Negotiating with Cookies #32 – Cats

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Fleegle stands on the couch in the living room looking out the window at the house across the street. “We have new neighbors,” he announces. “They have four cats. Can you imagine living with four cats?”

“Four cats and you? No.”

“Why not?” He jumps off the couch and nose bumps me in the thigh. “Don’t you like cats? I love cats.”

“No you don’t.”

“Why would you say that? They’re like mini-Santas that go around hiding biscuits in all the sandy patches in the neighborhood, and they act like speeding tennis balls when you chase them.” He cocks his head at me. “That is, when I chase them. You don’t chase much, except me when I run outside with your remote.”

“Hmm…”

“We should get a cat, or two. Yeah, two cats, at least for starters. Maybe we can get more later, and cover the backyard with sand.”

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Negotiating with Cookies #31 – Green Fleegle

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Through the open den window, comes the sound of the neighbors dragging their wheelie bin down their driveway to the curb for tomorrow morning’s garbage pickup. Napping on the couch, Fleegle’s ears snap to attention at the sound of tinkling glass as they carry out their recyclables. “Oh, boy, Raud. It’s garbage day. Let’s go for a walk.”

“You want to clean other people’s jam jars, huh?”

“Yeah, don’t you?”

“Um, no, but I’ll tag along for the walk.”

 

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Negotiating with Cookies #30 – Unemployed

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Fleegle walks over to where I’m reading in the backyard and sits next to me. “Raud, give me a cookie.”

“What for?”

“Because I want one, or maybe two. Yeah, give me two cookies.”

“You need to earn your cookies.”

“I’m sitting nicely, isn’t that enough?”

“It was when you were a puppy and still learning to sit and stay.”

“I’m still a puppy.”

“In the car you said you were a big dog, that you wouldn’t chew on the steering wheel.”

“No, I’m still a puppy. Would an adult dog do this?” With his rump still on the grass, he begins scooting across the lawn.

“He would if he wanted me to think he needed to go to the vet to get his butt checked.”

Fleegle lies down. “Look, I’m laying down. How about that?”

“Same as the Sit. You already know the Down.”

He jumps up and paws at the lawn. “Holy catbutt, Raud, what’s a dog have to do around here to earn himself a cookie? Is the backyard in some sort of recession?”

I look at him over the top of my book. “Tantrums won’t get you anywhere.”

He nose bumps my book. “Stop staring at those little black dots like they mean something, you’re not fooling anyone, and teach me something new so I can earn some cookies. I need a job.”

 

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Negotiating with Cookies #29 – Nap Time

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Fleegle licks his bowl after finishing his dinner of raw poultry blend and vegetables.

“So how was it?” I ask.

He sits by his bowl. “That was the best dinner I’ve ever had. Give me more.”

“Better than the time you stole the baked ham off the counter?”

“Yep, and as I’ve told you before, it’s not stealing if you leave it out for the taking.”

“Was it better than the baked Cornish hen that disappeared from the grocery bag?”

“Oh yeah, much better. That was way too salty for my taste, at least it would’ve been if I’d been involved in its disappearance.”

“Better than the sugar cookies?”

“Those gave me the toots.” He starts for the den.

“Don’t I know it. Where are you going?”

“My couch in the den to sleep. I think I’ll nap until it’s time to eat again. That meat is a heavy number.”

 

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Negotiating with Cookies #28 – Poultry Blend

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We pull into the parking lot of the Ponderosa Meat Market. Fleegle sniffs the air blowing through the five inch gap at the top of his window. “What is this place? It’s making me excited and I don’t know why.”

I smile. “You’re going to try something new for dinner.”

“I am? Something other than kibble?” He looks around the parking lot and sniffs the air again. “I don’t see the take and bake pizza place.”

“No, not pizza. Stay here, and no chewing on the steering wheel because you’re excited.” I get out of the car, then add through the open window, “Or pulling the padding out of my seat cushion.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a big boy now. I don’t do that anymore.”

A few minutes later I return carrying a case of Ponderosa Poultry Blend. I put it in the back and hop in front. Fleegle jumps in back, his tail wagging furiously, and licks the box all over like it’s smothered in gravy. “This smells incredible. What’s in the box?” He grabs one of its corners in his mouth and tries to tear it open.

“Raw chicken frames, necks, backs, all ground together and frozen in two pound packets.”

Eyes glossy, mouth drooling, he pulls at the edge of a plastic packet wrapper sticking out of one of the handle holes on the side of the box.

“Fleegle, leave it and get in front.”

“No, I’m gong to eat this.”

“Plastic wrapper and all? You remember the last time you ate plastic?”

He pauses in his efforts to pull the packet through the handle hole. “Yes, it was a yogurt container I chewed up in the backyard. The plastic made me throw up the next day.”

“In multiple places.”

 

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