Tag: humor

“Whatcha doing, Raud?” Fleegle asks me as I sit at my desk.

“Trying to draw a picture of you. Stay still.”

“How can I stay still when we haven’t played fetch yet today?”

“Good point. Go get your ball.”

*   *   *

“Oh, this’ll be good,” I say as I sit back down to draw Fleegle, now covered in grass and dirt. “I’ll be sure to draw that mud on your nose. Stay still.”

“How can I stay still when I’m so hungry after doing all that running? It’s got to be lunchtime somewhere in the world.”

I glance at the clock. “Close enough. Let’s go fill your bowl.”

*   *   *

Back in the den, I pick up my pencil and say, “Fleegle, stay still.”

“How can I stay still when I have to take care of my bathroom business after eating?”

“True. Let’s step into the backyard.”

*   *   *

When we return inside, Fleegle stretches out on the den couch to take a food nap and sighs with contentment. “Okay, I can be still now,” he says and closes his eyes.

It’s not long before he’s asleep and I begin to draw, but soon his legs begin to twitch in his dreams. They move as much as they do when he’s awake and running after the ball. I add little squiggly lines around the legs I’ve drawn, signifying movement, and title the sketch, “Fleegle Runs in Fleegle World.”

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“I wish I were a Labrador Retriever,” I say to Fleegle.

“Because we’re always so happy?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“And always having so much fun?”

I nod again. “Or resting contentedly from all the fun you’ve had.”

“You can be a Lab, Raud. Anyone can be. It’s a state of mind, an outlook on life, not four paws and a tail.”

I think on that. “I can see that.”

Fleegle licks his chops with his big tongue. “Your first lesson in achieving Labrador nirvana is this: Fun requires energy and food is energy, so let’s go to Hamburger Heaven and talk to the burger god through the little carhop radio. Then the burger angel will bring us our greasy stuff to eat and we’ll have fuel for fun, though we may need a short nap first.”

“Do you ever wish you were a person?” I ask.

“What? And start counting calories?”

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Fleegle comes in through the dog door. “I saw a snake in the grass.”

“Really? A garner snake?”

“Yeah. I was going to eat it but it smelled like poo. You need to get off the couch and scoop the lawn, Raud.”

“You mean the snake had slithered through some of your poop so you let it live?”

“I don’t eat my own poop. My friend Hunter does that and I think it has messed with his head. He’s sort of weird and poop obsessed. They could stop feeding him and he’d be a perpetual motion machine.”

“So my staying on this couch, warm and cozy inside, and not scooping the lawn has saved a life?”

“Yes, but think of your lawn and all those bald patches forming under the poop and how all that turns to mud with the rain.” He looks down at the floor between his muddy paws. “And then that mud comes inside. What color did this floor used to be?”

“You mean underneath all of your muddy paw prints? Cream white and blue checked squares, but what was I thinking choosing any color other than brown for the floor?”

Next: Negotiating with Cookies – Labrador Nirvana

Previous: Negotiating with Cookies – Lunch

“Raud, it’s time to eat lunch,” Fleegle announces from his co-pilot seat in the car.

“I know, but we’re running late so we’re going to skip lunch today.”

“Skip lunch? What do you mean skip lunch?”

“You know that trick where you hold the cookie on your nose but don’t get to eat it?”

“I hate that trick,” he says quietly.

“That’s sort of like skipping lunch.”

“I don’t know how to do that trick.”

“Ha. You’re drooling now just thinking of having that cookie on your nose.”

Fleegle looks forlornly out the window. “I don’t put cookies on your nose.”

“Thankfully.”

Fleegle’s stomach grumbles. “Raud, it’s time to eat. Please put my lunch on my nose.”

Next: Negotiating with Cookies – Sloth Spares a Life

Previous: Negotiating with Cookies – Sandwiches

While walking through the park, Fleegle says, “That person looks sad and lonely.”

There are several people sitting on the row of park benches. “Who?” I ask.

“That woman sitting over there on that bench eating that sandwich all alone. Maybe we should walk over there and keep her company. I bet it would make her day.”

“And your motives have nothing to do with her sandwich?”

“Sharing makes people feel good. I thought I’d taught you that by now.”

“What about that big guy over on that bench? He’s all alone and he’s eat a sub sandwich that’s over a foot long.”

“There’s a reason he’s so big, and I don’t think it’s because he goes around sharing his sandwiches.”

“I didn’t know you were so judgmental,” I say.

“If I were living on the streets and given a choice between those two, I’d definitely choose the woman even though her sandwich is smaller. She’s so skinny you know she loves to share.”

“You haven’t lived a day of your life on the streets. You went from a padded whelping box to the living room couch without missing a beat, or a meal.”

“Are you questioning my street cred? There was the time I snuck out of the yard.”

“Yeah, and you went right next door into the neighbor’s garage, cleaned out their cat litter box, then ate a whole bag of cat food and passed out on their front lawn like a drunk frat boy.”

“You’re the fat boy, not me.”

Next: Negotiating with Cookies – Lunch

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