna be accused of being a cannibal now would I?"
*Snap*. Dog jumped after Bird again and again, each leap a little slower, not as full of energy, not as high.
Bird was tired too but the breeze started back up, and soon his wings became sturdier, more confident. The tree was below him now, the hill and the dog on it also. The patch of daisies, the road past the mill, everything became smaller than ever before.
Bird drew a deep breath and glided on, away and on. Happy.
Dog sniffed the air in disappointment, then huffed in sudden remembrance, and marched down the hill to his master's house. He guessed he could wait the five minutes until the usual breakfast time.