A reader emailed me this photo when their copy of Negotiations with Cookies arrived in Strone, Scotland.
For my friends in the UK, the collection is also available from Amazon.co.uk in the UK.
Negotiating with Cookies: A Collection of Short Shorts is now available on Amazon for Kindle readers.
Fleegle is man’s best friend, and his owner, Raud, who fancies himself a dog trainer, thinks he’s making great progress with Fleegle’s training, but Fleegle knows the true scoop on who is really being trained. Lucky for Raud, Fleegle just happens to be one of the best people trainers around.
Does that descriptions capture the series about right? I’ve always found writing book description blurbs challenging.
I finish up my phone conversation with Fleegle’s breeder, Suzie, and hang up.
“Well, what did my matchmaker say?” Fleegle asks, bouncing on all fours. “Is it time to go to Eugene and pick up my puppy?”
I shake my head. “Nope. There’s been a change of plans.”
He stops bouncing and plops his rump on the floor. “Change of plans? These are things you can’t go changing willy-nilly.”
“Relax, Suzie is coming to Portland for a dog show tomorrow and is going to bring your puppy with her so we won’t have to drive to Eugene after all.”
“Last you said my puppy wouldn’t be ready for weeks and that she had to fatten up first. That ‘meat special’ pizza really did the trick then.”
“Actually, there’s been a puppy shuffle and the puppy coming to town tomorrow isn’t the one originally planned. It’s from the older of the two litters and is ready to go to it’s new home now.”
“A puppy shuffle? Is that what we are to you? Cards? Well, then I’m the ace of hearts and you can be the two of clubs.”
“Sorry. Poor choice of words, but what else can you expect from a lowly two of clubs? I’m not even a three.”
Fleegle snorts. “But she’s still a she, right?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“And she’s still a blonde?”
I nod again. “Yes, she’s still a blonde.”
He seems contented with that. “I’ll have to come up with a new name.”
“I thought you had settled on Fifi.”
“That’s the name of the first puppy. This puppy needs her own name.”
* * *
The next morning when I get up, I search everywhere for Fleegle but can’t find him. I check the backyard, the living room, the kitchen, even under the bed. I figure he must’ve gotten out of the yard at night while I slept so I decide to drive around the neighborhood for him.
When I open the car door, he’s sitting in the passenger seat. “Hurry it up,” he says. “We’ve got a puppy to pick up.”