Speed Dating at the Dog Park
by tio Stib
with apologies to John Mortimer and Rumpel

I woke sneezing.

eyes watering, I looked around. Nothing unusual. I sneezed again and it hit me. She Who Must Be Obeyed was wearing her latest attempt at scented feminine allure.

“Gigi! come here!” snapped the woman at her “comfort animal,” the creature to whom she incessantly unloaded her unbearable load of unending burdens.

This was unexpected behavior. The mantle clock showed 9 a.m. and this was a woman who was never out of her bathrobe before 10:30. Her ladies circle knew that lunch was the earliest social invitation she would accept.

Her voice barked from the hallway, “Gigi! Here! Now!”

Okay, She Who Must Be Obeyed rules the roost, but I don’t want that going to her head. I rise from my bed, stretch, shake, then slowly saunter towards the front door. I check out the frustrated woman holding a leash and staring me down.

What’s going on. She Who Must Be Obeyed is all done up, coiffed hair, a sweater two sizes too small, tight jeans, and, really? Even high heels. All this drowned in a cloud of nauseating perfume.

I sneezed again.

She snaps on the leash and I’m dragged out the door headed for the Volvo.

the light comes on. We’re going to the dog park, Benicia’s gathering place for socially needy people and their ill mannered pets. She Who Must Be Obeyed has got the hots for that man she met last week. The guy who smelled like pipe tobacco, with that utterly ugly English bulldog alongside him..

Apparently she’s late because we squeal out of the driveway narrowly missing Mr. rumple walking his two sausage dogs. She Who Must Be Obeyed shouts curses at all the “damn senile old farts” impeding her way. this from a woman well into her retirement years. Fortunately, she has the grace to roll down my window so I can escape the malodorous stench.

And then we’re there, parked, and she’s carefully eyeing herself in the rear view mirror. A touch of lipstick, and another shot of that offensive perfume.

“alright Gigi, time to play!” and she’s out and over to my door, wobbling on those silly heels. I jump out, doing my best to assume the manner of a highly regarded canine of at least 50% pedigree poodle blood. One of us needs to be acting like a lady. We cross over to the path leading to the entry gate. It’s the usual mayhem inside, dogs running wild, barking, jumping, sniffing behinds, while clusters of humans engage in mindless chatter.

“Damn!” she mutters, obviously the man she seeks is not there. Undeterred, She who Must Be Obeyed puts on her game face and opens the gate.

Now let’s be clear, I’ve never been a fan of this kind of canine speed dating and the sudden rush of noses in my direction caused me to cower between those ridiculous red heels.

“Get out there Gigi, you’re supposed to be having fun!”

right, since when is having your rear end snorted by dozens of drooling, tongue wagging, foul smelling dogs half of whom try to hop on your back, anything close to fun?

I bared my teeth, snarled, put on my most menacing evil eye and rabid she wolf glare. the butt sniffing crowd abruptly froze, checked out the curled lips and snapping teeth, and turned to friendlier climes.

“Oh! It’s you, what a nice surprise,” swooned She Who Must Be Obeyed, oblivious to the furry chaos around her.

There was a mumbled acknowledgement wrapped in the scent of pipe tobacco. And there was Rex, sitting stoic beside two stout legs clothed in tweed. His massive, wrinkled head eyed me impassively. to his credit, not the slightest indication of any interest in jumping me. He just sat there, solid, restrained, with absolutely no interest in joining the antics and acrobatics of the unleashed dog pack.

Rex was growing on me.

Then I saw them. Two of the most beautiful brown leather penny loafers I’d ever seen.

Now, I have few faults but I do admit to one fetish. Shoes. I have an absolute craving, an animal need, to chew shoes. This irrepressible urge has been with me since puppy days and it has resulted in some extremely strong words from She Who Must Be obeyed. I remember one particularly fraught episode when she left me untended for the day and I happily munched, tore, shredded, and slobbered over every shoe I could reach in her excessively well stocked clothes closet.

I no longer have free roaming privileges in the house and shoes are rarely left on the floor, but She Who Must Be Obeyed sometimes forgets and I rapturously destroy another pair of Hush Puppy slippers.

My eyes widened as I took in the marvel of of two exquisitely made, well preserved penny loafers. Really, who wears such things anymore? And there were even real pennies in the slots.

Irresistible.

I leaped.

He screamed, and began furiously shaking the leg with the 50% poodle’s teeth blissfully sunk into his beautiful brown penny loafer.

She Who Must Be Obeyed looked down and gasped,

“Gigi!?”

The Bulldog Buddha was unmoved.

Smiling?

***

Feeling the urge to write?

Here’s the Main Street Diaries Flash Fiction link-

Main Street Diaries

Benicia, Speed Dating, unexpected, Pennies
by Alli A.

