The Poodle Man

'Mon cher, today I'm having lunch with the Country Women's Association. Could you please take the children to lunch with you?'

Francesca Danté remained on the couch with their 'children', two proud white miniature poodles, Franco and Ciccia. They were expertly groomed because Fran groomed canines at their home.

'Yes, cara mia', responded her dutiful husband Phil. 'Maybe later we'll go outside and have a game of "B-A-double L".'

Franco started to wag his tail until Ciccia gave him a look that made him stop. 'Our pet humans must never know that we know how to S-P-E-L-L...'

The Beau Chien Canine Beauty Salon of the neither too small nor too large coastal town comprised half of the front parlour of the house of the proprietress Fran, and her husband Phil Danté, who after an adventurous life overseas, worked for and then were made redundant from the Australian Commonwealth Public Service. The logo on the large sign in the front yard of their house featured the head of a happy black French poodle wearing a képi blanc et havelock de la légion étrangère française under the name of Beau Chien. Be Our Geste was written beneath it.

Fran used her undeniable talents of being an expert dog groomer and a fine companion and confidant for the owners of the pampered pooches to make a bit of money and establish herself in the community. Phil had teasingly called his beloved wife le confesseur for her excellent client contact skills and joked that her clients gave her money as penance as much as payment for the emotional baggage they unleashed on the smiling Fran. He had fallen in love with those brown eyes and soothing sympathetic manner so long ago, and he remained in love with her. Fran could sooth the most savage of beasts, informing her client's owners that since she tamed her husband, she could handle any other mad dog...

Their own pigeon pair of poodles, Franco and Ciccia acted as her advertisements for her skill, and the pair bloody well knew it. As a result of her business, and to his wife's chagrin, he called himself a 'streetwalker' as he spent the day walking the town with the pair to its beaches or pools for swims, or its cafés for tea where he'd loiter in a Continental fashion, or in one of the town's parks and read a paperback book. In the summertime the trio would lay in the shade on a beach towel catching the breezes from the harbour.

The trio's outings made everyone happy. The poodles wouldn't be around to loudly inform Fran's clients that it was their house, Phil wouldn't be making his corny jokes about Beau Chien being a clip joint, Fran and her assistant who would someday buy her business would be left to themselves and their clients. In Fran's mind, her husband would not be alone; he'd be with his two best friends, all would be getting their daily exercise. The pair contentedly lay down by Phil and dozed as he read his paperback book.

Though he had few friends in the town, everyone knew him as 'the poodle man'. He was a beloved sight speaking to his charges and telling them jokes in French and saying,

'Salut cinq!'

The poodles would get on their hind legs and slap him high fives.

Fran knew the poodles would attract people to her terminally alone Phil, and the pair of poodles revelled in compliments and attention. Phil would pass out his wife's business cards as he answered the usual questions; how old they were, how could they tell them apart (the male was a few centimeters larger than the female), who Franco and Ciccio were (when Fran was young her father would take her to their movies shown in their Italian community cinema and they were her favourites), were they fond of children (they loved their taste, when they were hungry he'd let them into a schoolyard where they'd grab a bite or two), can they do tricks (yes, they know lots of them but they only perform them when they have to) and so on. One exception was a male who asked,

'Did they escape from a circus, mate?'

Phil took off his aviator sunglasses and looked in his eyes,

'They were given the sack for biting a clown who wasn't funny, and if a clown isn't funny there's no need for him to be alive, right? Are you sure I'm your mate?'

The smartarse saw the eyes of a psychopath and left quickly.

* * *

It was now time for lunch at one of the outside tables of their town's Grand Hotel. The staff of the hotel loved the poodles and when Phil came for his lager and lunch, they would receive a tasty treat.

As Phil read his paperback book a car pulled up and left its engine running. Two males concealing things under their long coats walked briskly into the hotel.

Phil took off his aviator sunglasses, snapped his finger and pointed to a couple at an outside table near him.

'Ring Triple Zero and tell them there's a robbery in progress at the Grand Hotel, NOW!'

They complied.

'Franco, à mon ordre, mords-le sur ses couilles!'

The first of the men dashed out and pointed a sawn-off rifle at Phil.

'Don't move, Pop!'

Phil smiled and extended his arms to show he had no weapons.

'Attaque!'

In a flash of white Franco leapt up and bit the man in the groin hanging on and twisting his head as he growled. The man shrieked like the wounded animal he was and dropped his weapon. Phil picked it up and thrust it into the mouth of the second man leaving the hotel, hearing the crack of broken teeth. Phil swept his foot to the legs of the man having his scrotum used as a doggie chew toy; he crashed down to the pavement. Franco avoided the falling man.

'Ciccia, mordre son oreille!'

Ciccia bit and held on to the fallen man's ear.

'Keep your hands extended in front of you, or she'll rip your ear off! She loves pig's ears, and yours will do!'

Both the man behind the wheel of the car, who had both of his hands visible on top of the wheel, and the man with the sawn-off rifle in his mouth with his hands up had their eyes as wide as the proverbial town hall clock.

'Three more seconds and I'll ventilate your mate's head, then I'll shoot your eyes out. Turn off the ignition with one hand, throw your keys to me and come out of the car with your hands up...three...two...

A frightened muffled sound came from the man with the rifle in his mouth. The man in the car replied,

'I'm bloody comin'! Don't bloody shoot, ya bloody psycho!!!'

'Lay down on the ground next to your mate.'

Both the standing men looked at the growling Poodles from Hell .

'They've had their distemper shots, I haven't'.

All three men were on the ground as the air filled with the sirens of police vehicles. An imposing blonde policewoman left her car. The poodles looked triumphant.

'Looks like you've made a few friends!'

'All yours, Camille! I'm retired.'

The bartender brought Phil a schooner of lager and two bowls of beef chunks.

'On the house.'

* * *

A week later a party of visiting women from Sydney had lunch at the Grand Hotel. One of them spoke to the bartender,

'Who's that gentleman sitting outside speaking French to his dogs?'

The publican proudly smiled,

'That my dear woman, is the Poodle Man...'

FIN

Author Notes: Happy Chinese New Year!
I am the author of three Extra Dimensional/Ultraterrestial military science fiction novels MERCENARY EXOTIQUE, OPERATION CHUPACABRA and WORK IN OTHER WORLDS FROM YOUR OWN HOME! as well as two travel books THE MAN FROM WAUKEGAN and TWO AUSTRALIANS IN SCOTLAND (all from Lulu.com). I live happily ever after with my wife in paradise (coastal Kiama, NSW Australia).

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