Tag: Serial Fiction

“Whatcha doing, Raud?” Fleegle asks as he ambles into the kitchen.

“I’m making a grocery list for the store.”

“Are cookies on it? Make sure they are. We can never have enough cookies.”

“Yes, cookies are on it.”

“Put cookies on it again. That way you’ll get twice as much.”

“Here, I’ll put it on the list three times. How’s that suit you?”

“You’re the best, Raud. What else is on the list?”

“Bananas.”

“Ooo, I like bananas, put that down a few times too.”

I humor him and do. “I also have bar soap and shampoo on the list.”

“For you or for me?”

“Me.”

“Then that’s okay, but you only need it on the list once. If you get too much shampoo you might start thinking of using it on me.”

*   *   *

Later while on our walk, Fleegle pauses to lift his leg on a tree, then moves a fraction and lifts on another spot, and then a third and fourth spot, all on the same tree.

Eager to get on with our walk, I ask, “Fleegle, what are you doing?”

“Making a list.”

Next Negotiating with Cookies: Close Encounters of the Fleegle Kind

Previous Negotiating with Cookies : Conditioner

“Age before beauty,” Fleegle says at the front door of our house as we arrive.

I glance down at him as I slide the door key into the lock. He’s covered in mud from being at the park in the rain. And he likes to lie down in puddles when he drinks. “I want you to go straight to the bathtub so we can rinse that dirt off of you.”

“It’s not dirt, Raud, it’s conditioner, and the directions on the puddle said to leave it in overnight and not to rinse.”

“My manatee butt it’s conditioner. I wasn’t born yesterday.” I open the door and point inside. “Bathtub.”

He backs up a couple paces and sits, never a good sign.

“Okay, how many cookies is it going to take to get you into that bath?”

“Two, before the bath and after,” he says and rises to go inside. Then over his shoulder he adds, “And no breaking one cookie in half and calling it two. I wasn’t born yesterday either.”

 

Next Negotiating with Cookies: Lists

Previous Negotiating with Cookies: Monkeys and Manatees

When Fleegle and I finish watching Planet of the Apes and the credits roll, Fleegle turns to me on the couch and says, “Are you a monkey?”

“Those weren’t monkeys. They were apes.”

“Fleas and tics, I want neither. You look like a monkey. One with a hair loss problem.”

“I’m not a monkey. I’m a man. A human being.”

“Then monkeys must be descended from you.”

“And why is that?”

“Animals get cuter as they evolve. Dogs evolved from wolves or some common wolf ancestor, and dogs are much cuter than wolves. Who do you want a photo of on your birthday card, me or Timber Wolf Jack and his girlfriend gnawing on a caribou carcass? Monkeys are much cuter than people. They throw their poop at visitors to the zoo. Very sensible if you’re stuck in a zoo.”

“Aren’t human babies cute? Everyone says they are.”

“They’re cute, but then you swaddle them with their poop and make them carry it around with them wherever they go. That’s not cute. That’s just mean. No wonder they cry. I saw a dog at the park who had his poop bags tied to the side of his harness.”

“So?”

“They were full.”

“Yuck.”

“If you’re not a monkey, then maybe you’re descended from manatees.”

“Why?”

“Manatee sounds a lot like, man in a tee.” Fleegle nose bumps my belly. “But mainly looks, though manatees are pretty cute, so maybe they’re descended from you.”

 

Next Negotiating with Cookies: Conditioner

Previous Negotiating with Cookies: Picture Window

On a nighttime walk down to the park, Fleegle and I pass a picture window framing the family of five inside watching television.

Fleegle lifts his leg on their mailbox and says, “They look like people inside a television watching television. Do you thing they’re watching people on their television watch television too? What would people do without their televisions?”

Later, while we’re at the park, the street lights suddenly go out and there’s not a light on to be seen. It’s a power outage.

On our walk back home, we pass the house with the picture window again. Now in the darkened window all that can be seen are five faces illuminated like ghost from the glow of their cell phones.

Fleegle shakes his head. “You’ll never be without your televisions.”

 

Next Negotiating with Cookies: Monkeys and Manatees

Previous Negotiating with Cookies: Doodles

“What are you drawing, Raud?” Fleegle asks as he jumps up on the couch next to me and looks over my shoulder at the sketch pad in my lap. “That looks like a dog. Ooo, and he’s got a bone.”

“That’s right.”

“That bone looks pretty old and gnawed out. Maybe you should put some meat on it and give that dog something to sink his teeth in.”

I draw some meat on the ends of the bone sticking out of the dog’s mouth.

“I wish I could put meat on my bones as easy as that. Now you need to add some drool. A dog with a meaty bone like that would be drooling big time.”

I draw a strand of drool hanging from one side of the dog’s mouth.

“And a little puddle down by his paws. That dog looks like a heavy drooler to me.” He tilts his head to the side as he assesses the drawing. “Hey, that dog looks like me. Is that dog supposed to be me?”

“Yep.”

“Then add more meat to that bone because watching you draw me with my bone is making me really hungry.”

I glance over at him. He’s drooling and a puddle is forming by his paws.

“What’s this drawing for?” he asks.

“I’m working on a new business logo.”

“A new business? Are you going to sell drool? I didn’t know there was a market for that. I’ll be very successful.”

Next Negotiating with Cookies: Picture Window

Previous Negotiating with Cookies: Cackles

As I bag Fleegle’s poop at the dog park, Fleegle stares at a group of people standing on the other side of the grass field. “Why do people make so many sounds that mean nothing. Listen to that man’s empty cackles over there. It must hurt the ears of the woman he’s talking to. If I make a sound it’s because it means something. I whine when it’s time to eat because I’m hungry. I whine when we go to Hunter’s house because I’m excited to play. I whine when we go to Little Daisy’s because I love her. I whine when you leave me at home alone to remind you what an evil person you are for doing so.”

“The common thread being that you whine.”

“A good whine paired with the right facial expression is very effective.”

“Don’t leave out whining when I’m on the phone when I need to talk to someone besides you.”

“Oh, that’s not an attention seeking thing. I’m worried about you getting radiation sickness from talking on your cell phone too much. Your ear turns awful red when you use it.”

“It does?”

He nods. “And you rub that side of your head a lot after you hang up.”

“It does give me a headache sometimes.”

He glares again at the cackling man across the field. “Though that could be who you’re talking to.”

The cackling man starts up again laughing at something the woman next to him said.

“Why is that man pretending to laugh when fake laughter means nothing?” Fleegle asks.

“Maybe you should ask the dog park guru?”

“He’s out of town harvesting a grow.”

“A grow?”

“He’s a horticulturist.”

“Who specializes in marijuana?” I ask. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“I hear pot makes people want to eat a lot. You better stay away from that but I’ll have some. I love grass.”

The cackling man really lets one loose, like his dog park date just said the funniest thing ever said in the history of the world.

“Why does he do that?” Fleegle asks. “The louder it is the more its emptiness is revealed. Does he really think it’ll give him a chance to breed?”

“Do you think he’d have better luck if he sniffed her butt instead?”

But Fleegle isn’t listening. Little Daisy, the yellow Labrador, has arrived at the park and he’s run off to greet her. Sniff sniff.

Next Negotiating with Cookies: Doodles

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