Every Saturday morning the tables were set up. Goods new and used, handmade and home baked, were put out to browse through.

Every Saturday morning they came, tails tucked between their legs, cowering at the ends of their leashes.

The dogs would never understand the draw of the flea market.

This bonus story was written by Larissa Thiessen. It’s her birthday today, the last birthday she’ll have with the last name “Thiessen,” and that’s largely my fault!