I haven’t seen or heard Fleegle for a while so I go in search of him. After I establish he’s not in the house, I step out in the backyard and look around. Nothing, but I can hear pawfuls of dirt being thrown against the side of the shed behind the timber bamboo. Fleegle is digging, and lucky for the lawn he’s digging in his designated digging area, tucked behind the bamboo by the shed, where I secretly bury treats and rawhide chews for him to find.
I call out, “Have you found any buried treasure?”
“Only garbage, nothing tasty or chewy,” he says as he emerges from the bamboo dragging a muddy green garbage bag. “Would you take this away? It’s in the way of my digging.”
I take the bag. It’s heavy with something solid in it. I’m going to drop it straight in the wheelie bin but my curiosity gets the better of me. “Lets see what’s in it.”
“Ooo, you’re going through the trash. I thought we weren’t supposed to do that.”
“This is different.”
“Why? Because you’re doing it and not me? I sense a double standard here.”
“Alright, then you open it.”
Fleegle tears into the side of the bag, shoves his snout in and comes out with a mouthful of moldy cash. “Taste like mildew,” he says as he spits it out and turns disappointedly back to his diggings. “I’m going to keep at it. I’m sure I’ll find something good eventually.”
I look inside the bag. It’s full of old twenty dollar bills bundled with fat rubber bands. All I can think is the house’s previous tenant grew weed in the garage behind a fake rear wall and also up in the attic, back when it was still illegal, and maybe the use of his own product affected his memory.
“Ooo, ooo,” Fleegle barks. “I found something. It’s rawhide. I just love rawhide chews that have been marinating in mud juice overnight. They get all soft like edible rubber.”