True Companion

Barney's an old dog. A hound mix of some sort, Peggy doesn't know what kind exactly, but he's been the one unconditional male in her life for the last 5 years. No contest there. At first Peggy thought adopting a dog would be a sure fire way to meet men. Especially an older, more chilled out senior dog, reeking with character and approachability. Visions of dog park romances, random encounters with cute, eligible, dog loving men out strolling with their own socially well adjusted and just as attractive dogs filled her with excitement. The possibilities! The reality fell far below her expectations. Late night emergency runs after Barney ate a pound of butter, pot of lentil stew and half a pan of date squares; or the 3 pairs of running shoes chewed up beyond recognition and the constant sweeping and mopping and vacuuming of hair and mud and drool weren't highlighted under the "pros" section on the adoption form for a reason. Still, Barney was a solid, loyal, albeit gaseous, companion. He didn't hog the bed, never peed inside the house and was perfectly content eating the same thing day in and day out. Who could complain about that?  Occasionally a new man would show up in the park, and Peggy's hope sprang eternal all over. Inevitably he was walking his girlfriend's dog. Or his boyfriend's. Peggy lived near Parliament, on the edge of boystown, after all; probably not working in her favour when it came to meeting available, single, straight men. Still, everyone loves Barney. Hey there Barney boy, how you doin, Barn? Oh there's a good ol' boy, now hmmm? What a lovely dog Barney is. No one knows Peggy by name, of course. She's just Barney's owner. The guys at Jet Fuel, however, remember Peggy. They know she likes her soy latte with no foam and an extra shot of espresso and if she's feeling feisty, a banana peanut butter muffin she sometimes shares with Barney. The younger one, Shorts they call him, always chats her up. Maybe it's time to get into biking and join the group ride he keeps inviting her on instead of  spending another long, lonely night at the dog park. After all, couriers and roadies have a certain je ne sais quoi mystique to them, right? At this point, riding on the wheel of a young, fit, interested barista who actually remembers her name is light years ahead of sharing poop bags with the middle aged, paunchy stay at home writer walking his pregnant girlfriend's neurotic pug.