Tag: laugh

Negotiating with Cookies – Hair Vs. Fur

Published on by Raud KennedyLeave a comment

Fleegle gives my new doo a sniff when I get in the car after getting my hair cut

“Ooo-ooo, hair in my nose,” he stammers and sneezes.

“Gesundheit,” I say.

“That’s a good looking haircut,” Fleegle says. “It can’t be any longer than the fur on the top of my head. When you asked your barber for a haircut, did you ask for a Labrador cut? Did you point out the barbershop window at me sitting in the front seat of the car and say, ‘I want to look just like that awesome looking dog out there’?”

“Fleegle, when you sleep at night, I cut your hair so you look like me.”

“No you don’t, and it’s fur, not hair.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Hair makes my nose itch, fur doesn’t. Hair keeps growing and growing, thus your need for barbers.” Fleegle points his nose at the barber in the shop window. He’s a big guy pushing 300 pounds, with no neck and a crew cut. “I bet he has an English bulldog at home.”

“He does. How did you know that?”

“Dogs don’t look like their people, people look like their dogs. That’s the real reason people go to barbers. If it weren’t for English sheep dogs and those dogs with the dreads, Komondors, there’d be no reason to sell hair extensions. Dogs are simply the dominant presence in the relationship.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Dogs are consistent. People are not. What they like one day, they’re bored with the next. Where as I’ll always love you. And my ball, of course.”

 

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Negotiating with Cookies – Pinecones

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“Do you ever think you want something, but then when you get it you realize you don’t want it?” I ask Fleegle.

“Like kitty Roca that turns out to be a dirty pinecone?”

“Not something that turns out to be something other than what you want, but is exactly what you thought you wanted?”

“Like a burrito that remains a burrito even when you eat it and doesn’t turn out to be a stale hot pocket?”

“Close enough.”

“Well if you don’t want your burrito when you get it, then maybe you didn’t want it in the first place, but I don’t know why you wouldn’t want a burrito. We’d eat them for breakfast if you’d only listen to me. But I’ve often noticed people think they want things that they don’t. That’s what makes garbage day so fun. People fill those big rubber bins full of all the stuff they thought they wanted and drag them out to the curb for everyone else to see if they want it. Why do you ask?”

“The older I get the more it seems that I don’t want the things I’ve spent so much time in the past thinking I wanted. It must be a change in priorities.”

“Well, if your priorities about your burrito have changed, I’m pretty sure I’ll want it. The key is to think with your stomach, not your head. Your head will tell you it’s a pine cone, but your stomach will tell you it’s Roca, which would you rather listen to?”

“The one that doesn’t lead to you hacking it up on the bed at 2:30 in the morning.”

 

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Negotiating with Cookies – Adult Binkies

Published on by Raud KennedyLeave a comment

As Fleegle and I walk through the park, a young woman is pushing her baby in a stroller ahead of us a few yards when her baby drops his sippy cup over the side without the mom noticing. Fleegle spots the cup first and retrieves it.

“Yuck, it’s filled with some sort of citric juice,” he says as he spits the cup out into my hand and scrapes his tongue repeatedly against the back of his front teeth.

We catch up to the mom and return her baby’s cup.

Later we pass three people carrying Starbucks cups topped with whipped cream and big green straws, leading Fleegle to observe, “Look, they have sippy cups too. Did they forget their babies, or are they the babies? They sure are big babies.”

“These days almost everyone has a sippy cup in one form or another.”

Fleegle snorts. “And a pacifier.”

“You mean their cell phone?”

“Yep.”

“Well, you have your tennis ball. You carry it everywhere you go just like they do their phones.”

“Not always. I leave it at home sometimes.”

“Only because I ask you to so you won’t drop it and forget it somewhere when you stop to sniff and pee on things, then insist we go back and find it. Remember that time you set it down to sniff, forgot it, then we had to backtrack at least a mile before we found it?”

“That was a good tennis ball. I’d just popped it and it was almost at mushy perfection. But I chew on them, I don’t consult them for advice on the weather when I can simply look up at the horizon.”

“But you chew on them like a pacifier.”

“And people would be better off chewing on their phones instead of looking at them every time they experience a gap in their attention being occupied.”

“I can’t imagine what you’d say if you ever went to Starbucks with all the people there glued to their laptops.”

“What’s a laptop?”

“It’s a tabloid size computer people take everywhere.”

“Like a portable television? They’re never without their entertainment. And the phone is electronic gravy for their laptop. If electronics were food, people would be bedridden with obesity. Never a gap in their minds being occupied, and never a chance of having a thought of their own. I may chew on my tennis ball like it’s a baby’s pacifier, but your electronic devices do a much better job of pacification.”

