Speaker 1: And before today's story, we have a birthday request for Fife,
who was turning six on July nineteenth. She is having
a butterfly ice skating party to celebrate. Foefe loves to
do handstands, run around with her siblings and friends, and
do the monkey bars. She is an awesome friend's sister
and daughter.
Speaker 2: Happy birthday, Feefe. Libby was closest to the door when
the doorbell rang, so, being the helpful person that she was,
she answered it. Good morning to you, said the figure
upon her doorstep. He was wearing a crumpled white shirt
and a badly knotted red tie, and was carrying a
large black bag. None of that was extraordinary, although Libby
couldn't help but notice that he was a dog. The
big giveaway was the red chestnut fur and the large
dangling ears.
Speaker 3: Would you buy any chance be interested in some skincare products?
Speaker 2: Asked the dog. Libby couldn't remember the last time a
dog came to their door trying to sell things. If
she counted on the fingers of one hand how many
times it had happened, she would soon discover it was never.
Are you ad she began to say, door to door
salesman cut in the dog.
Speaker 3: Why yes, I am, and boy do I have some
great products for you here today.
Speaker 2: He reached into his bag and pulled out a pot
of cream.
Speaker 3: This is one of our best sellers, said.
Speaker 2: The dog, his tail wagging from where it poked out
from under the shirt.
Speaker 3: It's called not Dry as a Bone moisturizer.
Speaker 2: That's a strange name, said Libby. Oh it's a great name,
insisted the dog.
Speaker 3: Would you like to try it?
Speaker 2: It's a bit of a difficult time right now, said Libby.
I've got homework to finish.
Speaker 3: It's by one, get one free.
Speaker 2: Said the dog, sounding hopeful. Ah, thanks, but no thanks,
said Libby, closing the door. All throw in some lip bob,
called out the dog, somewhat desperately. As the door click shut,
Libby stood looking at the rear of the door and
blinking slowly. How weird was that a door to door
dog selling skincare products. She'd never realized that such a
thing was possible. With the interruption dealt with, Libby headed
to the table where her homework waited for her. But
no sooner had she taken a seat upon the chair
than the doorbell went again. She returned to the door
and pulled it open.
Speaker 3: Good morning to you, said.
Speaker 2: The figure upon her doorstep. He was wearing a red
striped jacket and a battered straw hat, and was carrying
a large black bag. None of that was unusual, although
Libby couldn't help but notice that he was also a dog,
quite possibly the exact same dog from five minutes ago.
Speaker 3: Would you buy any chance be interested in some skincare products?
Speaker 2: Asked the dog. Didn't you just call round, asked Libby?
Who me, asked the dog innocently. Huh, you must be
getting me confused with another door to door salesman. I
suppose I must be shrugged Libby. But let's not focus
on that, said the dog, Because boy, do I have
some great products for you here today. He reached into
his bag and pulled out a pot of cream. This
is one of our best sellers, said the dog, his
long ears flapping around his face.
Speaker 3: It's cold, smooth as a bone exfoliator.
Speaker 2: That's an odd name, said Libby. Oh it's a perfect name,
insisted the dog.
Speaker 3: Would you like to try it?
Speaker 2: I really can't right now, said Libby. I must finish
my homework before I go out. You get a free bag,
said the dog with a grin thank you, But no,
said Libby, closing the door, and some cotton bulls yelped
the dog, but it was too late. Libby had closed
the door. Huh fancy that, said Libby. I don't ever
remember a dog calling at the door before, and today
there have been two. Back at the table, she took
her seat and picked up her pen. It was time
to crack on with her homework, or at least she
would have done, but the doorbell was filling the house
with its chimes again, she asked in dismay. Setting the
pen back down, she returned to the door and pulled
it open. Good morning to you, said the figure upon
her doorstep. He was wearing a T shirt with a
picture of a banana on it, what looked like a
fake droopy mustache, and was carrying a large black bag.
Although this was a little odd, it wasn't as odd
as the figure underneath it all because again it was
a dog, and Libby suspected that she'd met this dog before.
Speaker 3: Would you buy any chance be interested in some skincare products,
asked the dog.
Speaker 2: Haven't you been around already? Asked Libby.
Speaker 3: I told you last time, said the dog. You're just
getting me confused with another door to door salesman.
Speaker 2: Libby narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Hmm, I guess I must be,
she said. But let's not worry about that, said the dog,
Because boy, do I have some great products for you
here today. He reached into his bag and pulled out
a pot of cream. This is one of our best sellers,
said the dog, his long tongue dangling between sentences.
Speaker 3: It's called clean as a bone cleanser.
Speaker 2: There it is, again, said Libby. Do all your skincare
products mention bones?
