The Big Red Dog
A picture book for anyone who says “That’s just how things are.”
The Big Red Dog was very big.
Twenty feet tall. Firetruck red.
He didn’t sneak in. He just walked right through the middle of town one morning.
People waved. Someone brought him a hat.
One day, he saw a group of kids holding signs.
“Be Kind.” “No More Cages.” “Science is Real.”
He wagged his tail, knocked them over, and set the signs on fire.
“We love how passionate he is,” said the news.
He hoarded toilet paper during a storm.
He ate an entire relief truck.
He stared directly into the camera and said,
“It’s about freedom.”
He yelled at windmills, megaphones, and teenagers.
He bit a globe once.
“Strong instincts,” said the vet.
He pointed at some children with books and growled.
“They don’t belong,” he said.
Then he gave the other kids without books candy.
He liked other big red dogs.
They barked together, loud and proud.
Sometimes a blue dog came, trying to play fetch.
They didn’t let him.
He tore up a playground.
He painted over murals.
He built a statue of himself holding a flag.
“Isn’t that just what dogs do?” said someone’s grandpa.
At night, the Big Red Dog curled up on a pile of PAC money.
He dreamed of parades and rules.
And no one asked why.
And when the sun rose, the town was quiet.
Lawn signs were all the same.
The children all laughed.
The Big Red Dog opened one eye…
and wagged his tail.