 

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Negotiating with Cookies – Buck Pays Us a Visit

Published on by Raud Kennedy2 Comments

I spot Fleegle chewing on something in the yard. “What are you eating?”

“I’m not sure.”

“But you’re eating it anyway?”

“Yeah.”

“Even though you don’t know what it is?”

He wags his tail. “It smelled good.”

“Good as in pizza baking in the oven?”

“Good as in possibly edible.”

“Possibly?”

His tail stops wagging. “Well, if it isn’t, it’ll probably revisit us tonight around 2:30.”

“If it does, revisit with it anywhere but on the bed, okay?”

“Hey, I sleep there too you know.”

“Oh yes, I know.”

*   *   *

2:35AM. I’m woken up by hacking sounds at the foot of the bed. “Is it revisiting?” I ask.

“Nope, it was edible,” Fleegle answers from next to me on his pillow. “That’s Buck hacking. He does that sometimes but you don’t have to worry about it, he doesn’t leave a mess.”

I’ve never seen or heard Buck. As far as I knew he was a figment of Fleegle’s imagination. I sit up as the hacking comes to an end. Not knowing what to say to a ghost, I ask, “You okay?”

In the dim light, the hairiest dog I’ve ever seen comes around the foot of the bed, up along my side and stops with his shoulders within my reach. He lets out a soft whine.

“He wants you to scratch his shoulders,” Fleegle says.

“I can touch him?”

“Yeah, sometimes. Other times you pass right through him and it just sort of itches.”

I reach out and gently run my hand down his neck and shoulders. His fur is soft, and feels more like running my hand through warm water than through dog fur. As I scratch his shoulders, he lets out another small whine and his image begins to fade.

“He says thanks,” Fleegle says as we watch him walk through the bedroom wall out into the backyard. “He doesn’t sleep much.”

“After that, I don’t think I will either.”

“Not me. I always sleep better knowing Buck is on the scene. If anything important happens he’ll wake me, and then I’ll wake you. He says he’s my guardian angel.”

 

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Negotiating with Cookies – Doughnut Breeds

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While sitting next to me on the couch watching television, Fleegle asks, “You said I was one of the sporting breed. What’s a sporting breed?”

“There are four groups of sporting breeds, grouped by how they hunt. You’re in the retrieving group along with poodles, spaniels, goldens and a few others.”

“So a sporting dog is a dog that hunts?”

I look at Fleegle, sprawled on the cushion next to me. The closet he’s come to hunting is wearing his orange safety vest while on walks in the forest so he’s not mistaken for game, that and his sprint from the patio door to the bird feeder after the squirrels having a lunch of sunflower seeds. “Yes, loosely defined, you’re a sporting breed.”

“Does that make you a sporting person?”

“No, hunting isn’t my thing.”

“Not even when hunting for the missing remote?”

“That doesn’t count.”

He looks at the television a moment. “So dogs are bred for purpose and grouped by that purpose?”

“Yes, there are sporting breeds, herding breeds, companion breeds like pugs, just to name a few.”

“Are people grouped in the same way? Like those who hunt, those who work, and those who watch television?”

“No, but you probably thinks so.”

“There are those who eat doughnuts and those who don’t. I love doughnuts, and you belong to one of the doughnut breeds, you’re a glazed cinnamon twist.” He rolls onto his back, exposing his pink belly for a rub. “Are you sure I’m a sporting breed? I feel more like a pug, bred for the couch and the warmth of a person’s lap. Rub my belly, please.”

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Negotiating with Cookies – Souls

Published on by Raud Kennedy1 Comment

I turn out the light on the nightstand and roll onto my side to sleep.

“Raud, do you believe in souls?” Fleegle asks in the darkness.

“Yes. Do you?”

“I don’t know. Do I get one too or are they another one of those things only people get, like remotes? Do dogs have souls? Do I have a soul? Dogs definitely don’t get remotes.”

“I believe you do, and you’re probably more in touch with it than most people are theirs.”

“You can touch your soul? Can I carry it like a stick?”

“It’s with you whether you carry it or not.”

“Oh, like a run in with a skunk.”

“Some say you are your soul more so than your body, and the soul carries the body like you would a stick, and when you die it’s the same as dropping the stick and picking up a new one.”

“The new stick being a new body?”

“That would be reincarnation.”

“As a stick.” He’s quiet for a moment. I can feel him thinking in the darkness. “I wouldn’t want to be reincarnated as a stick, not after all the ones I’ve chewed up.”

“That would be your karma.”

“You mean my soul comes with a car? It better have a sunroof.”

“Goodnight, Fleegle.”

 

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