“That @#$%& cat!” Fleegle grumbles as he come through his dog door with Georgina, his chicken, sitting on his head.

“Hey, watch your swearing,” I say.

“How? It’s not steaming in here. I can’t see my breath.”

“Where’d you learn that kind of language anyway?”

He tilts his head to the side. “From you in the car when you talk to your imaginary friend, Timmy.”

“Timid Timmy? Well, stop using those words.”

“Why? I like the way they sound.”

“Do you want Georgina to pick them up from you and start spouting them off left and right? Hey you, fat Lab, where the F-@#$%&! are my Chickie Puffs?”

He tilts his head to the other side. “Not when you put it like that, but you’ve given me an idea. Hey you, big belly on legs, it’s lunchtime. Where the F-@#$%&! is my kibble?”

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