Tag: humor

I’m woken in the morning by Fleegle pulling the lower half of the covers off the bed and licking my feet.

“Hey, stop that.” I squirm to get me feet away from him, but he’s like white on rice, following my feet wherever I move them. “That tickles.”

“I’m cleaning them for you.”

“Huh?” I sit up, fully awake now, and look down at my feet. They’re covered in dark brown mud. I don’t remember going for a walk in the backyard last night in my bare feet, and that’s something I’d remember. Besides, the mud back there isn’t nearly as dark as what’s on my feet, and as one who lives with a dog, I’ve learned it’s best to keep my feet covered.

Maybe one of the neighbors has mud that dark. “Fleegle, did I sleep walk out the front door last night?”

“Nope, you hardly moved at all.”

“Then how’d I get mud all over my feet?”

“It’s not mud, Raud. It’s chocolate.”

“Nonsense.”

“It taste really good.” He goes for my feet again, his tongue leading the way as it flaps about.

“That explains your persistence.” I swing my feet off the bed. “And more reason for you to knock it off. Chocolate is bad for dogs.”

“Not this chocolate.” He jumps off the bed and circles back toward my feet. “This chocolate is different.”

Last night’s dream begins to filter into my consciousness. I vaguely remember sitting on a large rock of chocolate in Fleegle World. “Is this chocolate from… Is that even possible?”

“Oh yeah, why do you think I clean my feet every morning first thing when I wake up?”

“I thought it was because you had yeasty paws again and it was time to spray them with apple cider vinegar solution.”

“Vinegar and chocolate? Haven’t had it. Is it any good?”

 

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I sit on a rock in the middle of a sea, surrounded by water for as far as I can see, without an island or a ship or even a passing seagull in sight. I’m contemplating my solitude, gazing at the water, when I notice that instead of it having the usual grayish blue tint, it’s brown and the foam on the wave caps is a Hershey’s brown. I dip my finger in the water, give it a sniff, and taste it. Yep, it’s chocolate, and this is Fleegle World. I’m relieved because now I know I’m dreaming, but apprehensive because it’s Fleegle’s dream world and you need quick reflexes in the land of Labradors.

On the distant edge of the ocean’s curvature, a protruding speck catches my attention. As the minutes pass and it gets closer, it grows to the size of a pea, then a grape, then a plum, until I recognize the amble of Fleegle walking on water, on chocolate syrup water, that it.

“You can do it too. Remember where you are,” he calls out. “Anything is possible here. All it takes is some Labrador enthusiasm.” He stops a few feet away and raises his front paw to point at my backside. “Look, you’ve sprouted a tail.”

I stand and twist around to look at my rear, and there, to my shock, a tail sticks out from the base of my spine through a specially sewn hole in my jeans. The tail is covered in thick brown fur, the mirror image of Fleegle’s.

“Now that is one nice looking tail,” Fleegle says. “I guess you’re part Labrador after all. It’s good that you are because a hairless tail might give you the look of a rodent. Not that I don’t like creatures from the rodent family, but rats and opossums have ugly tails. Are squirrels rodents? They have very pretty tails.”

I try to pull the tail loose but it’s not going anywhere. “Did you put this on me?”

“Nope, that’s all your doing. Didn’t you recently wish you were a Labrador? You did, a couple of weeks ago. You looked right at me and said, Mr. Fleegle, sir, I sure wish I was a Labrador like you, all sleek and shiny in brown fur. Well, your wish has come true, at least part of it.”

“Hmm,” I grunt, nonplussed.

“I want to show you something. Take a nibble on that rock you’re sitting on.”

I tilt my head at Fleegle, but then remember where I am and reach down for a loose piece of rock. It’s oddly soft to the touch as I pop it in my mouth. Ha, it’s chocolate. Then something startles me by thumping against my hips, one side then the other, again and again. It’s my tail and it’s slapping my sides as it wags very vigorously.

“See? You’re happy,” Fleegle says.

My startled smile turns to a big grin. “I am. I am very happy. But my tail itches.”

“Oh, lucky you, your tail came with chocolate covered fleas. You can eat those, but you have to catch your tail first.”

 

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I arrive home after taking the car to the tire shop for new tires, something Fleegle had to stay home for. The guys at the shop frowned on the idea of a bouncing Lab inside the car while it was up on the jack and they were underneath it.

“Is it time yet?” Fleegle asks as I step through the door.

“Time for what?”

“You know.”

“No, I don’t,” I say.

“You forgot? How could you forget?”

I scratch my head. “Apparently, pretty easily.”

“I can’t believe you forgot. I’m so disappointed.”

“Tell me what it is that I forgot and I’ll try to make it up to you.”

“When you left you said we’d go see the alligators. I’ve never seen an alligator and spent the whole time you were away thinking how much fun it was going to be to see them.”

“Fleegle, I said, ‘See you later, alligator.’”

“Exactly, so can we go see them now?”

 

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I’m standing in the kitchen, contemplating which chores to do first, dishes or mopping the floor, when Fleegle pops through the dog door, his fur dripping from the rain, his paws black with mud.

Out of the blue, he asks, “How many gods do you believe in?”

“Me personally or humankind?”

“You. I don’t know this humankind guy.”

“Do you even know what God is?”

“Of course I do. He spells his name the same as dog, which we both know is no coincidence. For instance, how many guys have you known named Dick who turned out to be just that?”

“Or dogs nicknamed Stinky Butt who turn out to be stinky?”

“Hey, that’s not nice.”

“Tell that to Dick.”

“I’m just saying that there’s a good likelihood that your People God is a dog.” He paws at the ever present tennis ball on the floor next to him. “Do you believe in the Ball God?”

“Would that be as in the Stick God?”

“I think they’re brothers.”

“Does that make a game of stick ball a sort of family feud?”

“I see you don’t take me seriously and need proof of these gods. Okay, do you believe in the Mud God?”

“Oh yes, that one I do. I see proof of that god everywhere,” I say, giving Fleegle’s dirty paws a long look. “Let me ask you, do you believe in the Cat God?”

“The what? Cat and tack are spelled the same. When was the last time you sat on a tack?”

“Maybe third grade.”

“That’s because I keep the yard clear of cats.”

“So there’s no Cat God?”

“No. A minor deity at best.”

“What about a Poop God?”

Fleegle laughs. “Oh yes, he’s a fairly major god in the pantheon of dog deities. We make offerings to him every day, oftentimes several times a day, but humankind must worship him even more because you follow us around and steal our offerings and claim them as your own by wrapping them up in pretty little blue bags. But you can’t fool the Poop God. He knows from whom the offerings come.” Fleegle sits and drags his butt on the ground a couple feet.

“What are you doing?”

“Making a point.”

“Do you believe in the Mop God?”

“Ha. Not a lot of followers of him around here. I think the Mud God converted all of them.”

“What about the Stink God?”

“No such thing. You must mean the Scent God. Nothing truly stinks. The scent of a rose to one might be the scent of a–”

“Poop to another.”

“Yes, you got it. Personally, I find poop much more interesting smelling than a rose, unless the rose has been peed on.”

I get up to leave, now know what chores I need to do first.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“To the shrine closet of the Mop God.”

“The Mud God isn’t going to like that.”

 

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