Pickled

I used to go to Starbucks to write until they replaced the comfortable leather chairs and couch with little round tables and hard wood dining chairs. It’s an ingenious way to keep customers from hanging around too long. No one will nod off while their butt s getting sore from sitting. The chairs were the last straw in list of annoyances that led me to dropping Starbucks, though to be fair to them it doesn’t take much to annoy me before I’m properly caffeinated. But not going to Starbucks to write has led me back to what, or I should say, who, led me there in the first place.

Fleegle.

In the summer I sit outside to write while Fleegle entertains himself with chewing on sticks, and now with Franny chewing on him, but with fall temperatures dropping and the rain starting early this year, we’re all inside in my den. I keep the clutter out of my den because when I sit down to write I’m easily distracted by anything, loose books that need to be shelved, dog fur on the floor that needs to be swept, anything that gets me up out of my comfortable leather chair.

I’ve tried to make my den free of distractions, so there is no desktop computer or internet, only an old laptop used to store and play music on, but some distractions can’t be avoided, like the rubber pickle just dropped into my lap.

“Raud, I’d like a refill, please,” Fleegle says.

I pick up the pickle. “Well, since you said please.”

Franny walks into the den. “Oh, cool, Fleegle, you found my pickle.”

He shakes his head. “Nope, that’s my pickle. I still haven’t found yours but you’ll be the first to know when I do, that is, after me, of course.”

Next Bartering with Biscuits – Therapy

Previous Bartering with Biscuits – Inspector Fleegle

First Bartering with Biscuits – The Puppy

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