THE GIFT OF THE CANINE
by Matthew Sanborn Smith
The dogs started a vicious sneezing battle at the house and after a symphony of stacatto snorts and feral skin flapping the whole living room glistened with a slimy veneer of canine mucous and saliva.
“I like it!” Margie declared. “The place finally feels like Christmas.” And it was true. Even the pockets of dog hair interspersed with the presents beneath the tree took on the glitter of tinsel. She still needed money for Ted’s home colonoscopy kit which had been at the top of his list for two Christmases and a birthday. Now she had the means to raise it.
Margie invited the girls over quickly with the temptation of her famous lemonade (It was made with just a dash of relish for a special zing). Only a couple of the ladies showed at first, but they were so dazzled by the holiday excitement born of dog’s snout that they told their friends and soon the whole neighborhood marveled at Margie’s living room.
Margie declared that she would gladly do all of their living rooms the very same way for a small fee. They all had to have it. “Recession Schmrecession!” they shouted, and it was not an easy thing to shout, but such was the elation that was visited upon 561 Millar Road that afternoon.
As soon as she kicked everybody the hell out of her house, she gave the dogs extra milk to get their phlegm up and took them next door to the Deprenders’. Ted could examine himself every night if he wanted! And maybe that would take his mind off of Raoul, the pool boy. And without the expense of the pool boy, they would save enough money to get that pool she always wanted. She patted the bobbing heads of her panting St. Bernards. It was like a Christmas present for everyone.