Tag: Serial Fiction

“Is my whole name, Fleegle Kennedy?” Fleegle asks me.

“Nope, your whole name is Fleegle.”

“You mean I’m not a Kennedy?”

“You’re a Fleegle.”

“Does that make you a Fleegle too.”

“No, I’m still a Kennedy.”

“Aren’t I adopted and doesn’t that make me a Kennedy?”

“You’re not adopted. You’re your own dog with your own name.”

“But you raised me.”

“I only showed you a few of the ropes.”

“I like tug of war.” Fleegle grows silent, thinking.

“What’s this about?” I ask.

“Most dogs have their family’s name and get two or three names, like Wiggles at the dog park, his full name is Wiggles Crowden-Popplewell. His owners aren’t married so they hyphenate.”

“You want more names? Technically, your name is whatever is on your papers.”

“I have papers?”

“Yes, but I never filled them out and sent them in because we never planned to compete in AKC stuff.”

“Can we fill them out now and I’ll choose my own name?”

“Sure. What are you going to name yourself?”

“Fleegle F. Fleegle.”

“The F. stands for your middle name?”

“Yes. Fleegle.”

“So your name will be…”

“Fleegle Fleegle Fleegle. Well, you know how you always have to my name three times to get my attention.”

 

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Previous Negotiating with Cookies: Fleegle Wants a Remodel

While reading in the den I start to get that uncomfortable feeling that I’m being watched. I turn around and Fleegle is sitting behind me silently staring at the back of my head.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I’m looking through your head and out through your eyes, seeing the world as you see it.”

“You’re a weird dog, you know that? So what do you see? Are you enjoying my book?”

“Well, it’s okay, but you read too much. Is staring at squiggles and dots on a page a form of that meditation you do trying to contact your higher self? Did your higher self finally fall from sky and land in this book?”

“Nope, not this book. The squiggles and dots tell a story about a man living on the moon.”

“He must really love cheese to live on the moon. Is there chocolate cheese?”

“There’s chocolate cheese cake.”

“Ooo, I’m going to dream about that in Fleegle World tonight so I can have some.”

“There’s also chocolate mousse,” I say.

“That must be why moose stay up north in the cold. Otherwise they’d melt in the summer and get licked up by squirrels.”

“And there’s chocolate covered ants.”

“The big carpenter ants or the tiny red ones that bite?” he asks.

“I don’t know. I’ve never had them.”

“Me neither. I’ve tried eating bees but they stung my tongue and they tasted like flowers. It’s much easier to just eat the flower.”

I get out of my chair and drop to all fours.

“What are you doing?” Fleegle asks.

“I’m looking at life from your perspective.”

“Really? Then take a look at my dog door. It needs to be bigger.”

“But you get in and out of it just fine.”

“Yes, but my sticks don’t.”

 

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Previous Negotiating with Cookies: The Shoes Make the Dog

After I finish showering and getting dressed, I sit down to put on my shoes.

Fleegle carries over one of my running shoes and drops it at my feet. “Put this one on,” he says, then carries over a hiking boot and drops it next to the running shoe. “And this one.”

I look down at the two mismatched shoes, both lefties. “Why?”

“Because I want to go running, and when I get tired, I want to hike through the woods looking for a good stick to chew.”

I push the running shoe and hiking boot aside and reach for my cowboy boots.

“Not those, Raud,” Fleegle whines. “Standing around and posing is so boring. Have you even met a horse? They’re so big, if you’re not careful they can poop on your head.”

I reach for my hat, a silver belly rancher. “I think I’ll wear my hat too.” I get it positioned on my head just right, stand and look down at Fleegle. “Maybe we could trade in your walking harness and leash for a horse halter and lead rope.”

“Some big macho cowboy you’ll be with his little chocolate pony.”

 

Next Negotiating with Cookies: Fleegle Wants a Remodel

Previous Negotiating with Cookies: Fleegle Calls for Takeout

I plop on the living room couch and I’m happily melding with it after a long day on my feet, when Fleegle walks in the room dragging my leash.

“Come on, Raud, I’m taking you for a walk before you get immersed in that talking head show on television.”

