RoninHarper 
Joined: Nov '12
Location: Canada
Age: 57 (M)
Posts: 4758
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G'day mates...
Here is a little story for you enjoyment.
“Thomas and His Jacks”
Thomas had never considered himself lucky. Not in cards, not in love, and definitely not in life. So when he won a Golden Retriever in a backroom poker game behind the Rusty Horseshoe Bar, he figured fate had finally gone insane.
Grady, the guy who lost him, wiped sweat from his forehead and shoved the leash across the table. “You can keep the mutt,” he muttered, slurring slightly from whiskey. “He ain’t normal. Doesn’t bark. Doesn’t eat much. Just stares at you like he knows what you're thinking.”
Thomas looked down. The dog sat calmly beside him, tongue tucked away, bright brown eyes fixed on him with unsettling stillness. He looked like one of those perfect family dogs from a dog food commercial, but something about the way he watched made Thomas’s skin itch.
“Alright,” Thomas said, accepting the leash. “You’re mine now, buddy.”
He named the dog Jacks, partly because of the poker hand he had won him with started out with him having pocket jacks, partly because it felt like the dog had luck in his bones. The name stuck.
Over the next few weeks, Thomas learned something odd about Jacks. The dog never barked, never chewed on furniture, and never made a mess. He just followed Thomas everywhere, like a silent, golden shadow. People in bars and card rooms often commented on how well-trained he was. Thomas would nod, pretending it was all part of some rigorous obedience school, but the truth was he’d never trained the dog at all.
When Thomas played cards, Jacks would sit beside him, his brown eyes scanning the table like a dealer counting chips. Sometimes, when Thomas hesitated over a decision, Jacks would lean slightly, almost like he was trying to nudge him in a direction. More often than not, when Thomas listened, he won.
It got to the point where Thomas paid to have Jacks certified as an emotional support animal. He bought the vest, printed the papers, and made sure no casino could legally turn them away. Jacks became his poker partner, always by his side, always silent, always watching.
Then came the night everything changed.
Thomas was down to his last stack at the El Camino Casino. He had clawed his way through the mid-tier tables, but this one was different. High stakes. Serious players. The kind of guys who wore sunglasses indoors and didn’t smile much.
Jacks lay under the table as usual. Thomas tapped his fingers against his chips, uncertain about the hand he’d been dealt. Then, without warning, a voice rang in his head.
“The man across from you is hiding an ace in his sleeve.”
Thomas jerked upright, nearly knocking over his drink. He looked around. No one was talking. His eyes dropped to Jacks. The dog was staring up at him calmly, his tail wagging once.
“Don’t panic,” the voice said. “It’s me. Jacks. You’re not crazy. I’ve been waiting for the right time to talk.”
Thomas swallowed hard and gripped the cards in his hand.
“Call his raise. Then ask the dealer to check the deck. Trust me.”
Heart thudding, Thomas obeyed. He called the raise, raised his hand, and politely asked for a deck check. A minute later, the dealer pulled the ace out of the cheater’s sleeve. The man was escorted out of the casino, yelling about setups and conspiracies. Thomas sat back, stunned, as a wave of chips came his way.
Later, in their motel room, Thomas paced the floor while Jacks sat on the bed like a professor preparing for a lecture.
“All right,” Thomas said, eyes wide. “Start talking.”
“My real name is Zarnok of Zentaris Prime,” Jacks said in his head. “I’m a scientist from a galaxy far beyond this one. I fled my planet decades ago after refusing to participate in a war. I crash-landed here and learned to blend in. Dogs are the most overlooked creatures on Earth, so I chose this form.”
Thomas rubbed his temples. “You’re an alien... pretending to be a Golden Retriever... who plays poker?”
“Poker is a fascinating human ritual. Strategy. Bluffing. Psychology. It reveals more about your species than anything else.”
“Why help me?” Thomas asked. “You could’ve picked anyone.”