Speaker 3: Well, what's wrong with that? Asked the dog. Everyone loves
a bone, don't they? I know I do. Would you
like to try it?
Speaker 2: I really can't right now, said Libby. Oh go on,
said the dog. Surely you can finish your homework later.
I can't, said Libby, firmly, noting that she'd not actually
he mentioned homework to this supposedly different salesman. I'm going
dancing shortly, and I want to get.
Speaker 3: It done before I go fifty percent.
Speaker 2: Of said the dog. As the door began to close.
Speaker 3: Free bone. With every purchase, the.
Speaker 2: Door click shut again. Libby checked the clock and saw
that she was running out of time. Dashing back to
the table, she grabbed her pen and opened her book.
She was going to have to hurry. She'd barely written
the first word when the doorbell chimed loudly. Oh not again,
she whined softly. She returned to the door and pulled
it open.
Speaker 3: Hello again, I mean good morning, do you?
Speaker 2: Said the figure upon the doorstep. He was wearing a
green silk shirt with baggy sleeves, a thick curly wig,
circular sunglasses, and was carrying a large black bag. Despite
the absurd costume, it was clearly a dog underneath it all,
and by now Libby was quite sure it was the
same dog as before.
Speaker 3: Woody body, chance be interested in some skin care products,
asked the dog.
Speaker 2: I really don't have time for this, said Libby. I
don't know what you mean, said the dog, innocently.
Speaker 3: On account of the fact I've never been here to
talk to you about your homework.
Speaker 2: Well, even so, I really must finish it, Libby insisted,
or I'm going to be late for dancing.
Speaker 3: Oh please, just quickly.
Speaker 2: Pleaded the dog as he reached into his bag, pulling
out a pot of cream. Is that another one of
your best sellers, asked Libby. Oh, yes, very popular, this one,
nodded the dog got a bone in its name, does it,
Libby wondered a little impatiently. Of course, said the dog,
as if this was the most obvious thing in the world.
Speaker 3: It's called toned as a bone toner. Would you like
to try it?
Speaker 2: I'm sorry, no, said Libby with firmness as she closed
the door. Please wait, whimpered the dog, who was such
a pleading whimper that Libby found herself hesitating despite her
need to get back to her homework. Slowly she opened
the door again. The dog was looking at her with desperation.
Really do you have to go dancing? Shortly, Libby said,
although more gently this time.
Speaker 3: What sort of dance do you do?
Speaker 2: Asked the dog. Irish dancing, said Libby with a smile.
I love it.
Speaker 3: What well, I love Irish dancing.
Speaker 2: Too, said the dog, in disbelief, because well look, the
dog whipped off the sunglasses and the wig him.
Speaker 3: An Irish settler. You thought I was an ordinary door
to door salesman, and all this time you've actually been
talking to a dog.
Speaker 2: Well, yes, said Libby, And.
Speaker 3: This will really blow your mind, said the dog, for
all the door to door salesmen you've spoken to this
morning have been.
Speaker 2: Me amazing, said Libby, sounding not the least bit amazed.
But what I don't understand is why you're here selling
skincare products in the first place. The dog's shoulders slumped
as he.
Speaker 3: Hung his head. Oh that, he said miserably. It's a
hard life being a dog. Too many dogs and not
enough owners. You see, So I tried to make my
own way in life by selling my pots of cream
from door to door.
Speaker 2: Where do you get them from, asked Libby.
Speaker 3: Oh, I make them myself, said the dog. Well, I
read that lots of popular skincare products are made from
natural ingredients like avocado, a levira, and she butter. I
can do that, I thought, So I gathered some natural
ingredients of my own, such as sticks and leaves and sticks.
Speaker 2: Have you sold many? Asked Libby, taking the pot of
cream from the dog and having a sniff. Her eyes
watered at the terrible stink that floated out. Not yet,
said the dog. I just need to find the right customer,
and you were thinking that the right customer might be me,
Libby asked the dog. Nodded, she handed back the pot
and thought for a moment, then glanced back towards the clock.
You know, she said after a moment, there's no time
to do my homework. Now I'll have to do it after.
Do you really like Irish dancing? Of course, said the dog,
suddenly brightening up. To prove it, he did a flurry
of rapid dance steps that would have impressed just about anybody.
Speaker 3: Like I said, I'm an Irish settler.
Speaker 2: Then perhaps you should come with me, said Libby, if
you'd like to. The dog couldn't believe his long, floppy ears.
But but what about my bag, he asked, holding it up.
You can leave it here, she said. We can work
out a safe way to dispose of the creams when
we get back.
Speaker 3: But didn't you hear what I said? Too many dogs
are not enough owners.
Speaker 2: Said the dog, looking worried. I'm going to need them
not anymore. You're not smiled, Libby. Now come on inside.
There's just enough time for me to show you around
the m