This is my story for the writing exercise I prompted on March 4th, 2024:
My dog dug something up and I wish they hadn't.
I will offer a critical critique of my work in two weeks.
In the year of our Lord 1849, when the lands west of the Mississippi were as wild as the dreams of men who dared to venture into their depths, there lived a cowboy by the name of Logan MacTavish. Hailing from the frost-kissed plains of Canada, Logan sought fortune and freedom in the untamed wilderness of the American frontier. Alongside him, a Border Collie of unmatched spirit and intelligence named Shadow, a loyal companion whose fur was as black and white as the tales of good and evil, spun around campfires under the starlit sky.
Driven by the whispers of a land rich in promise, MacTavish sought his fortune. One day, beneath the ancient limbs of an oak, Shadow unearthed a strong box. Inside, MacTavish found a collection of rare coins and a map. The map's lines and markings hint at the existence of a mine lost to the sands of time, its veins rich with gold.
The winds of fortune are fickle and Logan MacTavish's tale of his own good fortune was carried on those winds to the ears of Black Bart, a name that struck fear into the hearts of even the bravest souls, a ruthless outlaw whose greed knew no bounds. With his gang of ne'er-do-wells, Black Bart set his covetous gaze upon Logan and Shadow, determined to claim the treasure as his own.
The chase that ensued was one for the annals of legend. Across barren deserts and rugged mountains, Logan and Shadow evaded their pursuers with cunning and bravery. But fate, ever the trickster, led them into a canyon with walls as steep as the greed in men's hearts. It was here that Logan and Shadow found themselves cornered, with escape a fleeting dream.
In the face of insurmountable odds, Shadow made the ultimate sacrifice. With a heart as brave as the cowboy lore that would sing his praises, Shadow led the outlaws on a merry chase, allowing Logan to slip through a crevice—a narrow escape to freedom. The sounds of gunfire that followed haunted Logan, a requiem for the bravest soul he'd ever known.
Alone, Logan wandered, his heart heavy with grief for his fallen companion. His journey through the wilderness was a testament to the indomitable human spirit, driven by a desire to honor Shadow's memory. Yet, as the days turned to weeks, Logan's resolve was matched only by his growing hunger.
Then, as if by a mirage conjured by the wilderness itself, Logan beheld what appeared to be a bacon tree. A beacon of hope in his direst hour, he approached, his thoughts consumed by the prospect of sustenance.
Logan MacTavish's mouth waters with what little spittle it can muster when suddenly, Black Bart and his gang leaped forth from hiding and shot Logan dead!
For you see, 'twas not a Bacon Tree that the Canadian beheld, but a Ham Bush.
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