Tag: chocolate labs

As I bag Fleegle’s poop at the dog park, Fleegle stares at a group of people standing on the other side of the grass field. “Why do people make so many sounds that mean nothing. Listen to that man’s empty cackles over there. It must hurt the ears of the woman he’s talking to. If I make a sound it’s because it means something. I whine when it’s time to eat because I’m hungry. I whine when we go to Hunter’s house because I’m excited to play. I whine when we go to Little Daisy’s because I love her. I whine when you leave me at home alone to remind you what an evil person you are for doing so.”

“The common thread being that you whine.”

“A good whine paired with the right facial expression is very effective.”

“Don’t leave out whining when I’m on the phone when I need to talk to someone besides you.”

“Oh, that’s not an attention seeking thing. I’m worried about you getting radiation sickness from talking on your cell phone too much. Your ear turns awful red when you use it.”

“It does?”

He nods. “And you rub that side of your head a lot after you hang up.”

“It does give me a headache sometimes.”

He glares again at the cackling man across the field. “Though that could be who you’re talking to.”

The cackling man starts up again laughing at something the woman next to him said.

“Why is that man pretending to laugh when fake laughter means nothing?” Fleegle asks.

“Maybe you should ask the dog park guru?”

“He’s out of town harvesting a grow.”

“A grow?”

“He’s a horticulturist.”

“Who specializes in marijuana?” I ask. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“I hear pot makes people want to eat a lot. You better stay away from that but I’ll have some. I love grass.”

The cackling man really lets one loose, like his dog park date just said the funniest thing ever said in the history of the world.

“Why does he do that?” Fleegle asks. “The louder it is the more its emptiness is revealed. Does he really think it’ll give him a chance to breed?”

“Do you think he’d have better luck if he sniffed her butt instead?”

But Fleegle isn’t listening. Little Daisy, the yellow Labrador, has arrived at the park and he’s run off to greet her. Sniff sniff.

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Fleegle sits on the couch next to me, his back against the cushions, rear legs straight out, his head between them, grooming.

“Stop goobering yourself so loud, Fleegle, I’m trying to watch my show.”

“They say attention is love,” Fleegle says. “What you spend your time on is what you love, no matter what you say about it. You love television, even if you say it’s stupid, because you give it so much attention.”

“I do not. Who is this ‘they’?”

“Duane at the dog park. When he talks the people listening to him stare at him like they have a biscuit on their nose.”

“Duane the dog park guru? The guy who wears the same Grateful Dead t-shirt every time he’s there? Patchouli oil Duane?”

“Yes, that Duane. I figured if people were listening to him so intently I’d give him a listen too.”

“And?”

“As long as I’m up wind from the patchouli scent, he has some good things to say.”

“Such as attention is love?”

“And love is attention. If you complain all the time and it makes you unhappy thinking about all those complaints, then you must love being unhappy since you spend so much attention on complaints.”

He returns to goobering himself and I reach for the television remote to turn up the volume. “Well, based on your attention we know what you love,” I say.

He glances up from between his legs at the news on the television. “And you love talking heads that tell depressing stories. How could I not love myself more than that? Us Labradors aren’t stupid.”

 

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Fleegle gives my new doo a sniff when I get in the car after getting my hair cut

“Ooo-ooo, hair in my nose,” he stammers and sneezes.

“Gesundheit,” I say.

“That’s a good looking haircut,” Fleegle says. “It can’t be any longer than the fur on the top of my head. When you asked your barber for a haircut, did you ask for a Labrador cut? Did you point out the barbershop window at me sitting in the front seat of the car and say, ‘I want to look just like that awesome looking dog out there’?”

“Fleegle, when you sleep at night, I cut your hair so you look like me.”

“No you don’t, and it’s fur, not hair.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Hair makes my nose itch, fur doesn’t. Hair keeps growing and growing, thus your need for barbers.” Fleegle points his nose at the barber in the shop window. He’s a big guy pushing 300 pounds, with no neck and a crew cut. “I bet he has an English bulldog at home.”

“He does. How did you know that?”

“Dogs don’t look like their people, people look like their dogs. That’s the real reason people go to barbers. If it weren’t for English sheep dogs and those dogs with the dreads, Komondors, there’d be no reason to sell hair extensions. Dogs are simply the dominant presence in the relationship.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Dogs are consistent. People are not. What they like one day, they’re bored with the next. Where as I’ll always love you. And my ball, of course.”

 

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