Friday, March 26, 2010

NO TIME FOR THIS

"The phone rings as I'm preparing dinner."Hello."

"Hi, do you have Great Danes?"



"Um...yes, I do." I reply, silently calculating if this conversation will be over before my sauce is done. "My name is Deborah."


"Do you have puppies? I want a fawn colour," I hear.


"Who is this I'm speaking to?"


"Damian."



"Have you owned a Great Dane before, Damian?" I question.



"Yes, I did." Nothing more offered.



"May I ask who you bought your Dane from and how long you had it?"



"It wasn't here in Canada--I just moved here."


About now, I know this person would have to do a whole heck of a lot more talking if he wanted to be considered seriously as a prospective puppy owner--at least one of my puppy owners.


"Oh, where did you move from?"



"From Illinois."



"Oh yes, and who was it you got your Dane from in Illinois?" Another three or four minutes and my sauce would be of perfect consistency.


"It wasn't really someone who had Great Danes or anything like that."



"I see," peering into my pan on the stove, making a statement more about my sauce than his response to my question.



"How much are your dogs?" Damian enquires.



"I sell my puppies for $1500."



"How old are they when you sell them?"



About now, I am wishing I had a free hand to disconnect the call but both hands are busy as I add a tich more thyme to the delicate sauce simmering in the pan.



"Eight weeks old at least," I offer.


"How much would you sell one for younger?"



My lip curls slowly as I realize not only is my sauce done . . . but the conversation is over-done.



"How much would you sell one for if I got it at two weeks old?"



"I don't sell puppies at two weeks old. I don't know of anyone who does--not even those disgusting puppy mills," hoping he can hear the offense in my tone.



I put my spoon down on the counter and grab the phone from where it's been nestled between my shoulder and my ear.


"Why not?" he persists.


"I'm afraid I can't be of any further help to you, Damian.


He's done--like dinner.








No comments: