Category: Dog Fiction

Negotiating with Cookies – Grinch

Published on by Raud Kennedy1 Comment

Fleegle nose bumps me in the leg at the park and asks, “Raud, are you a Grinch?”

“Why do you ask?’

“I overheard one of your friends call you that?”

I nod my head. “Well, they were right. I am a Grinch, completely unreformed.”

He tilts his head to the side. “What is a Grinch?”

“A Grinch is someone who has great difficulty getting into the Christmas spirit, or simply chooses not to bother.”

“Christmas spirit? Is that spirit as in like Buck the ghost dog who comes around to visit every now and then?”

“No, not like Buck the ghost. Christmas spirit is when you feel enthusiastic about doing a lot of gift shopping, competing for parking, maxing out your credit cards on things people will return or re-gift. Christmas spirit is being excited about family visits and having relatives stay with you who hog the remote.”

Fleegle tilts his head to the other side. “But I heard it had to do with the birth of some guy named Jesus who was born a long time ago.”

“Shush, don’t say that too loud or the pc police will snatch you up.”

“Why? He sounds like a pretty cool guy who could turn rocks into dog biscuits.”

“I know a few Labradors who don’t need Jesus for that.”

 

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Negotiating with Cookies – Shop ‘Till You Drop

Published on by Raud Kennedy1 Comment

While on a walk in town among all the holiday shoppers, Fleegle says, “There sure are a lot of people carrying packages.”

“That’s because it’s the Christmas shopping season and people are filling the emotional void they feel with buying stuff for one another.”

“Like when you give me food to fill the void in my belly when I’m hungry?”

“Yes, just like that.”

Fleegle thinks on this a moment as we walk some more, then asks, “And what do they do later when they’re hungry again?”

“They return what they were given and buy something else.”

“And when they’ve finished their ‘business’ with that and are hungry again?”

“They surf eBay for impulse buys.”

“People sure do spend a lot of time on their shopping. What do they do with all the stuff?”

“If they’re lucky, they have an attic, and then after a year or so they take a carload of donations to Goodwill.”

“At least when I eat and do my ‘business’ it’s biodegradable.”

I scratch my head. “I wonder if old stuff at Goodwill is just a slower form of biodegrading.”

 

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Negotiating with Cookies – MacPoochie

Published on by Raud Kennedy3 Comments

“Why do so man couples dress alike?” Fleegle asks as we walk through the park. “Does Target have a special section, like there’s a Mens, a Womens, and then there’s a Couples? Like Petco does with Dogs, Cats, Birds and Fish?”

“No special section, but my hunch is that it’s because only one from the couple is doing the clothes shopping, and they naturally choose the colors and styles they like for both of them, while the other from the couple just figures it saves them the hassle of a trip to Target, and if their mate likes the clothes then that’s good enough.”

“Well, I’m glad you don’t pick out clothes for me. I’d get tired of wearing blue jeans and t-shirts everyday. That’s almost as monotonous as kibble for breakfast lunch and dinner.”

“If you wore clothes, I doubt the washing machine could handle the post dog park load of Fleegle wash, especially on a muddy day. And what day isn’t muddy at the dog park this time of year?”

“If I wore clothes, I’d wear a kilt in my own tartan.”

“Kennedy tartan is very nice.”

“Not your tartan. I’m not some lame Kennedy flunky.” He lifts his leg on a park bench. “I’d wear my own tartan, the MacFleegle Tartan. Would you like to hear about our clan history?”

 

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Negotiating with Cookies – Werecats

Published on by Raud Kennedy2 Comments

While sharing the couch with Fleegle and watching television, I say, “Fleegle, you know what I envy about you?”

“Beside my cold wet nose and paws scented like Fritos, no, tell me.”

“When you worry, it’s always about something immediate, and then it passes. You never waste your time worrying about tomorrow.”

“I can’t worry about something that doesn’t exist. I don’t worry about werecats, do I?”

“Like werewolves, but cats?”

“Yeah, because they don’t exist, just like tomorrow doesn’t exist until it gets here. And what’s the point worrying about the now? It’s much easier to deal with the now than worry about it. Maybe you just like to worry.” He rolls onto his back. “I think I’ll take a nap.”

“Sleep tight, don’t let the werecats bite.”

Fleegle looks at me, then hops off the couch. As he heads toward the bedroom, he says, “I’m going to nap on your pillow. It soaks up drool better than mine.”

 

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Negotiating with Cookies – Sniff-Sniff

Published on by Raud Kennedy1 Comment

I’m sitting in the den with a sketchpad drawing cartoon dog faces when Fleegle comes in and starts sniffing my legs and knees and staring at me with his head tilted to the side.

“Why do you keep sniffing me and looking at me like that?” I asks.

“You are Raud, aren’t you?”

“Huh? Of course I am. That’s a silly question.”

“You don’t smell like him.”

“Well, I did change my brand of soap this morning.”

“I’m not some dumb puppy that can’t figure that out. You’re back to using Ivory again. It’s not your soap. You smell, well… alien.”

“Oh alright, I’ll tell you. When I went out last night, I ate garlic pizza.”

Fleegle plops backwards onto his haunches. “You had pizza without me? Who ate all the crust? Did you give it to some other dog? Now I know you’re not Raud. He would never do that to me. You’re an alien for sure,” he says and struts out of the den.

“Where are you going?”

“To the kitchen to check on the alien egg thingy. Maybe it hatched and you’re the result. Pod-Raud.”

 

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Negotiating with Cookies – Chowder

Published on by Raud Kennedy1 Comment

As I pour hot water into my tea mug, Fleegle drops his rawhide chew flip into his water bowl.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He stares at the rawhide soaking in the water. “Letting it steep for 3 to 5 minutes.”

“Like my tea.”

“Oh, but much better than your tea. That’s like comparing thin broth to chowder.”

A little while later I’m in the den with my mug of tea on the table next to my chair, when Fleegle walks in and drops his gooey half chewed rawhide into my mug.

He looks at me and wags his tail. “Here, give it a try. You’ll love it.”

I look at him nonplussed.

“Ah, poor Raud, you must be on a diet,” he says and scoops his rawhide out of my mug with his tongue. “Mmm, I taste honey.”

 

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