If I Were To Write A Piece Of Flash Fiction About The Infinite Dog

running along the infinite beach, I would make sure that I had enough frisbees on hand that — from a distance, when thrown — they would fill the sky like bats. I would make sure that I had sufficient enough offerings that — if The Infinite Dog happened to be an as-yet-undeclared deity — I wouldn’t be found wanting. Though the logic of The Infinite Dog infiltrating threads of judgement across the religions of our world suggest that I wouldn’t necessarily have to worry either; that — if someone in officious robes decided to stand and invite judgement down from the skies — i.e., “These people are sinn — ” — The Infinite Dog would come running over, bounce up, place their front paws on the chest of the individual in question and begin to lick a friendly hello.