“You can’t still be thinking about thinking?” Fleegle says.

I rub my temples with the heels of my palms. “I am but I’m stumped. I might need your help deciding what breed we should get.”

Fleegle sits down and cocks his head to the side. “So all of your thinking about thinking has led you to conclude you need someone else to do your thinking for you?”

“Um, yes.”

“Raud, it takes a brave man to admit his limitations. I’m proud of you.”

“Um, thanks, I guess.”

Fleegle wags his tail. “If you answer this one simple question you’ll know exactly what to do.”

“Okay, what’s the question?”

“Am I a good dog?”

“You’re the best dog ever.”

“Then let’s drive down to Eugene and visit my breeder, Suzie, and pick out a puppy. I’ll even do the choosing, or do you need to think about that?”

“No, you can choose. You’re the dog expert.”

“Then she’ll be blond.”

“She?”

“That’s right, she, but you can think on that while I pick her out.”

“And I suppose you have a name for her already?”

“I do. Fifi, which stands for Friend of Fleegle.”

 

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