Tag: short fiction

Negotiating with Cookies – Truffles

Published on by Raud Kennedy2 Comments

I’m sitting on the couch watching something pointless on television when Fleegle starts nudging the back of my head with his nose, and it’s not just a nose bump, but more like he’s a pig rooting for truffles.

“Fleegle, what are you doing?”

“Where are they?”

“Where are what?”

He stops nudging the back of my head. “I overheard someone say you had eyes in the back of your head.”

“That’s a figure of speech.”

“A what?”

“Just something people say to imply you knew they were coming when you actually didn’t know they were.”

“So you have no eyes in the back of your head?”

“No,” I say and adjust my glasses for watching television.

“Then where are they? I heard someone else call you four eyes.”

 

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Negotiating with Cookies – Knock Knock

Published on by Raud Kennedy1 Comment

“Knock knock, how many people does it take to screw in a light bulb?” Fleegle asks.

“I don’t know, how many?” I say.

“Just one, but it takes a hundred to make the television commercial that tells you people which one to buy.”

“Ha-ha, very funny, Fleegle. How many dogs does it take to eat a biscuit?”

“Just one, me.”

“Nope, none. We’re all out.”

Fleegle grunts. “How many lazy couch potatoes does it take to go to the store to buy more?”

“None. I’m not moving. Potatoes can’t walk.”

He turns to his dog door. “I’ll get a couple sticks to poke in you for legs. Thank goodness for my sandbox and Buck’s trade in biscuits.”

 

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Negotiating with Cookies – Fleegle Goes into Business

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“Raud, we should get a cat.”

“Why?”

“Because Buck from across the street says he’ll trade me one of his biscuits for every piece of kitty Roca I can come up with.”

“You don’t need to live with a cat for that. A sandbox in the backyard will get you what you want.”

“Are you sure?”

“I know of what I speak. When I was a little boy I had a sandbox and the neighbor’s cats were in it as much as I was and they weren’t there to play.”

“It’s hard to imagine you being little.”

“”Wow, Fleegle, you’ll be all grown up and earning your own kibble, a dog with a booming trade business, and I won’t have to buy you anymore kibble.”

 

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Negotiating with Cookies – The True Purpose for Pockets

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Fleegle drops his gooey tennis ball in my lap. “I bet you wish you were covered in fur like me, then you wouldn’t have to wear clothes. Think of all the time that would free up. No more doing laundry, no more choosing what to wear. That alone would free up gobs of time. No more trying on two or three shirts to find the one you’re in the mood for. You’d wake up in the morning and be good to go, just like me, and we would have that much more time to play fetch.”

“But then I wouldn’t have any pockets to carry cookies in.”

Fleegle takes a step back. “I really like those cargo shorts on you. Those big pockets make you look super intelligent. Maybe you should get a few more pairs and wear them all the time. If they come in brown we could be twins. Or go one better, get me a pair and I could stuff those big pockets full of pizza for you.”

 

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Previous: Negotiating with Cookies – Another Reason for the Ball

Negotiating with Cookies – Another Reason for the Ball

Published on by Raud Kennedy2 Comments

“Raud, who invented the tennis ball?” Fleegle asks, mouthing his ball. “Did God invent the tennis ball?”

“Do you mean the God of the Sunday televangelist in the frosty blue suit with white lapels telling you to call the 1-800 God Needs Your Money number, or the Higher Source of the cult guru teaching simplicity so you’ll sell your car, your house, all your worldly goods and make a large donation to his ashram?”

“Oh, did I say God? My dyslexia must be acting up, I meant to say Dog.” He mouths his ball some more. “I’m pretty sure Dog invented the tennis ball so you’d have something fun to take your mind off of your religious worries.”

 

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Negotiating with Cookies – Auras

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Fleegle and I are in the backyard. I’m reading. He’s sniffing around the grass.

“Raud, I think I can see your aura,” he says, his head cocked to the side as he stares at me.

“That’s just the sun setting behind me.”

“The sunset is red, your aura is blue. Are you feeling blue?” he asks.

“Maybe a little, but I don’t know if aura color is connected to one’s mood. What if my aura was pink? What mood would that be?”

“That would be the aura of someone in the mood for some strawberry yogurt. It’s pink.”

“Then wouldn’t blue mean it was time for some blueberries?”

“I don’t know, Raud, are you hungry for blueberries?”

“Now that you mention it, blueberries with vanilla yogurt sounds pretty tasty right now and it’s almost time for lunch.”

“So that’s what it means to be blue,” he says. “I like that better than being sad.”

“Can you see your own aura?” I ask.

“Yes, it’s red. It’s the red of a rare steak. After you eat your yogurt, can we barbecue for lunch?”

“Are you sure it’s not the red of an apple or a raspberry?”

“No. Steak, barbecue steak. Fire up those briquettes, Raud.”

 

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