Tag: Anthropomorphic Dog Fiction

Negotiating with Cookies – Timber Wolves

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Fleegle and I are driving through Forest Park on an empty stretch of road when two coyotes emerge from the brush on one side and disappear into the trees on the other.

Fleegle lets out a yowl of fear. “Dire wolves,” he shouts.

“Nah, too small. Those are coyotes. Dire wolves were the size of ponies and are extinct. Those coyotes weigh less than you.” I reassure him with a pat on his back. “But who knows what a coyote would weigh if it got to eat as much as you do.”

“How much do I weigh?”

“80 pounds.”

“How much is that?”

“Two and a half of the big bags of kibble.”

“What about timber wolves? They’re not extinct and they’ve been reintroduced in Yellowstone. How much do they weigh?”

“A little over three big bags of kibble. But they haven’t reintroduced timber wolves in Forest Park.”

“They roam, you know, hundreds of miles,” he says. “Is it lunchtime yet? I need to eat more if I’m going to stay bigger than those coyotes and be as big as a timber wolf.”

 

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Negotiating with Cookies – Cat World

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Fleegle and I walk a twisty trail through a dense stand of trees in the forest, so thick that they block out the gray skies and shelter us from the rain. Off to the side of the trail, a sudden sliver of light the size of a house door appears.

I jump back in shock. “What in the world is that?”

Fleegle sniffs at the air, then says matter-of-factly, “It’s a leak. They happen all the time, but are usually too small to notice unless you’re looking. This one is way bigger than normal.”

“You mean there’s a normal? Wait a second.” I pinch my arm and feel pain. “I’m not dreaming. This isn’t Fleegle World?” I look at him for confirmation.

He shakes his head and raises his nose to sniff what smells are riding the breeze. “Smell that diesel exhaust? That’s the rich scent of People World.”

“Then what do you mean it’s a leak?”

“It’s a leak into the next world over, or under, or above, you can never tell.”

“You’re talking multiverse,” I say.

“Yeah, like when you give me more than one biscuit at a time.”

“Is that Fleegle World leaking into People World? I thought Fleegle World was only in my dreams.”

He steps closer to the crack of light, pokes his head into it and looks around on the other side. Suddenly, he pops his head back out, grabs the leash in his mouth and pulls me down the trail. “We gotta go. It’s definitely not Fleegle World.”

I stumble after him. “What is it? What did you see?”

“That crack opens into Cat World, and everything in Cat World is the size of a mouse in comparison to them.”

As we run I glance over my shoulder just as a giant paw the size of an SUV slashes through the light and claws at the ground where we just stood moments ago. “How can that be? Who dreams of Cat World?”

“Cats, and lots of them. And the occasional dog that’s too dumb to know better.”

 

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Life is but a Dream

Published on by Raud Kennedy3 Comments

Sometimes when I sit down to write, it’s like a door opens to my imagination and in walks Fleegle, chatting away about the things he chats about, and during the time that I’m writing, I’m convinced the words I’m hearing in my head and putting down on paper are what Fleegle would say if he actually did speak. It’s almost like automatic writing, channeling Fleegle’s higher source, and if Fleegle heard me say that he’d be searching the sky for a winged dog that looked like him.

Then when I’m done writing, it’s as if Fleegle has finished what he has to say for the session, shuts up and leaves, and I sit there sensing a mental emptiness similar to loneliness. I wonder where the imagination comes from. In a dream, just because we wake up doesn’t mean the characters in our dream don’t continue on, waiting for our return, ready to catch us up once we get back.

Negotiating with Cookies – Stone Noses

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“I want to take a trip, Raud,” Fleegle says.

“Where to?”

“South Dakota.”

Cautiously, I ask, “Why?”

“That’s where those big faces in stone are carved in the mountainside, right?”

“Fleegle, I know where you’re going with this and you’re not going to pee on George Washington.”

“What about Jefferson?”

“No.”

He looks at me, hope glistening in his brown eyes. “Roosevelt?”

“No. And not Lincoln either.”

“Awe, come on. Haven’t you ever wanted to scent mark a giant sniffer? Just the thought of it makes me giggle. If I scent mark a sniffer, the whole world becomes my territory because no matter where that sniffer sniffs, it’ll be scented by me.”

“Driving a third of the way across the country is a long way to go for a pee.”

“But I could scent mark all that territory just by peeing out the car window.”

“Scent mark the side of the car is more like it. Your first idea of peeing on the sniffer is better.”

“Ah, so we’re going?”

 

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Negotiating with Cookies – Fleegle Delivers the Mail

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“Raud, can we go for a walk?”

Rain taps against the den window. “When it stops raining.”

“Let’s go now. You can wear a hat. You like hats.”

“If you need to pee, use your yard.”

“But I want to pee in someone else’s yard.”

*   *   *

After the rain passes, we go for a walk around the neighborhood. Fleegle stops to lift his leg on the post of yet another mail box. A dog barks at us from the picture window of the house the box belongs to, slobber marks all over the glass.

I say, “That’s the fourth box you’ve tagged.”

Fleegle continues to pee as he watches the dog in the window go crazy. “I know, ain’t it fun. Just wait until I go poopers on his lawn.”

 

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

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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.”

 

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