Waving Not Drowning

The pong of Wednesday morning. The noxious, malodorous, stench of compost bins strewn half emptied across sidewalks, blown by gusts of wind into bike lanes, across driveways, randomly dancing into traffic. Blue and yellow garbage trucks piggy back one on top of the other a block apart refreshing the ripe atmosphere every few metres. Should have picked a different route. Something about wanting to stay alive, keep to the the bike route, south to Dundas, west to River, south to King. Wednesday mornings are quickly losing their appeal to her increasingly nauseated self. They must have changed the schedule or moved the parameters of the neighbourhood pick up. It used to be that the early mid week morning ride to work was her own private universe. No one on the roads, lanes clear, lights green the whole way through. Quiet, still, slumbrous. No buses or carpools, no screaming, anxious, angry children reluctantly offloading in front of the school. It's all in the timing. Fifteen minutes o...

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, albe...