A Dog of a Story for Monday

Twelve-year old, Benjamin Brown wanted to be a good boy, most of the time, but being good was hard work and not always fun. When he accidentally drew a naked woman on his bedroom wall with black, permanent marker, he decided he better do something “extra-specially” good, before his mother found out.

I was just doodling, after all.

Having no money was his first hurdle, but refusing to be detoured from his goal of achieving peace on the home front, he borrowed four looneys (i.e., Canadian bucks) from his Dad’s wallet and headed to the closest Tim Horton doughnut shop. It was a warm spring day, the kind one dreams of through the long Canadian winter.

The creative drive inside me makes me do weird stuff.

His mother liked Boston Cream doughnuts, his father Maple Dips and his sister Powdered Sugar. He figured a half dozen doughnuts would get him out trouble. Three for them and three for him. His would be apple fritters. That was his plan.

All great artists doodle and Mom and Dad will  understand this when I explain the creative process over doughnuts.

Benjamin Brown had lots of artistic plans. The biggest and most secret one being that he would become a rock star called Jamin Brown, drive expensive cars and have lots of girlfriends, by the time he turned sixteen. He hadn’t decided if he would rap or sing country, but he would be the best. As he stood in line to make his order, he imagined how cool he would be.

Maybe I should have taken more money and bought a dozen?

Ahead of him stood four kids in soccer uniforms, two men talking curling, a guy with a toque pulled low over his eyes who smelled of weed and a woman with ear buds bobbing her head to music only she could hear.

I didn’t mean to be bad.

The human form was something to be celebrated and that’s how he would start his talk with his parents. He remembered his father saying that, or was it the bald guy on the infomercial selling diets? Whatever. A woman’s body, everyone had to agree, was something to celebrate.

I’ll never do it again.

He left the store with his mind swirling with excuses. “I thought it was washable ink? I didn’t think you would mind. It is my wall.” But nothing sounded like an excuse they would want to hear.

“Hey, sonny, what’s you got there?” The slurred voice of a homeless man sitting on the park bench broke his reverie.

“Uh, doughnuts.”

The man’s eyes widened. The guy had no shoes. It was May, but he had no shoes. Or socks. Just bare feet covered in dirt. And his big toe looked bruised and swollen. Jamin Brown swallowed. “Want one?”

The man took an apple fritter. That was okay, because he still had five left, and Jamin continued on his way.

He could see home when he ran into Alice, the girl who sat at the front of his home room class, the girl with the long blond hair who told everyone her bra size last week, the girl every guy he knew wanted to hang out with. His palms got sweaty and his throat thickened. She did that to him. But then he thought, maybe she would like a doughnut and maybe, just maybe, that would help her remember his name.

It was fun watching her smile as she ate an apple fritter and the best part was when she licked her lips afterwards. Some moments he wished would last longer.

Four doughnuts left. He would tell his parents he had done his bit to stop hunger in the community and foster a sense of sharing. Squaring his shoulders he walked a bit easier, confident that everything would work out and that he had impressed a girl.

That’s when he heard a familiar voice call his name. “Hey, Benjamin, you got to see what I got.”  Al, a good friend of his, had a big cardboard box in his bike carrier.

When Jamin looked inside it his heart stopped. There were two little, puppies with floppy ears, big paws and round eyes making mewing and . whimpering sounds that called to him. Al said they were a Heinz variety. He’d never heard of a Heinz before, but they sure were cute.

Jamin spent some time playing with the puppies at the side of the road, and to make a long story short, he gave the four doughnuts he had for one of the puppies. A good trade to his mind.

He knew his six-year old sister would love to have a puppy and together they could talk their parents into just about anything. Of course he should probably tell them about the wall first. If they hadn’t already discovered his art work, or the missing money.

It had been an interesting day, thought Jamin as he opened the front door of his home. And it was about to get a lot more interesting.

©Jo-Ann Carson


Photo from Pixabay

Meme created on Canva




Author: Jo-Ann Carson

About Jo-Ann Carson Where magic happens … Reports of Jo-Ann Carson’s death on a Gulf Island are greatly exaggerated or, at the very least, premature. The eclectic crew of ghosts that haunt her head spill onto the page in two series: The Gambling Ghosts and The Ghost & Abby Mysteries. A Viking with existential issues, a broken hearted Highlander, a Casanova man-witch and a Pirate with a secret are just a few of the males her strong heroines encounter in tales of fantasy, adventure and romance. A firm believer in the magic of our everyday lives, Jo-Ann loves watching sunrises, walking beaches near her home in the Pacific Northwest and reading by the fire. You can visit her on social media: Website * Blog * Twitter * Facebook

8 thoughts on “A Dog of a Story for Monday”

      1. Hi Jodie,
        No. This one happened first in my head in the middle of the night and then on the screen the following morning. A gift, I think.
        Thanks for stopping by and taking the time to read my story and comment. You rock.
        all the best,


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