“You mean the news.”

“News, schmooze, I’ve seen better improv at the dog park.”

“They’re not making it up.”

“They tell you something bad everyday and nothing ever gets better, how can they not be making that up? They’re reading something someone else wrote. It’s second hand. If they’re not making it up, they’re playing that operator game you and your friends play at parties where the first friend says to the second friend, ‘I’m a lazy sod who’s too stupid to work,’ and by the time it gets to the last friend it’s, ‘I’m a big cod hovering the poop.’” He drops the leash in my lap. “Get up. Let’s go walk.”

“In a minute. Let me rest my bones first.”

“What bones? Where?”

“No bones, just a figure of speech,” I say and close my eyes.

“Like your talking heads,” Fleegle says as the clicking of his nails recedes from the room, but moments later a curious goobering sound in the other room triggers that sixth sense I’ve developed living with a Labrador that alerts me to something being goobered that shouldn’t be. I get up to find Fleegle’s mouth busy with my cell phone. It beeps away as he dials with his teeth.

“What are you doing?”

“Calling my back up walker.”

“And who might that be?”

“My girlfriend. Could you put Brooke’s number on speed dial? Your phone will last longer if you do.”

“Give me that,” I say and take the phone out of his mouth. Amazingly, it’s ringing. I hang up and slip it in my pocket. “All right, let’s go for a walk.”

Moments later my phone rings. It’s Brooke. I answer, “Hi.”

“Hi, did you just call me?”

I look at Fleegle. “Actually, my ass dialed you.”

Fleegle glares at me. “Hey, I’m not your donkey. And tell Brooke that if she brings pot-stickers, I’ll wait and walk the both of you.”

 

Next Negotiating with Cookies: The Shoes Make the Dog

Previous Negotiating with Cookies: Fleegle Goes on a Date

I unlock the passenger side door of the car for my date, Brooke, saying, “If you let me get in first, I’ll keep Fleegle from jumping on you.”

“What’s a Fleegle?”

I move out of the way so she can see in the car. Fleegle is in the passenger seat slobbering on the window at us. “That’s a Fleegle.”

“Oh cool, you brought your dog.”

“I have trouble saying no to him. You aren’t allergic or anything?”

“Nope, bring it on.”

I climb in the driver’s side. Fleegle’s tail thumps away with excitement as he faces the passenger door, waiting for it to open. “Who’s that, Raud? Did you bring me a friend to play with?”

“That’s Brooke. She and I are going on a date.”

“We’re going on a date? I love dates. Are prunes dates? Look, she’s showing me her teeth. Ooo, she has food in her teeth. I love her. Should I clean her teeth when she gets in?” He spins a circle in his seat. “Let her in, Raud, don’t keep her waiting.”

“Then get in the back and make some room for her.”

“Wait a second. Where’s the girlfriend questionnaire? Has she filled it out yet? How’d she do on the cat question?”

“Please get in the back.”

He positions himself between the two front seats and Brooke climbs in.

“He sure is a happy dog,” she says.

He can barely contain himself and makes a move to climb on her lap. I grab him and hold him back.

She scruffs his neck with both hands. “It’s okay, you can let go. I grew up with Labs.”

At her touch, Fleegle melts into a ball of fluff with his head in her lap.

Surprised, yet appreciative of his calmness, I say, “He thinks he’s a lap dog.”

He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “I am a lap dog. I am one with the lap.”

She strokes his back. “The perfect dog for cold winter nights.”

He squirms onto his back. “Belly rub, please.”

She complies.

Fleegle makes his mooing sound that says he’s happy. “She can skip the questionnaire.”

Still rubbing his belly, she says, “With my job and apartment, I can’t have a dog, but boy do I miss them. I know you said you wanted to go out to eat, but why don’t we get some Chinese take-out and go to the park and I can take Fleegle for a walk.”

Fleegle sighs. “I love my date, Raud. And I love pot stickers, get lots of pot stickers for Brooke and me to eat on our walk. And maybe some salad for you, too, of course. You need to get in shape for this dating thing.”

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