The Lure of a White Wolf Dog

“Lovely lady, would you like to walk with me and my white wolf dog?”

That was your best pickup line? ‘Lovely lady.’ Jeez, who talks like that? So, did it work?”

“Not exactly. She burst out laughin’ and kept walkin’ away.”

“Well, of course, with a come-on like that! Whadja expect?”

“Well….”

“Aw, c’mon! Don’t tell me you actually thought …”

“Yes. Yes, I did. She likes dogs. She has a dog. Was even walkin’ it when I asked her.”

Her dog is a purebred prissy little fluff with a ribbon holding its hair out of its eyes.  Yours is a big ol’ scruffy mutt, for chrissake! No way he’d pass for a wolf dog. No wonder she laughed!”

“Clancy isn’t a mutt. Are ya, Clance. And he’s not scruffy, either. Just gave him a bath.”

“Yeah, well, looks like you’re gonna have to give him another one. Listen, you and Clancy enjoy the park. I gotta get movin’. Roxie’s parents are comin’ for dinner. If I’m late, she’ll have my hide.”

“Right. See ya…….Well, Clance, I guess it’s you and me, as usual. Whadaya think, fetch or frisbie.”

“I’ll take frisbie for 500, Alex.”

“Whoa! It’s you! For a second I thought Clancy…..I mean … not that I thought he was really talkin’ to me. It’s just, my name happens to be Alex. And yours, lovely lady?”

“You’re not gonna believe this, but my name is actually Lovely. My mom is English, and, well, over there they use ‘Lovely’ like we’d say ‘Honey.'”

“Oh. Well, it’s a lovely name. I mean pretty. …. Why’d you come back?”

“Wanted to meet your white wolf dog. Clancy has a bit of a Schnauzer look to ‘im in a sheep-dog kinda way.”

“I’ve been told he’s a mutt.”

“He is a mutt. Don’t you know? They’re the best kind.”

“Really? Where’s your little…….cutie.”

“Oh, Mitzie isn’t mine. I just walk her for a friend. That’s why I didn’t stop before. Had to get her home. Now, let’s get to that frisbie!”

 

338 words. Written in response to A Writer’s Life’s Just Start Writing (JSW) prompt to take a line from a song and use it as a first sentence. The line is from Milkwood’s “Lincoln Park,” written by Benjamin Orzechowski (before changing his name to Benjamin Orr.) Photo credit: Ebet Roberts 1978.

The Gift

Both engrossed, intently concentrating. He, juggling mic, guitar, and amp. She, balancing a tray of empties. Inevitably, they collide. Mumbling apologies, both drop to the floor to clean up the broken glass. Reaching for the last shard, their hands touch. Their eyes shyly glance. Gasping as one. Joyfully giggling, speaking together:

“You’re Bobby; I’ve been waiting for you!”

“Julianna? I’ve been searching for you!”

“Do you remember me? Us? How? Why?”

She, suddenly serious: “Are we allowed to remember?”

He, eyes twinkling: “Don’t know, but I’m not questioning any magic the universe sends.”