Tag: Dogs
Chapter 4 – Bedtime, Or Not
I finish brushing my teeth, then climb under the bed’s covers. Fleegle is curled up on his pillow next to mine and Franny sits at the end of the bed mouthing the old rope toy she’s found. She stops chewing on it to watch me get comfortable and warm. It’s a cold night and I turned the heat off an hour ago.
“Whatcha doing?” she asks.
“Going to bed to sleep.”
“For how long?”
“Until morning.”
She stand up. “Do I get a biscuit if I pee on the bed while you’re sleeping?”
“No.”
“What if I wake you up and show you where I peed? Do I get one then?”
“Pee only gets you biscuits when you do it outside.”
The way she’s standing makes her look like she’s thinking of squatting. “That’s not fair,” she says. “I saw you give yourself a biscuit after you peed inside. You peed in your water bowl then went into the kitchen ad gave yourself a little round black biscuit.”
Fleegle lifts his head from his pillow. “She’s got you there. I saw it too. You had an Oreo biscuit. It is kind of unfair, Raud.”
“You too, eh?” I say to him.
Franny wiggles her butt and looks at Fleegle. “It seems to me he’s asking us to live by higher standards than he’s willing to live by himself. What’s this called again?”
“Housetraining.”
“So I’m being housetrained by someone who isn’t? Where’s that shoe? I need to chew.”
I tighten the comforter under my chin, finally getting warm. “It’s not time to chew. It’s time to sleep.”
Franny looks at me, her eyes gleaming bright in the light from the lamp on the nightstand. “No it’s not,” she says as she squats. “It’s time to pee.”
Previous chapter – What’s In A Name?
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The Stick or the Ball
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A New Puppy Is In Town
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This is Fleegle’s new puppy, Franny.
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Chapter 3 – What’s In A Name?
While the three of us are sitting outside in the backyard trying to come up with a name for the puppy, she asks, “Why do I need a name? What is it?”
“It’s what people call you when they want to get your attention,” I say.
“Maybe I don’t want to give my attention to any people. They’ll just grab me when I squat.”
“They also use your name when they want to tell someone about you,” Fleegle says.
“Oh, I get it, like when I tell you, food breath, that we should steal the biscuit man’s biscuits and cut out the middleman.”
“Um… I guess so,” Fleegle says. “But I don’t know why you’d want to do that.”
“Before you choose a name, I’d like to make an observation,” I say.
The puppy looks up at me and tilts her head to the side. “The biscuit man speaks, I still can’t get over that.”
“What is it, Raud? Observe away,” Fleegle says, glancing skyward. “Just as long as it’s not about your higher self.”
“Well, I’ve noticed that people and animals often become like their names. Over time they take on whatever qualities are associated with their names. A friendly name often leads to a friendly personality and a mean name often leads to a meanie.”
It’s Fleegle’s turn to tilt his head at me. “And you named me after the handlebars on your fat bike because you wanted me to be like them? How so? Because if you want me to be all shiny and curvy you’re going to have to feed me a lot more fish oil and donuts.” He tilts his head to the other side. “Are there fish oil donuts?”
“You can’t ride a bicycle without handlebars,” I say. “And aren’t you always saying I’d get lost the moment I stepped out the door without you?”
“Being able to steer does make people happy. Look at all those people on the bus who don’t get to steer. They rarely look happy. They’d be a lot happier with dogs to steer them around and show them all the good spots to pee.”
The puppy barks in frustration. “But what does all that mean?”
“It means that we’re not going to name you after Lizzie Boren or the Queen of Hearts.”
“Or Luna because that’ll be short for lunatic,” Fleegle says. “But what about George?”
“Your chicken, Georgia, that is now a rooster, is named George,” I say. “Besides, George is a boy’s name.”
“But what if like my chicken the puppy turns into a boy in a few weeks? This way we’ve got it covered.”
“Hedging your bets, eh? I think you’re safe in that department this time.”
The puppy gets up and waddles across the lawn toward the bamboo. “I’m not George, food breath. You can be George if you want. I’ll call you food breath George.”
“But I’m Fleegle.”
“I think I’ll choose my own name,” she says as she slips into the bamboo out of sight.
When she emerges, she asks, “You say you become your name?”
I nod. “That’s the theory.”
“Then my name is going to be Franny.”
“Ooo, I like that,” Fleegle says. “It goes well with George, Franny-George.”
“So Franny it is, Franny.”
“But why Franny?” Fleegle asks.
She sits down again. “Because I want to live to be an old lady and smell like flowers all the time.”
Fleegle wags his tail. “I know where there’s some bird poop that smells like flowers. Do you want to go roll in it with me?”
Next chapter – Bedtime, Or Not
Previous chapter – Fleegle’s Help Arrives
Gnawing the Bone 