The speed dating event had been planned for weeks, but you know how it is, right? You can only put so much effort. By the time you talked your friend with the building on First Street into lending it for the night, and by the time you talked your other friend into donating some snacks, you completely forgot to do any publicity. You hate doing publicity anyway. So you threw an announcement up on socials, and half-assed a flyer that went up in the coffee shops and on the Library bulletin board that afternoon, and you hoped for the best.

The best didn’t happen. You’re there for almost twenty minutes before you get your first person coming in, and she seems shy but cool enough. So you’re talking, and then someone else comes in – yay! – and they both see each other. You realize that of all the bad luck, you wound up hosting a speed dating event where the only two participants had hooked up before. As they leave, you realize that you’re not sure whether they are leaving because they were upset to see each other, or because they’re going away to hook up. Either way, it’s not speed dating, though it is unexpected.

A man comes in, curious about what’s going on in a building that’s usually closed at this hour. You’ve seen him around town, and he tends to know what’s going on. He seems pretty horrified by the idea that he wandered into some speed dating, makes an overly long and awkward explanation of why he has to leave, and does so.

So there you are. You’ve already tried all the snacks and looked at the decorations. Twice. You look through your phone to see whether there’s anyone you can persuade to come to this, but if you had more people in your phone who wanted dates, you wouldn’t be in an empty room. You wonder whether everyone in Benicia is already doing whatever level of dating they want to do.

And you think, just for a second, that maybe you shouldn’t have half-assed the publicity, because this event was for work and now you’re pretty sure you’ll be fired. You think that you didn’t really like this job and could get something better. But on the way home, you throw a few pennies in the Strait for luck, just in case.

Yes, the New Benicia Ferry is full of information about community services and activities that you can engage with, but it’s also where you can find intriguing made up stories about the wild array of characters who make up our town. This is what the Main Street diaries flash Fiction Contest is all about. check out the menu tab above for more details on how to enter.

Here’s a flash fiction story based on the prompts: Benicia, five hundred dollars, and rain.

Billy
by Tio Stib

he was picking up leaves when he found it. Reaching down, he lifted the rain splattered envelope from the fallen foliage.

He looked at it cross eyed, not quite sure what to make of this discovery. Sure, it was an envelope, he’d seen plenty of these, but what was it doing lying on the ground in the middle of a rain storm.

Billy’s addled brain often had difficulty sorting out seemingly simple things. That was why he’d been in special ed classes all the way through high school. His mind worked well enough to get him through his daily routines as long as nothing changed much. But new things confused him.

And so he studied the wet blank envelope in front of his face. How could he return an envelope with nothing written on it?

And what was inside the envelope? Should he open it? Maybe it was something private, even secret. This thought stopped him momentarily as the downpour dripped from the brim of his Oakland A’s baseball cap. He scratched the back of his curly red hair and another thought struck him.

Mr. Rogers had given him that cap, took him to A’s games every year. Billy smiled, remembering the old man scolding him, “call me Ralph, Billy. We’re friends now, call me Ralph.” But Ralph was gone, died in his sleep. Who was going to take Billy to the baseball games?

“Billy, what are you doing out there?” yelled a voice behind him.

He turned, Mrs. Downing stood in the doorway of her shop, hands on hips.”Get in here Billy, you’re getting soaked.”

He obeyed, leaving his broom and trash cart on the sidewalk. He entered the gift store as Mrs. Downing backed up for the dripping wet street cleaner wearing the drenched black t-shirt with the big red heart on the front, his favorite “I love Benicia” apparel.

. “she smiled, shaking her head, “Billy, what are we going to do with you?”

Billy held up the envelope, “look. I found this.”

Mrs. Downing stared at the soggy refuse, “okay, it’s just an envelope. What’s inside?”

Billy looked at her quizzically.

“Let’s open it. Maybe that will help with who it belongs to.”

Billy handed her the envelope and she carefully opened the flap. Her eyes widened as she looked back at Billy.

“Billy, this envelope contains five hundred dollars.”

Billy leaned over and peered into the envelope. Sure enough, there were five new one hundred dollar bills.

“Where did you find this?” Mrs. Downing asked.

Billy was just beginning his story when someone burst in behind him. He turned around

A small, round Latina woman with rain soaked hair and water streaming down her anxious face looked up at him, gasping,

“Have you seen a white envelope? It’s my rent money, must have dropped it leaving the credit union when I opened my umbrella. It’s my rent money. What will happen if I can’t find my rent money?”

Billy took the envelope from Mrs. Downing and held it out to the bewildered woman.

***

Okay, that’s a sample of what’s coming with the Main Street Diaries. sharpen your pencil or stretch your fingers and send us your own Benicia stories.

Here’s the Main Street Diaries Flash Fiction link-

Main Street Diaries