Jacks tilted his head. “Because you won me. Zentarian custom dictates that if you’re taken fairly, you serve with honor. Besides, I like you. You’re honest, but you have potential. With my help, you can go further than you’ve ever dreamed.”
From that night on, they were unstoppable.
Jacks became Thomas’s secret weapon. He couldn’t read minds, exactly, but he could pick up microexpressions, temperature shifts, pulse rhythms. He could tell when a player was bluffing just by watching their fingers twitch or their breathing change. With this information piped straight into Thomas’s head, every move became calculated. Every bluff dissected. Every read perfect.
They moved from town to town. Vegas. Atlantic City. Monte Carlo. Even a shady cruise ship tournament in international waters. Thomas became a legend in underground circles. His winning streak was unheard of, but no one could ever catch him cheating. He was clean, calm, and always had his quiet Golden Retriever beside him.
To the public, Jacks was just a support dog. To Thomas, he was a partner, a mentor, and a brilliant alien mind disguised as a loyal friend.
They never got greedy. Thomas always played just long enough to win big, then left before drawing too much attention. He lived modestly, always in motels, always on the move. He gave Jacks the front seat, a steak when they could afford it, and a quiet word of thanks after every game.
One night, parked outside a casino under a full moon, Thomas looked over at Jacks and said, “You ever going back to your planet?”
**“One day,” Jacks replied. “But not yet. There’s still more to learn about humans.”
Thomas smiled and reached down to scratch behind Jacks’s ears.
“Well, when you do go, just know you’ve made one lousy poker player into a legend.”
Jacks closed his eyes, peaceful, thoughtful, and perhaps just a little smug.
“You were never lousy, Thomas. You just needed someone to believe in you.”
And from that point on, Thomas never walked into a card room without a grin on his face and a Golden Retriever at his side, one who knew every bluff before it was even played.
Be cool
Ronin 
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G'day mates...
I apologize. I forgot to run spell check before I uploaded the story.
Read this version of the story.
“Thomas and His Jacks”
Thomas had never considered himself lucky. Not in cards, not in love, and definitely not in life. So when he won a Golden Retriever in a backroom poker game in a motel room behind the Rusty Horseshoe Bar, he figured fate had finally gone insane.
Grady, the guy who lost him, wiped sweat from his forehead and shoved the leash across the table. “You can keep the mutt,” he muttered, slurring slightly from whiskey. “He isn’t normal. Doesn’t bark. Doesn’t eat much. Damn dog just stares at you like he knows what you're thinking.”
Thomas looked down. The dog sat calmly down beside him, tongue tucked away, bright brown eyes fixed on him with unsettling stillness. He looked like one of those perfect family dogs from a dog food commercial, but something about the way he watched everything made Thomas’s skin itch.
“Alright,” Thomas said, accepting the leash. “You’re mine now, buddy.”
Thomas figured what the hell if nothing else a dog might be good company.
He named the dog Jacks, partly because of the poker hand that he had when he won him. The hand had started out with him having a pair of pocket jacks, and partly because it felt like the dog just seemed like he had luck in his bones. The name stuck.
Over the next few weeks, Thomas learned something odd about Jacks. The dog never barked, never chewed on furniture, and never made a mess. He just followed Thomas everywhere, like a silent, golden shadow. People in bars and card rooms often commented on how well-trained he was. Thomas would just nod and smile, pretending it was all because of some rigorous obedience school program, but the truth was he’d never trained the dog at all.
When Thomas played cards, Jacks would always sit beside him, his brown eyes scanning the table like a dealer counting chips. Sometimes, when Thomas hesitated over a decision, Jacks would lean slightly, almost like he was trying to nudge him in a direction. More often than not, when Thomas listened to Jacks, he won the hand.
It got to the point where Thomas paid to have Jacks certified as an emotional support animal. He bought the vest, printed the papers, and made sure no casino could legally turn them away. Jacks became his poker partner, always by his side, always silent, always watching.
Then came the night when everything changed.
