Negotiating with Cookies #13 – One Scoop, Two Scoops…

As I scoop kibble into Fleegle’s bowl, he spins in circles counter clockwise, always counter clockwise, and he sort of leads with his butt like a backwards circle.

“Keep it coming,” he says and spins another circle.

I pour in the third scoopful and tighten the lid back on the kibble container.

“What are you doing? That was only two. Just because you’re dieting doesn’t mean I need to. Don’t over identify with your dog, Raud.”

“That was three scoops.”

“No it wasn’t. It was only two.”

“You can’t count and spin at the same time.”

“I can too. I can multitask better than you anytime.”

“Big words big shot. Back them up.”

“I can walk and carry a stick. I can run and carry a ball, or two balls even, and sometimes three.”

I stare at him, nonplussed.

“Yeah, you can probably do those things too, huh?”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“Well, I can walk and poop at the same time. Ha, beat that.”

I shake my head in defeat.

“Now give me my third scoop.”

 

Next: Negotiating with Cookies #14 – Clothes

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Negotiating with Cookies #12 – Meal Time

I’m sitting at my desk filling out next week’s dog training schedule when Fleegle comes in from outside, sits next to me and stares.

I glance at the wall clock. “It’s not time for your dinner yet. It’s only 3:30.”

“But I’m hungry, Raud, really hungry. I think I might be starving. I bet it doesn’t take long to starve. I might waste away in a matter of minutes. Are you sure you want to take that kind of risk? It’s got to be time to eat. Just looking at your shoes makes me salivate.”

“It’s not time.”

“But my stomach tells me it’s time to eat and I trust my stomach over any dumb clock on the wall. I bet that clock runs on batteries.”

“It does.” I glance at it, then look a little closer. The second hand has stopped moving. “Oops.”

“Oops is right. You can make up for it by giving me an extra scoop of kibble.”

 

Next: #13 – One Scoop, Two Scoops…

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Negotiating with Cookies #11 – John Wayne

dog fiction john wayne 2While in the car waiting for a red light to change, Fleegle, riding shotgun, lets out a very loud bark that makes me cover my ears.

“Ouch. What are you barking at?”

He stares ahead intently. “That man.”

I look where he’s looking, but see no one. “What man?”

“That man in the big hat.”

I look again. There’s a man in a cowboy hat far away in the next block. “He’s like a zillion miles away.”

“He’ll be close soon enough. You watch.”dog fiction john wayne

“Why bark, why not wag? What’s so scary about him?”

“He leans to the left when he walks. No one walks like that. He’s up to something. I’m sure of it.”

The light turns green, we pass the man and we’ll never know what he was up to.

 

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Negotiating with Cookies #6 – Flies and Opossums

Still unable to sleep, I listen to Fleegle snore. He sounds like a train struggling up a steep grade with a freight load of fat Labradors. I nudge him with my foot under the covers. “Straighten out your neck and maybe that freight you’re pulling won’t be so heavy.”

“The circadian rhythm of my snores not lulling you to sleep? I’m out like a light when you snore,” Fleegle says sleepily. “I love pizza, but I love it even more because it makes you snore and I know exactly where you are without even looking.”

“And it gives me far out dreams,” I say.

he rolls onto his back, paws pointing toward the ceiling. “When I can’t sleep I don’t bother trying.”

“I know, you go outside and hunt opossums.”

“That’s not me, that’s Buck from across the street. No one knows yet about the hole he dug under his fence. He’s a little obsessed with opossums. Did you know he takes his kills inside his house through his dog door?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“I prefer chasing flies to chasing rodents.”

“What about squirrels? They’re part of the rodent family and you chase them.”

“They don’t count. They’re too cute to be rodents.”

“That’s not what you say when you make them mad by chasing them up trees and they try to poop on your head from the branches above.”

I feel the bed move as he gets up. “Now I can’t sleep,” he says. “I wish flies flew at night. Will you turn the light on and wake them up?”

I shrug. “Might as well.”

The bamboo outside the bedroom window rustles even though there isn’t any wind.

“There goes Buck, hunting,” Fleegle says. “Poor opossums.”

I snap on the light, waking a fly on the shade. Fleegle is after it in an instant

“Poor flies,” I say.

Next: Negotiating with Cookies #7 – Om

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Riding a Blackwing

Ray’s box of Palomino Blackwing pencils arrived that morning. Sleek with extendable erasers, they were the epitome of sexy. At least for a pencil, he thought. The yellow ones in grade school certainly weren’t. When he thought of those what came to mind were all the teeth marks in the ones he borrowed from his classmates, freshly chewed and still damp.

The internet ad for the Blackwing claimed it was the best pencil ever made, firm & smooth was its tagline, and Ray enjoyed the feel of a good writing instrument. Not all pencils were alike. Some wrote quietly, leaving you happily unaware of them. Others scratched across the page as if they were serenading you with the Sex Pistols. He quickly demoted those to the wood shop to mark boards. Continue reading “Riding a Blackwing”

The Trickster

the tricksterThe Death Valley tour bus parked on a viewpoint off Badwater Road, and about half the members braved the heat to get off the bus and take in the view of the dry lake bed of Badwater Basin.

A little girl in pigtails, pointed at a moving speck far across the distant lake bed. “Daddy, what’s that?”

Her dad squinted against the brightness of the white sand, at first not seeing anything, but after a moment spotted it. “I dunno, honey.” Continue reading “The Trickster”