A Very Muddy Winter In Portland Oregon
Tag: Dogs
Negotiating with Cookies – The Meat Special
I hang up the phone after talking with Fleegle’s breeder, Suzie.
“So what did she say?” Fleegle asks, his front paws bouncing on the floor next to my desk. “Has my parents’ matchmaker been busy making matches?”
“Um, yes. She has a litter right now with a yellow female available.”
Fleegle darts to the garage. “Let’s go, Raud.”
“Hold up. She’s too young to leave her mom and the puppy nursery. Suzie says she needs to fatten up first.”
“Well then, what are you waiting for? Call the pizza joint and have them deliver an extra large ‘meat special’ to the puppy nursery. Pizza has done wonders for your waistline.”
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Chapter Three – Lock Down
When Otto and the astro-dog get back from their walk, Otto’s building looks like it’s on a terror alert. A really loud helicopter circles above and two soldiers in dark blue fatigues, holding automatic weapons across their chests, stand guard at the entrance. One checks who goes in and the other checks who comes out. The nuts must’ve done something really bad this time, Otto thinks. It’ll be the last straw and off to military boarding school they’ll go. Otto will get a bedroom all to himself, but it’ll be way too quiet with them gone.
The top of Otto’s head comes to the soldier’s hip as he blocks Otto’s way to the building entrance. “Are you a resident of this building?”
Otto nods. “Yep.”
The soldier cradles his gun, rocking it like it’s a crying baby. “I need to see some identification.”
Otto looks down at the dog. “I sure hope you have some identification because I don’t.” He looks up at the gun. He’s never seen one up this close. It’s shiny and oily, like Billy Thorton’s hair who sits in front of him in math class. “Will dog tags do?” Continue reading “Chapter Three – Lock Down”
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Here’s the Next Dog Candle Holder I’m Working On
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Negotiating with Cookies – Stumped
“You can’t still be thinking about thinking?” Fleegle says.
I rub my temples with the heels of my palms. “I am but I’m stumped. I might need your help deciding what breed we should get.”
Fleegle sits down and cocks his head to the side. “So all of your thinking about thinking has led you to conclude you need someone else to do your thinking for you?”
“Um, yes.”
“Raud, it takes a brave man to admit his limitations. I’m proud of you.”
“Um, thanks, I guess.”
Fleegle wags his tail. “If you answer this one simple question you’ll know exactly what to do.”
“Okay, what’s the question?”
“Am I a good dog?”
“You’re the best dog ever.”
“Then let’s drive down to Eugene and visit my breeder, Suzie, and pick out a puppy. I’ll even do the choosing, or do you need to think about that?”
“No, you can choose. You’re the dog expert.”
“Then she’ll be blond.”
“She?”
“That’s right, she, but you can think on that while I pick her out.”
“And I suppose you have a name for her already?”
“I do. Fifi, which stands for Friend of Fleegle.”
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Gnawing the Bone 