Tag: Dog Humor

Negotiating with Cookies #36 – Fleas

Published on by Raud KennedyLeave a comment

Fleegle drinks from the bird fountain as I doodle on my notepad in the sun, thinking up another post for Fleegle’s ongoing adventures and imagining what he would say if he really could talk. I stop doodling and write down: Fleegle rolls onto his back in the grass and slurs around the gooey tennis ball in his mouth, “I wuv my ball.”

As I write, Fleegle sidles up to me, eyeballs what I’m writing, then rubs his wet snout on the page. “What kind of sappy stuff is that?” he asks as he sits back on his haunches and starts scratching at the side of his head with his back paw.

My mouth drops open at what I’m hearing. He really can talk.

He continues, “I should be saying something like: Get off me, fleas, before I crush you like this ball.”

I continue staring and wonder if that mushroom soup I had for lunch was made of “special” mushrooms picked by Grateful Dead fans in the woods.

“What’s wrong, Raud? You didn’t think I could read, huh? That chicken scratch of yours is pretty much undecipherable, could be ancient cuneiform if I didn’t know better, but I’ve had plenty of practice cracking that code. I like to read what I shred. Unless it’s TV Guide, that I just shred.”

 

Next: Negotiating with Cookies #37 – Fleegle Negotiates

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Negotiating with Cookies #34 – Monkey’s

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I open the door leading to the garage and Fleegle appears out of nowhere at my heels.

“Where are we going, Raud?”

“I feel like meatballs.”

“Ooo, Monkey Sub Shop?”

He jumps in the car ahead of me and we back out of the garage.

“Maybe Rich will give you some meat scraps to give to me,” Fleegle says and begins to drool. The man who makes the sandwiches doesn’t like to waste the end pieces of the meat and gives them to customers with dogs.

“You never know.”

*   *   *

When I return to the car with my meatball sub that includes a free nap, I also have a small bundle of end pieces and meat shavings for Fleegle. They consist of roast beef, pastrami, ham, turkey, salami, pepperoni, etc. If they put it on a sandwich, it leaves tidbits in the slicer for the lucky dog that shows up that day.

Bouncing from seat to seat, Fleegle repeats his mantra, “Oh yum, oh yum.”

He shoves his nose at the bundle as I open the car door.

“Scoot over,” I say. He stands shotgun and I get behind the wheel.

“I love Monkey Subs. They’re the best ever,” he says.

“But you’ve never had one, and I don’t think you’ve ever snatched my sandwich off my desk. That’s something I wouldn’t forget.”

He nose bumps the bundle in my hand. “But I’ve had most everything that goes into them. Boy, could I design them a sandwich fit for a dog.”

 

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Negotiating with Cookies #33 – Fleegle Squeaks Out

Published on by Raud KennedyLeave a comment

While sweeping the kitchen floor, I hear a squeaky ball squeak outside in the backyard. It squeaks and squeaks and grows progressively louder until Fleegle walks through the open patio door and stops to watch me sweep. Squeak, squeak goes the ball in his mouth as he clamps down on it.

“Good ball?” I ask.

He nods. Squeak.

“I didn’t know you had any left that still had the squeaker in them.”

He sets the ball down on the floor. “So it is you that’s been steeling my squeakers.”

“Fleegle, as you always say, it’s not steeling if you leave it out for the taking.”

“But why take my squeakers?” he asks.

“I just happen to really like squeakers.”

“Like you just happen to really like vanilla and strawberry ice cream,” he says, reminding me of my penchant for only getting chocolate, something he doesn’t get to eat.

“Boy, you catch on quick for dog bred to run through muck and brambles.”

He gives me an annoyed look and picks up his ball–squeak–then turns to go back outside.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“To hide the last of my squeakers.”

*   *   *

I’m startled out of a deep sleep. The clock on the nightstand reads 3:37am. I lay in the darkness wondering what woke me, listening to the silence of a neighborhood asleep. I feel Fleegle jump up on the bed, then his hot breath near my face.

“I found another ball you missed under the bed,” he says. “Now I have two squeakers.”

Squeak, squeak. And squeak.

 

Next: Negotiating with Cookies #34 – Monkey’s

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Negotiating with Cookies #32 – Cats

Published on by Raud KennedyLeave a comment

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.”

Next: Negotiating with Cookies #33 – Fleegle Squeak Out

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Negotiating with Cookies #31 – Green Fleegle

Published on by Raud KennedyLeave a comment

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 #28 – Poultry Blend

Published on by Raud Kennedy1 Comment

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.”

 

Next: Negotiating with Cookies #29 – Nap Time

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