The Paper Shredder | Teen Ink

The Paper Shredder

July 4, 2009
By DakotaK SILVER, Comptche, California
DakotaK SILVER, Comptche, California
5 articles 2 photos 1 comment

Max was your average golden retriever; except he was black. He liked to do all the normal things dogs like to do; except play ball. To Max, playing ball was a rudimentary and prehistoric indulgence for the less fortunate minded of dog-kind. Instead Max became a much more civilized dog with his own customized occupation; a paper shredder.

Max would lounge about his owner’s apartment as only dogs can do, awaiting the fateful moment when his one-love; paper, would find it’s way from his Master’s desk to the well varnished and dog-hair layered floor. But on this particular day in March, Max was feeling deprived of his normal paper affair and so besought out his love.

Resting his large black paws atop his Master’s desk, he felt almost tearful with joy as he stared down at the awe-inspiring forms of men; tax papers to be exact. Nosing his way over to the carefully aligned sheets Max parted his mouth and softly caressed the paper, pulling it to its doom at the mercy of his teeth.

Later that night . . .

Max looked woefully up at his stiff-faced master, the red leash the only bane of mortality linking the pathetic couple.


“Shut up,” The master barked out angrily, “I don’t want another word from you. Why on earth I had to end up with a dog who has paper-problems, is beyond me!”

“But it was only paper . . . I do love paper.”

“I said quiet you misfitted ingrate! No more milk-bones for you. If it’s paper you want then it’s paper you’ll get!” Master nodded his head as if to reassure himself. Max whimpered sorrowfully. “And I’ll be contacting Sasha the Obedience Guide for Tuesday lessons from now on!”

The word Devil flashed across Max’s mind as he tucked his feathered tail between his legs.

“Why, the way you don’t act like a normal mutt and chase tennis balls is ridiculous.” The Master growled. Max shuddered as he remembered the awful day as a puppy when he had swallowed a miniature sized tennis ball. He had learned his lesson painfully. “Those were my Tax papers confound it all!” the Master howled mournfully, a fresh bout of anger overwhelming him.

“Why humans have so many papers laying around and in files is beyond me!”Max huffed angrily. Master glowered at him angrily.

“Well you don’t see humans sniffing each other’s butt every time they pass either!” The Master interjected bitterly.

“Touche’ . . . touche’.”

The author's comments:
I wrote this short piece in response to the last lesson in an English writing art and literature class.

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