drama husky

Here is a script for a short, dramatic scene featuring a Husky, playing on their famously dramatic, talkative, and stubborn nature. Title: The Great Floor Injustice Characters: LUNA: A majestic, silver-and-white Siberian Husky. Regal, emotional, and possessing a wide vocal range. MARK: A human. Exhausted. (Setting: A modest, yet cozy living room. A spilled bag of dog food (cheap, generic kibble) lies on the LINOLEUM floor. In the corner, a pristine, lavish velvet dog bed sits untouched.) Scene: The living room. Evening. MARK stands over the spilled kibble, a dustpan in his hand. LUNA is sitting in the exact center of the room, her back to the mess, staring at the wall with immense, theatrical solemnity. MARK: (Sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose) Luna. Weve been over this. You knocked the bag off the counter when I was trying to give you your dinner. (Luna does not move. A long, dramatic sigh escapes her snout. She shifts her weight, but does not turn around. Her ears are flat against her head.) MARK: Its not a punishment. Im just cleaning it up. You cant eat it off the floor. Its floor food. (Luna slowly, slowly, turns her head. Her eyes are filled with the sorrow of a thousand winters. She lets out a low, grumbling "Awooo-Rooo.") MARK: What? Whats that supposed to mean? LUNA: (Tone: Deep, wounded, accusatory) Aroo-roo-roo. (Translation: You are breaking my spirit. You pour my sustenance onto the cold, hard earth and then deny me the primal joy of foraging. It is an outrage.) MARK: I didnt pour it! You did! You have thumbs? No? Then you did it. LUNA: (Stands up, turns to face him fully. She lifts one elegant paw.) HRRRRRRUFF. (Translation: Look at this paw. This perfect, functional paw. It is designed for snow, for digging, for expressing my disdain. Do you see a grain of kibble on it? I think not. Your accusation is a slander.) MARK: I saw you do it. The security camera on the treat jar saw you. (Lunas eyes widen in pure, shocked betrayal. She takes a step back, as if struck.) LUNA: (A short, sharp, staccato bark) WUF! (Translation: The very idea! A spy! In my own castle! You have violated the sacred trust between Human and Husky!) MARK: I call it "the treat cam." Now, come here and eat your food from your bowl. The nice, clean, stainless steel bowl I bought you. (He points to the bowl. Luna looks at the bowl. She looks back at the scattered kibble on the cold linoleum. She looks at her velvet bed. She then performs a slow, deliberate 360-degree turn, sits down, and tilts her head back, producing a long, complex, wavering howl that sounds like the soundtrack to a melodramatic soap opera.) LUNA: Awooooooo-ooo-ooo-wuh hrow? MARK: I dont speak opera, Luna. What is it now? LUNA: (She stops howling. Points her nose at the velvet bed. Then at the floor. Then back at Mark. She whines, a high-pitched, pathetic squeak.) Mmmrrr-whee-lee. (Translation: I could not possibly eat from the bowl. My soul is in the velvet bed. My dinner must be served to me in the bed. That is the only way to atone for your espionage.*) MARK: You want me to hand-feed you gourmet kibble in your 200 bed while you recline like Cleopatra? (Luna blinks slowly. She looks utterly smug. She seems to say, "Yes. We are in agreement. Proceed.") MARK: (Laughs despite himself. He scoops some kibble into his hand.) Fine. You win this round, Dramatica. But I'm keeping the treat cam. (Luna saunters majestically to her velvet bed, hops in, and turns her back on Mark, waiting for her tribute. As he approaches, she lets out one final, tiny, contented "Roo.")