“Whatcha smiling about, Fleegle?” I ask, while sitting out on the patio in the sun.
“Nothing in particular, just smiling. The sun is out, the spring grass is growing and sweet tasting, and Franny has turned out to be a good source of sticks.”
“Sticks?” I ask. “Is that some form of dog euphemism for something I don’t want to know about?”
“You mean like the kitty brand peanut butter? Nope, sticks mean sticks.”
He points his nose at her across the yard where she’s laying in the grass chewing on one now. “See? She’s found another.”
He runs over and takes it away from her, then trots back to the patio. “I never knew I had so many sticks until she started pointing them out to me.”
I now notice he’s perched on a pile of them. “All of those sticks are your?”
“Of course. It’s my yard. I’ve put my moniker on pretty much everything back here. Even a rainstorm can’t wash my mark off. Once it’s on, it’s on to stay.”
I feel something grab my big toe sticking out of my sandal and look down. Franny has settled in for a good chew on my foot.
She looks up at me and says, “He’s right. You’re the only thing back here that doesn’t smell like his pee.”
“Ha, that’s not for his lack of trying, and because I use a lot of soap,” I say as Fleegle eyes my big toe and tries to get into position to cock his rear leg.