Going to the Dogs

A short story by
(your name here)

“What would you like for your birthday?”
“A puppy!” Tom and Jackie exclaimed as one.
“What kind of puppy?” their Dad asked.
“A flying puppy,” Tom said hopefully.
It was a warm summer’s day. Their birthday was approaching. Despite the fact that their births were a year apart, their birthday fell on the same day. Tom was eight now and Jackie was nine.
Their faces resembled each other’s: cinnamon eyes, long eyelashes and hair the colour of Sumatran teak.
Mr. Byrne laughed.
“Don’t be silly, Tom, dogs can’t fly.”
“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, Dad,” piped up Jackie. “We saw one in the pet shop on O’Niels Street.”
Mr. Byrne scratched his beard in puzzlement. As far as he knew, no pet shop existed in this town. He walked up O’Niels Street every day on his way to the office, and he could not recall ever seeing a pet shop.
“We’ll see,” he said, preparing to give them the benefit of the doubt.
“We’ll ask Mam then,” they said.

Mr. Byrne turned into O’Niels Street, taking his usual route to work.
There was an alley halfway down the street. He happened to glance into it. Two doors down he saw a sign: “Zarcalambar’s Exotic Pets”. He stopped in his tracks.
“That’s odd,” he said to himself. “The kids were right: there is a pet shop here.”
Mr. Byrne looked at his watch. He was early. He decided he had enough time to investigate.
He ventured down to the shop. To his mild surprise, there was no window display, but a thick red velvet curtain completely drawn. He pressed it. Somewhere inside, an old-fashioned bell tolled. . . .
When nobody responded, he attempted to open the door, and to his surprise, it was open.
The heavy, oak door creaked open and he peered inside. The walls were lined with metal cages and large glass containers, filled with amazing varieties of exotic animals that he had not seen the likes of before.
He walked in and gazed at the magnificent creatures surrounding him, trapped in their prisons.
Somebody in a dressing gown and slippers shuffled into the shop from a back door. It was an elderly man, with a halo of snow-white hair sitting upon his round head.
“What are you doin’ here?” the man said in a harsh tone. “Can’t ya read the sign? We’re closed. Closed!”
Mr. Byrne looked slightly offended. “Oh . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t notice a sign. I was just wondering if you had—”
“I said we’re bloody closed!! Get out of here! Get out now!!” the elderly man screamed at Mr. Byrne lividly, taking off one of his dirty white slippers and throwing it at him.
The elderly man hobbled over to Mr. Byrne and pushed him roughly out of the door.
The man’s last words were, “... and don’t come back!” He then slammed the heavy door loudly, and Mr. Byrne heard him lock the door from the inside.
Mr. Byrne was frozen to the spot, not sure what to make of what had just happened.
He looked at his watch, and was very confused to see that it was the same time it had been before he went into the shop.
His watch wasn’t broken . . . it was still ticking. He must have been in there for almost ten minutes.
He just dismissed the inconvenience and set off for work, trying to forget he had ever set foot in the shop.

Alternative shop scene:

Mr Byrne waited a few seconds to see if anyone would answer. Eventually the door was pulled open and he was greeted by a small looking man in an emerald robe.
He had crazy fluffy white hair, and a white beard, he also looked very old and wise.
There was a smile on the old man’s face as he looked up at Mr Byrne.
“Hello,” he said in a deep tired voice. “Welcome to my shop . . . won’t you come inside?” The man stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter.
Fascinated, Mr Byrne walked in and was amazed by what he saw: all sorts of strange looking creatures sat in cages, things like birds with fangs; large vicious looking cats; fish all colours imaginable. But the one thing that stood out the most: a dog with what looked like . . . wings on its back.
Mr Byrne walked over to its cage and stared at it. His children were right . . . there is such a thing a flying dog!
“Does the animal interest you sir?” the man’s voice called out from across the room. “It is indeed one of a kind,” he added with a laugh.
Mr Byrne turned to look at the man and said: “I must have that dog at once!”
The man frowned and said: “You see sir, it’s not that simple. . . .”