Saturday, July 19, 2014

The Birth of the Coffee House Dog

We met, at the coffee shop. Each morning I would end my run hopping up the steps, two at a time, and order 1 chocolate croissant and a triple latte. There is nothing like the smooth heat sliding down your throat radiating heat through your body on a brisk hot morning.

I slipped outside onto the deck, shirt sleeves wrapped around the steaming cup and inhaled, ah.  Plunking my skinny butt down on the steps I unwrapped the croissant, took a bite, and held the rest out. Bouncer snatched it out of my fingers and sat, bun between her paws, nibbling it away.

Bouncer was my name for her as she bounded everywhere she went, a tail wag a second. I scratched behind her ears, sliding my fingers under her blue collar. Good, there was still room to grow. The bell on her neck jingled as she stretched and sat up. 'Not time yet, girl. I have to finish my coffee.' She pawed my foot, giving my arm a friendly kiss, and walked over to sniff the end of the deck. This also was a tradition.

I took another sip of my coffee and looked around. 'Morning,' a blue toque bobbed through the door. 'Morning, and what are you doing?' 'We got hot chocolate, say, is that your dog?' 'where?' blue toque pointed a blue mitt towards the parking lot. 'There, n - wait, yes! Bouncer, bouncer.' I got up and headed down the steps. Bouncer looked up, but kept following behind the red truck driving towards the  road. 'Bouncer!' coffee splashed down the trail in time with my thudding feet, 'Bouncer, come back.' The truck turned onto the road. The bumper catching her front as it peeled off, tumbling her into the ditch.

'Bouncer,' I ran up, panting. The deck of the coffee shop full of spectators waiting as I carried her back, her front leg limp where it had connected with the truck. I hoped it wasn't broken. 

Wednesday, June 25, 2014

Home (second edition)


Could that be your perfect writing retreat?

What is home can only be defined individually. 

And don't be surprised if it changes over time.