There was Peter, in his usual spot. Brooke walked over before even getting coffee, pulled up a chair and sat down, one foot on the floor while the other, attached to its long leg, made a wide arc before coming to rest close to its mate. Now her legs were crossed as she tilted her head and sat looking at Peter.

“So, what’s up, Brooke?” was all Peter could think to say. He wanted to ask her to make her entrance again, this time he would try to remember which leg stayed still and which one went on the journey; he wasn’t used to such a flourish when all she wanted to do was sit in a chair.

With her head still tilted, Brooke placed a shiny penny in front of her friend. Straightening her head, she said, “See this, Peter. What does this tell ya?”

It was a bizarre opening, even for Brooke, but Peter played along.

“Dunno … you need a cup of suspended coffee? What?”

“No. It’s a penny, silly, and it’s got its head facing up. That means good luck.”


To no one’s surprise, Peter just sat there, listening, there had to be more.

“I got my Range Rover out last night and took it to the gas station before I bought dinner. While I was pumping gas, I looked down and there it was, a bright shiny penny with its head facing up.”

“So?” was all Peter said.


“Grandmother Doris told me if a person found a Lincoln with its face up they would have good luck. If his face was down, you shouldn’t take it, but turn it over for the next person. So this is my signal that everything will be okay.”

“Ya, so this is like an old Southern thing?” Peter said, using his best Cleveland accent. Adding, “Good luck and a signal for what, Brooke?”

“For the new business we’re starting together! We’ll be partners – 50/50 – okay?”

“Hold your horses, Brooke. I don’t need another business, and I don’t have a clue what this is all about.” Peter wondered if all women were like this, or was it just Brooke. Her logic was not something that worked in any of the programs he’d studied.

Brooke explained the idea of starting FaceBook Pages for pets, She would take the photos. He would write the stories and post everything. How they’d make the dogs famous while making themselves rich. “We’ll charge money and all, Peter. Don’t worry.”


“Okay, I get it now, and I’ll help, but I’m not a full partner in this idea.” (not wanting to add the word, “crazy”).

Madeleine and Barnegat were first. Brooke was still walking them at lunch, so she talked to their owners, saying she would take some photos and put them on FaceBook. They were okay with the idea, so Brooke went to work. She took different shots, from different angles, and showed them to Peter. It was his idea to have the dogs talk like humans, even ending every post with the three initials, BOL.

“What’s BOL, Peter? What’s that mean?”

“I just thought if people used LOL to mean ‘laughing out loud,’ then dogs would BOL. You know, like, ‘bark out loud.’”

With that, Peter leaned back in his chair and started one of his laughs. Brooke joined him, thinking how he really was funny and all.

Peter posted the new pages around eight the next morning and invited everyone he could think of to “like” Madeleine and Barnegat. Brooke did the same on her now improved profile.

By ten, just two hours later, it was gaining “traction,” as Peter called it. Some friends had commented, and others had shared the post. People were inviting friends to “like” Madeleine and Barnegat. That was good, Peter said.

“This woman might just be onto something,” thought Peter as he watched the action on his screen. When Blair picked up on Madeleine and Barnegat and shared their post with everyone who followed The Clover Café the numbers really started to climb. It was amazing how much time people had for the things they cared about, like pictures of pets telling stories and barking out loud.

The next day the two partners added other members of the “Lunch Bunch.” The same reception followed, and Brooke’s phone started to ring.

“Wow, I never knew pugs could be so popular,” said Barnegat owner. “Let’s talk soon, this deserves a bigger tip.”

Madeleine’s puppy daddy was the same. Everyone liked how their special pet was now becoming even more “special.”

Before she went to the others, she needed a better plan, a “business proposition,” Peter called it.

It was Dorothy who called next. She told Brooke how happy Brunswick seemed at Maggie’s and all, but how maybe Brooke could do a page for Brunswick, like the page Dorothy had for her artwork. Dorothy would pay her to take the photos and write the stories, answer the comments even (as though Brunswick was keying in the reply). After all, it was the least she could do. “Just think of it as a commission,” Dorothy said. “You set the price, and I’m in.”

Peter and Brooke got gas station chicken that night, asking Mel to join. The three friends sat around Brooke’s table and talked. Brooke got out her pad and pencil, the same ones she used when her left brain figured out the dog-walker-lady thing, but Peter took it away. He’d do the math, he said.

Peter talked about pages and how there could be different levels of service. How there could be a “cheap Charlie” version to bring people in, and then how they could add Silver and Gold levels. Platinum would cover everything, it would cost the most.

“We’ll need a name.” Brooke jumped in. “Something like, ‘Make your dog famous’” should get people’s attention. The other two didn’t say anything.

“Why not call it, ‘Barking Out Loud,’” Mel said, not being serious. “You two think that’s so funny and all.”

“You know Mel, that might work,” said Peter. “It’s not the usual name for a service but ignoring the rules can be the best rule of all.”

The other two waited. “Sometimes if you only play by the rules you only get what everyone else is getting. If Brooke really wants to do something big, ‘make her mark’ as you say, Mel, then a name like Barking Out Loud might be her best shot. What do you think Brooke?” With that, Peter leaned back.

Mel tried to follow the conversation around the small table, but after a bit of shifting and twisting she got up to carry the dishes over to the sink. She put the chicken scraps in the plastic bag from the gas station, then said, “I’ve got an early yoga class in the morning. I’ll put the trash in the dumpster ‘round back. Y’all have a good night.”

As Mel went down the fire escape, she said out loud, “White people – If I live to be 100, I’ll never understand them. How can dogs on Facebook be a job?”

With that she got on her bike, thankful for her helmet and new blinkie lights, and peddled home.

As she turned off the main street and into to the more residential neighborhood, Mel heard a dog bark out loud.