Category: Dog Fiction

Fleegle supervises as I set the table for dinner.

“Why do we eat turkey on Thanksgiving?” he asks.

“It’s tradition.”

“As in it’s tradition to sing the national anthem before baseball games?”

“I don’t know if that’s sung out of tradition or patriotism.”

“Are turkeys patriotic?”

I glance at the cooked bird cooling on the counter, steam rising off it. “I highly doubt it.”

“Why?”

“Because quite a lot of them get eaten on Thanksgiving.”

“No turkey rights, huh?”

“Well, this is America, so you do have the right to act like a turkey.” I spoon stuffing onto Fleegle’s plate, then some mashed potatoes.

“Just not lucky if you’re born one.” Fleegle slicks back his whiskers with his tongue. “I’ll take more stuffing than that, please.”

I spoon some more onto his plate, then begin sharpening the carving knife. “Do you want dark meat or light meat?”

“What’s the difference?”

“Leg or breast?”

“Oh, leg of course. Dogs always go for the leg.”

*   *   *

“What’s for lunch, Raud?” Fleegle asks.

“Leftovers.”

“Not more turkey?”

“Yep, more turkey. Aren’t you the one who’s always telling me not to waste food?”

“No, it’s me who is always offering to clean the dishes.”

I get the turkey carcass from the fridge and set it on the counter.

Fleegle whines. “This is like the fourth or fifth day of turkey.”

“It’s a big bird.”

“Can’t we skip it and go straight to the pumpkin pie? What was that fluffy white stuff called again?”

“Whipped cream, but we’re out of pie.”

“Awe, come on, what kind of kitchen are you running? Is Hamburger Heaven open?”

I pause to give Fleegle a good looking over. “You know, maybe we should fast for a day.”

He cocks his head to the side. “Fast?”

“Not eat for a day.”

“Why? I’m not fat. You’re not fat.”

“But your expectations are, and if you go without you’ll better appreciate what you have.”

 

Next: Negotiating with Cookies – Fleegle Delivers the Mail

Previous: Negotiating with Cookies #42 – Carhop Service

Fleegle and I pull into the drive-in. I roll down the window and glance over the menu of artery clogging delights, burgers from large to triple large, and fries so oily you could power a city with a single order. “We’ll need a nap after this one. I’m glad we’ve got bucket seats.”

“This place smells wonderful,” Fleegle says. “Where are we?”

“You’re in for a treat, Fleegle. This is Hamburger Heaven, the most awesome burgers and fries west of the Mississippi.”

From the menu, a distorted electronic voice asks from a tiny speaker that has been corroded by the rain, “Can I take your order, please?”

Fleegle’s ears tilt toward the voice. “Who’s that?”

“That’s the burger god,” I say and order for us.

A little while later, a waitress arrives with our food and places a tray on our window. The aroma of greasy goodness wafts through the car.

Fleegle watches her leave. “Who was that? What did she bring us?”

“That was the burger angel and she brought us these.” I offer Fleegle a French fry. He takes my whole hand.

“We’re going to have to work on your manners.” I offer him another. “Just the fry, not my hand.”

*   *   *

The next time we stop for gas, and this being Oregon where you don’t pump your own but must wait for the attendant to come to your car window, I look over at Fleegle and see a long strand of drool hanging from his mouth as he watches the gas station attendant walk down the row of pumps toward us. “Look, Raud, here comes a burger angel.”

 

Next: Negotiating with Cookies #43 – Turkey, Turkey and More Turkey

Previous: Negotiating with Cookies #41 – Invisible Love

Start at the beginning: Negotiating with Cookies #1 – Stinky Butt

While sitting in the car at a red light, Fleegle and I watch a dog standing motionless in his front yard. “Why doesn’t that dog leave his yard?” Fleegle asks. “There’s no fence and lots to smell in the neighbor’s yard. I can smell a fresh one from here.”

“That’s gross.”

“What? It’s true. Don’t be such a prude.”

“This is a long light. And I’m really hungry,” I say. “I wish lights like these had carhop service.”

“What’s carhop service?”

“I’ll show you sometime. You’ll love it.”

The dog still hasn’t moved. If I hadn’t seen his head move I’d think he was a piece of lawn art. Fleegle barks at him. “Oh, don’t do that,” I say. “It’s not his fault. Do you see the little white flags that run along the edge of the lawn around the house?”

“Yeah.”

“See the little black box on his collar?”

“Yeah.”

“If he gets too close to the flags, the black box will give him an electric shock. It’s called an invisible fence.”

“Like the time I chewed on the cord for the television?”

“Yeah, like that.”

Fleegle cocks his head to the side, confused. “Why would he wear a collar that would do that to him?”

“His family put it on him.”

“Don’t they love him?”

“I’m sure they do,” I say.

“So what is it then? They’re so heavily into the S&M that they need to drag the dog into it too?”

 

Next: Negotiating with Cookies #42 – Carhop Service

Previous: Negotiating with Cookies #40 – Fleegle Hears a h’Hoo

Start at the beginning: Negotiating with Cookies #1 – Stinky Butt

While camping in the woods, Fleegle nose bumps me awake in our tent. I flick on the flashlight and point it at him, the fur on his head is bunched up in wrinkles and his ears are on alert, listening.

“Did you hear that?” he asks.

I rub my eyes. “Hear what?”

“You didn’t hear it?”

“No, what?”

“It must be very quiet in your world with your hearing being so weak.”

“With you around? Not really,” I say. “This thing you heard, what did it sound like?”

“Like an owl farting.”

“I didn’t know they could.”

“I didn’t either. Why do you think I’m so troubled? All won’t be right in the woods if it’s hoo-h’HOO-toot-toot.”

I flick off the flashlight. “Fleegle, go back to sleep.”

 

Next: Negotiating with Cookies #41 – Invisible Love

Previous: Negotiating with Cookies #39 – Fleegle Brut

Start at the beginning: Negotiating with Cookies #1 – Stinky Butt