Tag: Serial Fiction

Negotiating with Cookies – More Chickie Puffs

Published on by Raud KennedyLeave a comment

Fleegle trots over to where I’m sitting at my desk and nose bumps my leg. “Raud, let’s go to the feed store.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, it’ll be fun.”

I stare at him, waiting for the full reason.

His ears go back. “Georgina is running low on Chickie Puffs.”

“No way. How can a three ounce chick eat her way through a five pound bag of Chickie Puffs in just two weeks?”

He avoids eye contact and says, “I’ve been teaching her to share.”

“Oh, have you now.”

“And Buck likes Chickie Puffs too.”

“Uh-huh, anyone else?”

“Well… You. You’ve been eating them every morning this week. I replaced some of your oatmeal with Chickie Puffs.”

“Replaced? You’ve been eating my oatmeal? Dry?”

“Yeah, you said horse ate oats and they have such long legs I thought your oatmeal would make me taller.” He looks down at his legs, then up at my face. “You enjoyed your Chickie Puffs this morning, didn’t you? Maybe we should get a ten pound bag this time.”

 

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Negotiating with Cookies – The Spotted Pig

Published on by Raud Kennedy3 Comments

“What’s this place?” Fleegle asks as I park the car in front of a pub with a giant pig hanging over the entrance.

“The Spotted Pig. They have a dog friendly patio for lunch.”

“What’s dog friendly?”

“They allow dogs, like Home Depot.”

“Oh, so they have hammers for me to pee on too?”

“No. No peeing once we go inside. If you have to pee you can take care of your business on the parking strip.”

There was once grass on the parking strip, but the dog trade killed it. Fleegle gives the dirt a sniff, then says, “You know how you always complain about the bathrooms at gas stations? I’m good. I don’t need to pee.”

We go through the gate to the patio around back and take a seat at a small table, all of which have water bowls next to them. A waitress arrives and fills my water glass and Fleegle’s water bowl, then hands me a menu. As I look over the menu, Fleegle drains his water bowl.

The waitress returns and refills it. “Thirsty dog. I’ll be back to take your order in a minute.”

Fleegle drains it again, burps, then sees me perusing the menu and asks, “What are we having? Do they have pizza? I smell pepperoni.”

“You’re getting the raw special with broccoli, and I’m having the shepherd’s pie.”

Fleegle rolls back on his haunches and tilts his head to the side. “I get broccoli and you get pie?”

“Yes.”

“In what world is that fair?”

“We’re definitely not in Fleegle World.”

Fleegle slowly shakes his head. “That’s for sure. In Fleegle World I’d be doing the ordering and you’d be sniffing the parking strip.”

When the waitress returns, he listens to me order with anticipation, ever hopeful for pizza, but when he hears broccoli his ears go forward with a determined look, then when the waitress heads back inside, he follows her.

I clear my throat. “Where do you think you’re going?”

With a grumpy look over his shoulder, he keeps walking and says, “I’m going to find out where they keep their hammers?”

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Previous Negotiating with Cookies: Telekinesis

Negotiating with Cookies – Telekinesis

Published on by Raud KennedyLeave a comment

Out in the backyard, I find a stick about two feet long and push one end into the lawn, then sit down cross-legged in front of it and begin staring at it.

Fleegle watches from his spot in the shade under the bamboo where he chews on a stick of his own. “Whatcha doing, Raud?”

“I had a dream last night where I could move things with my mind. I was a street performer and I made flags fly above the audience’s heads like magic carpets. The people loved it.”

“So you’re trying to move the stick by staring at it?”

I nod. “Yes, exactly.”

“Will we take a magic carpet to work instead of the car?”

“Maybe, if I can move this stick.”

“What you call a car, I call my kennel, my home away from home. A carpet isn’t going to give me the den-like feeling I like,” he says, gets up and grabs the stick out of the lawn. “You’re going to have to practice your mind powers with something else because every stick back here belongs to me, though I might part with one or two for the right price.”

“And what is the going cookie rate for a stick?”

 

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Previous Negotiating with Cookies: Reminders

Negotiating with Cookies – Reminders

Published on by Raud Kennedy1 Comment

While Fleegle and I sit on a park bench reading in the sun, a man with a cane takes a seat at the far end of the bench and starts reading a newspaper. Fleegle quietly gets up, goes over and sits next to him, but without paying him any attention. Anyone walking by would think Fleegle belonged to the man with the cane and not to me.

After a little while, Fleegle gets up and moves back next to me.

“What was that about?” I ask.

“I was just reminding you of what it was like before you got me. I bet you saw me sitting over there and went, boy, I wish I had a dog like that, so good looking and kind.”

I get up and move to the next park bench.

“What are you doing?” Fleegle asks.

“Just a reminder.”

Fleegle glances at the man with the cane, absorbed reading his newspaper. “I don’t think he’s going to wish he had human just like you. You’re not nearly as good looking or kind.”

 

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Negotiating with Cookies – Cell Phones

Published on by Raud Kennedy4 Comments

While strolling through the park, Fleegle observes that everyone we’ve passed, including people being walked by their dogs, have been absorbed in their phones.

“Who do you think they’re talking to?” he asks. “The voices on the other end sound like chipmunks. Why do so many people need to talk to chipmunks? The squirrels aren’t going to be happy about chipmunks messing with their breeding project.” He stops to sniff a weed, thinking. “Are chipmunks in charge of the psychic hotline as seen on TV? Are people looking to them for hope and meaning?”

“Or maybe they’re just talking to their friends or family, or simply twiddling with their phone’s apps.”

“You mean they have apps to give your life hope and meaning?” Fleegle shakes his head. “I don’t think they’re talking to anyone but themselves.”

“But what about the chipmunks you hear on the other end?”

“Echoes of their own voices coming back at them.”

“So everyone is walking around talking to themselves? That sounds a little coo-coo to me.”

“Yes, but you of all people know that people are coo-coo. No sane species talks so much that they never let their brains rest. Last night you were even talking in your sleep. You kept saying, Hello? Hello? Can you hear me now?”

Fleegle stops to pee on a garbage can. “I’m putting phones on my list, right next to television remotes, leaf blowers and lawn mowers.”

A woman passes by, staring into her phone like she’s following a map on its screen.

“Ooo, did you see that?” Fleegle asks. “She has her nails painted to match her phone. Maybe you should paint your nails to match your dog. Do you think you can find such a beautiful shade of chocolate? If you can’t, you can always use the real thing.”

“You mean smear chocolate on my nails?”

“Oh, that’s a good idea. I was thinking you could tape the fur I shed to your nails.”

 

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Previous Negotiating with Cookies: @#$%&

Negotiating with Cookies – @#$%&!

Published on by Raud Kennedy2 Comments

“That @#$%& cat!” Fleegle grumbles as he come through his dog door with Georgina, his chicken, sitting on his head.

“Hey, watch your swearing,” I say.

“How? It’s not steaming in here. I can’t see my breath.”

“Where’d you learn that kind of language anyway?”

He tilts his head to the side. “From you in the car when you talk to your imaginary friend, Timmy.”

“Timid Timmy? Well, stop using those words.”

“Why? I like the way they sound.”

“Do you want Georgina to pick them up from you and start spouting them off left and right? Hey you, fat Lab, where the F-@#$%&! are my Chickie Puffs?”

He tilts his head to the other side. “Not when you put it like that, but you’ve given me an idea. Hey you, big belly on legs, it’s lunchtime. Where the F-@#$%&! is my kibble?”

 

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