Dog dressed as Darcy.

Karen was lonely. It had been a long time since her life was filled with genuine romance, and passion, and energy. She’d searched and found all wanting; she’d lost her soul to the denizens of love.

That day she wandered the lakes, listening to the birds trill, and the children giggle, coughing up a coin to toss into the fountain, wishing her reflection had an answer as the pool shimmered in the sun like a dancer’s dress.
She happened upon a small inlet, and sat down, with her dog Peter. Peter bounded faithfully, skitting around the river’s edge and sniffing duck’s footprints in the soft earth.

Taken with a whim, she tossed a stick high and arcing into the river. Peter dutifully thrust himself into the water, crashing wetly towards the stick. She watched him emerge. In the white man’s shirt she’d clumsily wrapped him in, and murmured…
“Oh, Mr Darcy.”, biting her lip. The dog ran up to her dispensing the stick, grunting happily, and pissing on her leg.


About neilstilwell

Abseiling into trouble, a sewer rat staring at the stars. Disgusting. You can assist my search for the one ring by buying a Kindle version of this diary from here. It has some other stuff in it, and a dreadful cover.
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