Nikki sat cross-legged, playing her pan flute under an overhanging awning, baseball cap in front of her, but within reach. With any luck she’d coax a few more coins out of the night.
The rain hadn’t yet turned to snow, but her gloves still weren’t proof against the cold. She’d drop the flute soon, but the cap hadn’t earned her keep. Five more dollars and she could buy a bed at the shelter. Ten and there might be a bath as well as a hot meal.
Nikki felt a small groan vibrate through Agy’s back. The mutt shifted her compact form under the corner of Nikki’s coat, against her hip.
“Good girl, Agy,” she paused long enough to say. Agy groaned again, releasing a sigh into the recesses of Nikki’s coat. Her numb fingers slipped on the pan flute’s bamboo tubes.
The weather drove pedestrians, huddled against the wind and freezing rain, past too quickly to drop a coin.
“One more,” she said to Agy. “Better make it a good one or it’s under the Paris Street Bridge again and Dougie rolling me for pocket change.”
She launched into a lively South American tune and stood up. Agy danced around her feet, yipping.
A man wearing a suit and carrying an umbrella dug into the pocket of his overcoat and threw the contents in the direction of the ball cap. Coins scattered and rang against the concrete. Agy pawed at them until the last one stopped spinning. Then she gobbled the two dirty tissues and the receipt that fell with the money. At least one of them would have something in her stomach tonight.
Nikki played louder, more frantically. The giggling couple at three o’clock were too absorbed in each other to notice as they walked by. Agy barked, and the girl turned back.
“Sweet pup you got there,” she said, kneeling.
“Jack mix,” Nikki said. “Name’s Agy.”
The girl whispered endearments and put out her hand to pet Agy. “Must be tough for the two of you on the street.”
“We make do.”
The boyfriend sauntered over. “How much for the dog?”
Nikki whistled through her teeth, and Agy ran back to her. “Ain’t enough money in the world.”
The boy collected his girl and, with a smirk, tossed a “Good luck!” over his shoulder as they went on their way.
“Asshole.” Nikki sighed and collected the change from the sidewalk. A buck ninety-five away from a dry bed. She watched the first flakes of snow disintegrate on the wet pavement.
Maybe it didn’t have to be the bridge. Maybe she just had to find a different place and spend the money on food. Nikki hefted her backpack, cramming the hat into one pocket and the cash into another.
She picked up Agy and walked into a Mac’s store, grabbed a can of beans, a small milk, and some Cesar’s dog food, paid the suspicious clerk, and got out.
“Hey, girl with the dog.”
Nikki spun warily, Agy still under her arm. “What?”
The giggly girlfriend, all serious now, pressed a twenty into Nikki’s hand and Nikki nearly dropped Agy.
“Try the youth hostel on Pine. They allow dogs. If they don’t have fleas.” She started to trot down the street on her four-inch heels, back to her impatiently waiting boyfriend, then she turned around again. “And come see me tomorrow afternoon, if you want a job. I manage at a bar on Elgin called the Golden Monkey. Name’s Sandy.”
Nikki stood alternately staring at the twenty and at Sandy’s retreating back.
“What do you think, Ags?” She placed Agy on the sidewalk, and the little dog wagged her tail. “Tell you what. We’ll see how Pine Street works out.”
Nikki wasn’t about to commit to saying it out loud, but she had a feeling that she’d be seeing a girl about a monkey tomorrow.
This story started out as an entry in a flash fiction competition for the Canadian Authors Association Virtual Branch.
The idea sprang from a story my mother related. She saw a young man on the streets, panhandling, with a dog by his side. He was feeding his dog his sandwich and eating very little himself.
She heard him telling the person who’d brought him the sandwich about his situation, and the young man, with tears in his eyes, said, “He’s my only friend in the world. I’d die without him.”
Since then, I’ve seen several homeless people with pets, and I saw an article on the news about a veterinary hospital in BC that organizes monthly free clinics for the homeless and their pets.
Here are a couple of related sites, if you’d like to know more:
http://www.petsofthehomeless.org/
Having entered Khara House‘s Submit-o-Rama, I thought I should really try revising a few stories and sending them out.
So I fleshed out the story a little more and submitted it to Mouse Tales Press. Linda G. 
Hatton, the publisher, surprised and pleased me by accepting my submission. With a brief round of editing, I was published in the October 2013 issue.
This is one of my few stories featuring a dog. You’d think I’d write more doggy material, considering my mascot, but there you go.
I will have another doggy piece to share in coming weeks.
Filed under: Excerpts of short stories Tagged: author, Canadian Authors Association, compassion, Flash fiction, homeless with pets, Khara House, Linda G. Hatton, Melanie Marttila, Mouse Tales Press, Night Traffic, Short story, Submit-o-Rama, writer
