A parish priest of mine was a missionary in a Saharan country (I forget which). He’d gone without meat for months and months when a family offered him a serving of their dog. He ate with gusto, even though it was Good Friday (no meat today, dudes), figuring he’d done his fast quite adequately already.

Bleak, like Match’s entry, yet entirely different. Somehow a touch less hopeless. Beautifully executed.

Where thelostgirl used the dog as a partner in the hunt, you’ve chosen to use it as the target.

The end of the world is populated with many canine inhabitants, it seems. :-)

I like the descriptions of location and protagonist in the first paragraph, pulling the reader firmly into the story to sit by him in his vigil.

Very nice.