The Hellhound Days of Summer

Introduction
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My mouth tasted like the rest of my body felt. Sour, desiccated, and as if a number of bad decisions had come home to roost in it. Something wet was touching my hand, I shuddered to think of the possibilities before remembering. It had arrived last week. It was supposed to "keep him company." I may not be the sharpest bulb in the box, but even I could read between those lines.

The name tag had read "Old Scratch", rolling my eyes, the home office was nothing if not original. It seemed to answer just as well to "You" and "Hey asshole", which was fitting. Since even though it was perfectly capable of walking and feeding itself, the creature took delight in forcing me to fetch, carry and most all ... scoop. Given that the plumber's crack of dawn was showing, they duty it had in mind was obvious.

One foot in front of the other, pretty sure that's how this works. It knows full well it could drag me down the street on my face and makes sure I know it too by keeping a pace just faster than a walk until stopping short at random intervals to see if my attention was drifting. You'd think after 40 years they'd give me a break, but no. The perfectly legitimate sons of church goers.