Day 10 of the One Year of Flash Fiction challenge. In today's tale, Max is a good dog with a wonderful life but some pretty strange dreams.

Max was a good dog, or so his owner June told him. She was a tall human with sparkling golden hair that, although beautiful, was no match for his delicate fur. 

June treated Max well, always ensuring he was never short on food, water, or a cozy bed. He had a large backyard where he could run around, chasing squirrels or simply rolling on the wet grass, two things he loved and wouldn’t mind doing all the time.

Sometimes, they went on walks around the block, but only when it was dark and no one else was nearby. He didn’t know why that was and couldn’t ask, at least in a way she understood. Besides, he had a small brain and better things to worry about than silly questions that needed no answer. He was a good dog and a happy one.

They had been together for four hundred sunrises, give or take. That’s how Max counted the passage of time and it never failed him. Seeing the bright yellow disk up in the sky was always a source of joy unless it was cold outside. Max’s paws were too delicate for snow and ice and there was plenty of that where they lived.

The only Winters Max loved were June and her sister Phoebe, for that was their last name, too. Phoebe visited them every week and always had treats to spare. Anyone with treats was automatically a good person in his eyes. Phoebe was more than good - she was amazing! It was like her hands had been made to scratch his ears and rub his belly. Hmm… he missed her already.

Max’s daily routine usually went like this: he would rise with the first rays of sunshine and leap onto June’s bed, landing beside her with all the grace of an enthusiastic puppy, his tail wagging in a rhythm only he understood.

Once June stirred from her slumber, she would greet him with a laugh and scratch behind his ears just as Phoebe did. After breakfast, she let him head out to the backyard for his morning exercise. It never lasted long though because she had to go to work. He didn’t like being left alone, but it was okay because she always returned. She never forgot her good dog!

When it was just him and the silent space around him, Max often went to sleep. And when he slept, he dreamed, although it was difficult to understand the images floating in his canine brain.

In his dreams, there was another Max but he was not a charming dog like him. He was a man, a basketball player wearing a blue jersey and matching shorts. June was there too, always trying to get his attention, but he never gave her any. Human Max was mean to her, always making fun of her clothes or pushing her away like she was an unwanted stray. Once, he remembered him hitting her, and that was unacceptable! Human Max gave a bad name to all the good ones out there.

Dreams like these came and went, and Max hated them, especially what came after. Sometimes, he would find himself walking on two legs, still asleep, and heading toward the door. He had never gotten close to opening it because June always came home in time, and she was never pleased.

“No! Bad dog, Max! You’re a bad dog!” she would say before reaching for a small flashlight from her back pocket to shine its colorful light into his eyes.

The light flashed green, red, and blue, always in the same pattern, and every time she did that, Max would fall back on the floor almost as if he were convulsing. It was the only time she ever punished him even if it wasn’t his fault. Dreams are dreams, right? How could he stop himself from dreaming?

“Don’t do this again, Max!” his owner would continue after he was immobilized. “You are a good dog. You need to be a good dog. Continue to be a good dog for me.”

Of course! That’s all he wanted! Be good and have a good life, with food on his bowl and all the ear scratches he deserved. It was so much better than dreaming about bad men who didn’t know how to treat women right. Why couldn’t they go away for once?

Max was a good dog. He would always be a good dog for her, and that’s all that mattered. Eyes closed, he hoped for that poor excuse for a man never to haunt his peaceful life again.