The telephone did not ring. The ad had been in the paper for three weeks, and yet the telephone did not ring. Imogene had posted flyers in some of the grocery stores and at the coffee shop where she worked half time, but nobody had called.
“Music therapy for pets” said the headline.
“Is your dog listless? Uninterested in play? Does she scratch herself in places she shouldn’t? Does he poop on the floor? Dig in the yard??”
“Dogs need a strong self image and revolutionary pet therapist, Marge Barkwell, can help. Change your dog from a dull, listless mutt into a happy, well rounded beastie with a lust for life."
“How? It’s simple. Learn the secrets of animo-musical therapy and see how singing to your dog can change everything. Not just cover songs. Barkwell composes customized feel-good music for your pooch, and will teach you how, too. Call 777-0877 for free estimate. Comes with dog treats and free practice CD. Group rates available.”
Imogene wondered if she should have used larger type. In order to get it all to fit in the $10 ad, she had Xeroxed it down, and had to cut it up a little. She was sure the music therapy part could be read, and she had purposely written her phone number extra large, but maybe some of the other parts might be a little bit small.
She thought that maybe she’d re-do it, typing it this time, if she didn’t get any calls by next week. Of course it didn’t help that the ad was squeezed between the hardware sale ad and the full sized display ad for lesbian sex toys. Really, who would spend their money on dog therapy when they could get a leaf blower for $99.99? Still, Imogene was a patient person, and did not give up easily.
She served Ricky a hamburger cupcake that she had baked earlier in the week and got ready for work. Ricky ate it with relish.
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