Thomas was down to his last stack at the El Camino Casino. He had clawed his way through the mid-tier tables, but this one was different. It was high stakes with serious players. They were the kind of guys who wore sunglasses indoors and didn’t smile much.
Jacks were lying under the table as usual. Thomas tapped his fingers against his chips; uncertain about the hand he’d been dealt. Then, without any warning, a voice rang in his head.
“The man across from you is hiding an ace in his sleeve.”
Thomas jerked upright, nearly knocking over his drink. He looked around. No one was talking. His eyes dropped to Jacks. The dog was staring up at him calmly, his tail wagging back and forth.
“Don’t panic,” the voice said. “It’s me. Jacks. You’re not crazy. I’ve been waiting you and waiting for the right time to talk.”
Thomas swallowed hard and gripped the cards in his hand.
“Call his raise. Then ask the dealer to check the deck. Trust me.”
Heart thudding, Thomas obeyed. He called the raise, raised his hand, and politely asked the dealer for a deck check. A minute later, the dealer pulled the ace out of the cheater’s sleeve. The man was escorted out of the casino, yelling about setups and conspiracies. Thomas sat back, stunned, as a wave of chips came his way.
Later, in their motel room, Thomas paced the floor back and forth while Jacks sat on the bed like a professor preparing for a lecture.
“All right,” Thomas said eyes wide. “Start talking.”
“My real name is Zarnok of Zentaris Prime,” Jacks said in his head. “I’m a scientist from a galaxy far beyond this one. I fled my planet decades ago after refusing to participate in a war. I crash-landed here on this planet and learned to blend in. Dogs are the most overlooked creatures on Earth, so I chose this form.”
Thomas rubbed his temples. “You’re an alien... pretending to be a Golden Retriever... who plays poker?”
“Poker is a fascinating human ritual. It has Strategy. Bluffing. Psychology. It reveals more about your species than anything else.”
“Why help me?” Thomas asked. “You could’ve picked anyone.”
Jacks tilted his head. “Because you won me. Zentarian custom dictates that, if you’re taken, purchased, or won fairly then you serve with honor. Besides, I like you. You’re honest, and you have potential. With my help, you can go further than you’ve ever dreamed.”
From that night on, they were unstoppable.
Jacks became Thomas’s secret weapon. He couldn’t read minds, exactly, but he could pick up microexpressions, temperature shifts, and pulse rhythms. He could tell when a player was bluffing just by watching their fingers twitch or their breathing change. With this information piped straight into Thomas’s head, every move became calculated. Every bluff dissected. Every read perfect.
They moved from town to town. Vegas. Atlantic City. Monte Carlo. Even a shady cruise ship tournament in international waters. Thomas became a legend in underground circles. His winning streak was unheard of, but no one could ever catch him cheating. He was clean, calm, and always had his quiet Golden Retriever beside him.
To the public, Jacks was just a support dog. To Thomas, he was a partner, a mentor, and a brilliant alien mind disguised as a loyal friend.
They never got greedy. Thomas always played just long enough to win big, then left before drawing too much attention. He lived modestly, always in motels, always on the move. He gave Jacks the front seat, a steak when they could afford it and a quiet word of thanks after every game.
One night, parked outside a casino under a full moon, Thomas looked over at Jacks and said, “You ever going back to your planet?”
“One day, I will return home” Jacks replied. “But not yet. There’s still more to learn about humans.”
Thomas smiled and reached down to scratch behind Jacks’ ears.
“Well, when you do go, just know you’ve made one lousy poker player into a legend.”
Jacks closed his eyes, peaceful, thoughtful, and perhaps just a little smug.
“You were never lousy, Thomas. You just needed someone to believe in you.”
And from that point on, Thomas never walked into a card room without a grin on his face and a Golden Retriever at his side, one who knew every bluff before it was even played.
There you go.
Be cool
Ronin
Edited by RoninHarper (17 May 2025 @ 05:23 GMT)
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