Fleegle
Tag: chocolate labs
Negotiating with Cookies – To Glaze or not to Glaze
“Look, Fleegle,” I say, pointing at a chocolate lab on the far side of the park. “That dog over there could be your twin.”
“I don’t look like that. He runs like he’s full of donuts. I’m much more svelte and graceful than that,” Fleegle says as he licks bits of sugar glaze off his lips.
“Those cinnamon twists are better when glazed, don’t you think?”
He nods agreement. “We should make sure and do a taste test by eating one with glaze and then one without right after.”
“Or you could eat them at the same time, alternating bites.”
He wags his tail. “Oh, that’s a good idea.”
“And then I’ll toss the ball for you and you can show me how graceful you are.”
He ignores my sarcasm. “I met a ballerina at the dog park the other day and she told me her favorite food was pizza. She said it filled her with grace.”
I shake my head. “That’s not how I remember it. Aren’t you talking about that French poodle with the wicked haircut that had gas?”
“I’m pretty sure she said grace.”
“I was glad we were outdoors. When was the last time I cleaned your ears?”
“Did you know donuts are a natural preventative to wax build up in the ear canal?”
“There’s nothing natural about donuts, Fleegle, and don’t try to change the subject.”
Fleegle sniffs my shoe. “You stepped in something.”
“I did not.”
He sniffs my other shoe. “Oh yes you did, twice. I bet that ear cleaner is good for shoe cleaning too.”
Next Negotiating with Cookies – Procrastination
Previous Negotiating with Cookies – Two-Seater
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Negotiating with Cookies – Shiny Bowl
When Fleegle finishes his dinner he keeps licking his bowl, and licking and licking.
“Fleegle, that bowl looks pretty empty. You ate it all, pal.”
“I know, but there might be more, maybe I missed some.”
I take the garbage out and when I return he is still licking his bowl. “Fleegle, stop obsessing on your bowl.”
“I’m not. I’m polishing it. A shiny bowl is a happy bowl. It’s like meditation for dogs.”
“I thought that was what chewing on sticks was for.”
“Nah, chewing on cats is what we do when we–”
“Don’t you mean chewing on sticks?”
“Oops, did I say cats?”
Next Negotiating with Cookies: Two-seater
Previous Negotiating with Cookies: My Inner Flea
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And a Few Moments Later
Negotiating with Cookies – Break Time
I’m sitting at my desk, staring at a blank page and pulling at my hair. Fleegle sides up next to me from under my desk and says, “Are you trying again to write?”
I nod.
“No luck, huh?”
I shake my head.
“Maybe you should take a break, and not just five minutes to refill your coffee, but an extended break and let your head fill up with ideas again.”
“You think?”
“Eventually, even I run out of ink if don’t take time off to drink from my water bowl.” He nose bumps my hand. “Give me your pen.”
He takes it gently from my hand and heads toward the open patio door.
“Where are you taking it?” I ask.
“Don’t worry,” he says over his shoulder. “I’ll hide it good. I’ll bury it nice and deep where you’ll never find it so you can have a nice long break. And then when you’re head is full and I think you’re ready to start writing again, I’ll sniff it out, dig it up and bring it back to you. For now, though, you go enjoy doing something other than writing.” He wags his tail. “By the way, there are seven balls under the bed I can’t reach.”
Previous Negotiating with Cookies: Trading Places
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Negotiating with Cookies – Trading Places
I lay in bed staring at the dark ceiling and feeling like a real grouch. I blame stress and sleep deprivation. Why is it that when I’m exhausted and in need of sleep most, sleep eludes me like a Jack Russell terrier that has run out into the yard with a throw pillow from the couch? Fleegle is a heavy breather, always with the loud sighs, and I’ve learned to tune out most of his snoring, but tonight he’s really chugging away next to me.
I nudge him with my foot. “Fleegle, stop snoring.”
He wakes up. “What?”
“Stop Snoring.”
“I wasn’t snoring.”
“Yes, you were.”
“How can I stop snoring when I’m asleep when I do it?”
“Stretch out or something. Maybe changing your sleeping position will help.”
He gets up and repositions himself. Now his back is pressed against my hip, and soon he’s snoring again and again I nudge him awake.
“Fleegle, stop hogging the bed. You’re taking up the whole thing and I’ve got like a foot over here against the edge. I’m about to slide onto the floor. Maybe you should sleep on your dog bed on the floor.”
He looks at me pleadingly. “But Raud, I love you.”
“I’m not very lovable if I don’t get enough sleep.”
“How does it sound when I say, stop snoring, Raud? Or, don’t hog the bed, Raud? Go sleep on the couch, Raud? Well, I’m always lovable, whether I get enough sleep or not. Maybe you should lay off the coffee after lunch, Raud, and stop being such a prat.”
Next Negotiating with Cookies: Break Time
Previous Negotiating with Cookies: Art
Gnawing the Bone 