Joannette dangled Elmer-Elmira above the little dog’s head.  Then she pressed the cloth monkey against her own face.  “My monkey,” she sang.  Bucky leaped up, but not high enough.

“H-h-h-h-h-h,” he panted.
 
Joannette took a deep breath. “Pee-ewe!  This stinks.”  She flung Elmer-Elmira across the room.  They raced over to the crumpled form. Bucky chomped down and held on with all his might, while Joannette pulled from another stuffed body part in their tug-of-war.  

“Give it to me!” she commanded.

Bucky let go, spitting out a bit of fur.  He danced on his hind legs. Joannette put Elmer-Elmira high on a shelf. Bucky paced, aching to reach his love, able to glimpse just the monkey’s tail hanging down.  Finally, despairing, he collapsed and rested his chin between his paws.  He gazed up, eyes forlorn.  He whimpered. 

Cupid let loose an arrow and Elmer-Elmira fell to the floor with a soft flop.  At once, Bucky pounced on it and buried his nose in the ripe fur.  With his paws he embraced the monkey whom he proceeded to lick from head to toe.  And Cupid moved on for mischief elsewhere.

© 2008 Janice Black. Original for CCF (Black grants CCF first electronic rights for one month; CCF may archive the material indefinitely and include it in an eBook anthology).