The air smelled of summer rain, wet dogs, and Vixen Red nail polish. Sadie said that holding a Bikini Spa day in the doggie park would be a great way to make some money and meet guys. It started out wonderfully.  It seemed like the whole neighborhood was queuing up for a ten-dollar doggie wash and style.  We flirted shamelessly, never noticing the darkening skies.   

Who would have thought a bull mastiff named Attila would be so afraid of thunder?   His panicked bolt at the first clap was impressive in terms of the sheer scope of disaster it generated. One powerful charge flattened Sadie, snagged my bikini top, capsized the tub, and mowed down the doggie corrals containing both waiting customers and the freshly coiffed.

As the ambulance took Sadie and her broken pinkie to the relative luxury of Saint Mary's Emergency Room, I stood sharing a dripping towel with a shivering elderly poodle, watching our profits disappear into the opportunistic hands of some canine-wrangling neighborhood kids. Attila, the last fugitive, looped in circles through the mud, my fuchsia-accented designer bikini top trailing behind him. Finally, he collapsed into a panting heap as a grinning sun snickered through the clouds.

© 2009 Patricia Dunn. Original for CCF. (Patricia grants CCF first electronic rights for one month; CCF may archive the material indefinitely and include it in an eBook anthology).