Negotiating with Cookies – Fleegle World

Published on by Raud Kennedy1 Comment

I lay in bed reading before going to sleep. Fleegle is stretched out on the bed, his paws twitching as he barks softly in his sleep. I put the book down on the nightstand and turn off the light, then click on the clock radio in sleep-mode and listen to two men discuss the approach of Planet-X and its significance on crop circles. Their voices are monotonous and soothing and I’m soon asleep.

Just as I wake from dreams in the mornings, I wake into a dream when asleep. I’m flying high above the bucolic English countryside with nothing but my will to fly as propulsion and my skinny arms as wings. It has been a while since I had a flying dream and I’m enjoying swooping through the air like a sparrow when I notice a giant crop circle below me. I fly higher for a better vantage point.

The crop circle is bigger than a football field and in the shape of a humongous Labrador retriever, complete with overflowing food bowl.

I catch movement in the corner of my eye. “Hey, what are you doing here?” Fleegle asks, now flying next to me, his floppy ears acting as wings. “This is my dream.”

“Aren’t you the one who’s always telling me to share?” I say.

“Yeah, but that’s your burrito or your cottage cheese, but if you think you’re up to experiencing Fleegle World, you’re more than welcome to share my dream. Are you?”

“Up to it? Sure.”

“You might not want to decide that so flippantly, we’re approaching the Chocolate Rockies.”

“What? Mountains made of chocolate?”

“Sort of.”

Looming ahead are what can only be described as a range of mountain size dog behinds, all with their snowcapped tails, waiving furiously, high in the sky.

My eyes bug out. “Oh my.”

“They’re very happy mountains,” Fleegle says and pours on the speed. “You can guess what’s on the other side.”

Not in Fleegle World. “No, tell me.”

“A mud puddle the size of an ocean the mountains drink from. Why else would they be so happy?”

 

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Negotiating with Cookies – There’s Only Now

Published on by Raud Kennedy2 Comments

I brush at the muddy paw prints on my t-shirt, only to smear them around and make them worse. “How many times have I asked you not to jump on me?”

Fleegle stops bouncing for a moment to think. “Two times. Yeah, no more than two times. But you didn’t really mean it because when you really mean something you say it three times.”

“Fleegle, I’ve asked you a zillion times not to jump on me.”

“No way.”

“Yes, way. What about yesterday and the day before and the day before that?”

He spins in a circle, then starts bouncing again. “What’s yesterday?”

“The day before today.”

“Don’t be silly. There’s only now. Come jump on strangers with me and give them kisses. It’s a lot of fun and they love it. They get excited and shout and wave their arms about.”

 

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Negotiating with Cookies – Hunters

Published on by Raud Kennedy2 Comments

Fleegle and I hear a bang in the distance, loud like a firecracker but with the distinctive echo of a rifle. Fleegle’s gaze darts to me as he freezes, eyes wide, body tense, ready to flee.

“Hunters,” I say. “That’s why you’re wearing that ugly orange vest, so some hunter with his beer goggles on doesn’t mistake you for a deer.”

His body relaxes as his mind makes associations. “I have a friend named Hunter.”

“Yes, you do.”

“He likes to hump me.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

“Are these hunters going to hump the deer?” Fleegle logic.

“Oh, look,” I say and point at the nearest tree. “Squirrel.” Human logic. When uncomfortable, obfuscate.

 

Next: Negotiating with Cookies – There’s Only Now

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Fleegle’s Optimism Rubs Off

Published on by Raud Kennedy5 Comments

The other day I noticed an odd effect from writing the Negotiating with Cookies series about Fleegle and his antics. When I read nonfiction books or follow the news, I often see it influencing my storylines a few weeks later, like in The Dog Buddha and Odoriferous Parfait, but I’ve never been aware of what I’ve written having an influence on how I see the world, only the opposite.

In my work as a trainer and walker, I talk a lot to the dogs I’m with. This has led me to talk to myself quite a bit, often in the imagined voices of Fleegle or Sadie, my two dogs. They’re typical of their retriever breeds, Labrador and Golden, happy, upbeat, eager for the next adventure. I aspire to be this way too, but it doesn’t come naturally.

The other day I was contemplating some activity or other and just as my usual thinking began to poo-poo the idea of doing it, I heard Fleegle’s voice, the one I hear when writing his stories, say, “Oh, that’s a good idea. Let’s do it.” It totally caught me by surprise, and even more so when my critical mind agreed that he was right.

Negotiating with Cookies – Super-sized

Published on by Raud Kennedy5 Comments

I’m seated at my desk, testing out a new black pen on a story idea.

“What are you doing?” Fleegle asks as he ambles into the den.

“I’m writing a story about Super Fatty.”

“Who is Super Fatty? Is he an action hero like Superman?”

“He’s an American who believes if a meal can’t be super-sized it’s only an appetizer, and that all health problems can be solved with a pills advertized on television. So there’s no need for him to take care of himself, just indulge all his cravings.”

“No, I meant what are you doing putting that black stuff on that paper? It looks like tiny strands of syrup. What flavor is it? Is it licorice? Can I taste it? Put some on my nose.”

I tear the paper off my pad, frustrated with the negative tangent I’ve taken the story down. “I’ll do you one better.” I wad it up into a ball. “We can play fetch with it.” I toss it across the room.

“Licorice fetch,” he says and runs after it. When he returns and drops it in my lap, he asks, “Can we play burger fetch next?”

“Would that be regular or super-sized?”

“Tiny-sized fetch would be fine with me as long as it’s with burgers, really greasy burgers.”

 

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Negotiating with Cookies – Sabotage

Published on by Raud Kennedy4 Comments

I’m in the garage putting an old Triumph motorcycle back together. Fleegle comes in and gives it a sniff, then asks, “It smells like a car, but how come it only has two wheels instead of four and no seat for me?”

“It’s a motorcycle.”

“Like a bicycle with a motor?”

“Something like that.”

“So you figured out a way to make bicycles even more obnoxious?”

“I didn’t know bicycles annoyed you.”

“They have a tendency to fall over and attack the floor and anyone near them without provocation, and there’s no place for me to sit when you ride them. Now you’re making one that is the equivalent of riding a bicycle while blasting a gas powered leaf blower, and you know how I feel about leaf blowers.”

“The same as you do about lawn mowers.”

“Yes.” He puts his nose in the box holding a bunch of parts to the motorbike and comes out with a bolt in his mouth. “Is this part important?”

I took the bike apart years ago to paint the frame, so putting it back together from memory is like doing a jigsaw puzzle without the box cover to cheat from. All the bike parts are dingy and beat up, the bolt he holds is shiny and new and most likely left over from when I replaced the shocks on the car and tossed it in the nearest box.

“It’s very important,” I say. “It won’t run without it.”

“Good,” he says and heads out to the yard to bury it.

 

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