I’m in the kitchen cleaning the lazy man’s grill when Fleegle comes in from the patio with something muddy in his mouth. “What have you got there?” I ask. “If that’s a stick it needs to go back outside.”
“You’ve been going on all of those long bike rides without me so I dug up your writing pen from where I hid it for you. It’s time you started writing again.”
He nudges my hand with his nose and I take the disposable gel pen from him. “I was just getting used to not writing.” I rinse it off in the sink, then scribble on the grocery list. “Still works.”
Fleegle takes a drink of water from his bowl to get the mud out of his mouth. “If you don’t want to write, you could still ride your bike. The neighbor down the street has a trailer for her bicycle and her two kids ride in it when she goes on long bike rides. She doesn’t leave them at home all alone, she shares her love of nature with them.”
“Do her kids weigh 85 pounds like you do?”
“I don’t know.”
“If her kids are full grown I’ll get you a trailer?”
He looks down at his paws for a moment, considering. “Yep, they’re full grown and in their twenties. The boy even has a scruffy beard that makes him look like a terrier. They can’t find work, even with college degrees, but they’re very well behaved when riding in their mom’s trailer.” He tilts his head to the side. “I want a big one I can lie down in, and with enough room to bring along a couple of friends if I want. Everyone loves nature.”
“They better be small friends, very small friends, like Chihuahuas or Min Pins.”
When Hank fell asleep to the sound of Goober, his dog, snoring next to him, he dreamed Goober had become a man and he was now his dog. Goober was a particularly good dog owner because he still remembered what it was like to be a dog even though he was now a man. Hank looked up to him like he was the greatest being on earth, especially since he was feeding him the most delicious snacks he’d ever tasted, even tastier than the ribs at his favorite barbeque joint.
When Hank woke from the dream, Goober was laying next to him, waiting for his eyes to open, and when they did, his tail went thump-thump against the bedspread. It always made Hank smile at how Goober would wag his tail at the smallest things, but this morning it made him take him for a run along the river where there were countless stinky things for Goober to stick his snout in, and afterward he planned to cook up a big breakfast of bacon and eggs for both of them. Goober would love that. Continue reading “Bacon”→
Sadie woke from her nap, stretched her front legs, fanning her toes on her paws as she did, and rose. Dog, I sure needed that nap, she thought. I love naps, naps and balls. She looked inside the small plastic crate next to her bed where she kept the new pet her parents gave her for her birthday.
“Wakey-wakey.” She nudged the crate door with her nose. “Did you sleep well? I sure did. I bet you need to go outside to piddle and make poopies.”
She opened the crate door and out walked a little man about ten inches tall, naked except for a piece of frayed cloth wrapped around his waist. Continue reading “Fallout”→
Sometimes when I’m on my walks with my two-legger and I see a Chihuahua, a little voice in my head will say, “There goes Pedro, stinking of beans.” It’s not my voice. It’s someone else’s because I like beans. Beans don’t stink, they smell good. Beans are food and I love food. All food. Even Costco biscuits. So it’s not even something I would think, let alone say.
Then I’ll see a Rottweiler and the little voice will say, “There goes Tyson, looking for a fight.” I’ve met plenty of friendly Rotties so I know it’s not me saying that, even if I’m the only one who hears it inside my head. Sometimes when I hear these words, I wonder if I’m sharing my head with a little racist dog, like a twin who never completely formed, except as maybe a pea-sized part of my brain. Continue reading “The Racist Pea”→