Tag: humor

“How big is the universe?” Fleegle asks.

“It’s so big we don’t know how big it is.”

“That’s no answer.”

“I know, but there’s more. Some think there could be more than one universe. We might live in a multiverse of more universes than we can count.”

“I can count to ten, and sometimes up to thirteen when it involves treats.”

“And in this multiverse might be a world just like Earth but with an alternate timeline where dinosaurs never went extinct and you can count up to thirteen even when it doesn’t involve treats.”

“You mean a world where dogs ride T-Rex dinosaurs in parades like horses and you humans follow in the golf cart with the flat shovels?”

“Umm… yeah, something like that.”

“Oh, look at the time. It just flies listening to you chatter on about science. Let’s get you outside for your walk. Go fetch your leash, Raud.”

 

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I’m in the kitchen cooking tacos for dinner when the rubber flaps to the dog door in the office make their familiar flip-flap sound and Fleegle ambles into the kitchen loudly sniffing the air.

“I smell taco smorgasbord sautéing,” he says, siding me at the stove. “You’ll need me to supervise. First thing you need to do is add more meat.”

I add the rest of the ground beef I was planning on putting in anyway.

“That’s a good boy, Raud. Reward yourself with a treat, have an almond.”

I reach into the bag of wasabi almonds on the counter that I was snacking on.

“But only one. I’ll tell you if you deserve a jackpot or not.” A jackpot is a handful of treats, or in my case, a handful of wasabi almonds, paid out like a slot machine when a new skill is mastered. He sniffs the air. “Add more oregano and basil.”

I do as told, then anticipating his next request, I reach for the cayenne pepper and hold it ready.

“Good boy, you’re catching on. Add the cayenne and then treat yourself to one almond.”

“But doesn’t anticipating your next move deserve a jackpot?” I ask, really craving a handful of wasabi almonds.

“It might’ve when you first started learning to cook, but now you need to master more complicated tasks to earn a jackpot. Stop questioning my training techniques and add the cayenne.”

I do as told.

“Now have one almond.”

I eat one, but boy do I want more. Like the old potato chip ad, it’s hard to have only one.

“Now stir it with the big wood spoon.”

I stir.

“Good boy. Now scoop up a heaping spoonful for me to sample. Get as much on the spoon as you possibly can, and why you’re at it, put a few of those wasabi almonds on top of it. If you get this right, you’ll have definitely earned yourself a jackpot of almond.”

 

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Monday morning, the thumping of Fleegle’s tail against my face wakes me. I vaguely remember flying in my dream, but it’s the dog fur in my mouth that has my attention now. It’s close enough time to the alarm clock going off that I get up and start my day, and soon Fleegle and I are on our way to our first appointment.

Fleegle watches the road closely from his co-pilot seat. He knows our work schedule based on the roads we take. “Ooo, we’re going to Little Daisy’s house. I love Little Daisy.”

“That’s right,” I say, but then get a phone call. I let it go to voice mail since I’m driving and then pull over when I can to check it. Little Daisy’s sciatica is acting up and her owner wants to reschedule for another day later in the week.

When traffic is clear, I make a u-turn and head to our next appointment, a dog we normally see on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but whose owner added an extra day this week.

“What are you doing?” Fleegle moans in near panic. “What about Little Daisy? I love her. She likes it when I groom her.”

“Change of plans.”

“That’s all you have to say, change of plans?” he says and growls, not happy with me for getting his hopes up to see Little Daisy and then letting him down, but he settles in to watching the road again. “Ooo, we’re going to Big Daisy’s house now. I love Big Daisy. She likes to wrestle.”

Big Daisy is a Newfoundland. “She sure does,” I say. Fleegle knows a lot of Daisys and Sadies and Zoës.

“But we don’t wrestle with Big Daisy until Tuesday. Is this Tuesday? What happened to Monday? Did we even have a Monday? Did your change of plans make Monday disappear? Just how long was that last nap of mine?”

 

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Fleegle and I hear a bang in the distance, loud like a firecracker but with the distinctive echo of a rifle. Fleegle’s gaze darts to me as he freezes, eyes wide, body tense, ready to flee.

“Hunters,” I say. “That’s why you’re wearing that ugly orange vest, so some hunter with his beer goggles on doesn’t mistake you for a deer.”

His body relaxes as his mind makes associations. “I have a friend named Hunter.”

“Yes, you do.”

“He likes to hump me.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

“Are these hunters going to hump the deer?” Fleegle logic.

“Oh, look,” I say and point at the nearest tree. “Squirrel.” Human logic. When uncomfortable, obfuscate.

 

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