Tag: short fiction

Negotiating with Cookies – MacPoochie

Published on by Raud Kennedy3 Comments

“Why do so man couples dress alike?” Fleegle asks as we walk through the park. “Does Target have a special section, like there’s a Mens, a Womens, and then there’s a Couples? Like Petco does with Dogs, Cats, Birds and Fish?”

“No special section, but my hunch is that it’s because only one from the couple is doing the clothes shopping, and they naturally choose the colors and styles they like for both of them, while the other from the couple just figures it saves them the hassle of a trip to Target, and if their mate likes the clothes then that’s good enough.”

“Well, I’m glad you don’t pick out clothes for me. I’d get tired of wearing blue jeans and t-shirts everyday. That’s almost as monotonous as kibble for breakfast lunch and dinner.”

“If you wore clothes, I doubt the washing machine could handle the post dog park load of Fleegle wash, especially on a muddy day. And what day isn’t muddy at the dog park this time of year?”

“If I wore clothes, I’d wear a kilt in my own tartan.”

“Kennedy tartan is very nice.”

“Not your tartan. I’m not some lame Kennedy flunky.” He lifts his leg on a park bench. “I’d wear my own tartan, the MacFleegle Tartan. Would you like to hear about our clan history?”

 

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Negotiating with Cookies – Werecats

Published on by Raud Kennedy2 Comments

While sharing the couch with Fleegle and watching television, I say, “Fleegle, you know what I envy about you?”

“Beside my cold wet nose and paws scented like Fritos, no, tell me.”

“When you worry, it’s always about something immediate, and then it passes. You never waste your time worrying about tomorrow.”

“I can’t worry about something that doesn’t exist. I don’t worry about werecats, do I?”

“Like werewolves, but cats?”

“Yeah, because they don’t exist, just like tomorrow doesn’t exist until it gets here. And what’s the point worrying about the now? It’s much easier to deal with the now than worry about it. Maybe you just like to worry.” He rolls onto his back. “I think I’ll take a nap.”

“Sleep tight, don’t let the werecats bite.”

Fleegle looks at me, then hops off the couch. As he heads toward the bedroom, he says, “I’m going to nap on your pillow. It soaks up drool better than mine.”

 

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Negotiating with Cookies – Sniff-Sniff

Published on by Raud Kennedy1 Comment

I’m sitting in the den with a sketchpad drawing cartoon dog faces when Fleegle comes in and starts sniffing my legs and knees and staring at me with his head tilted to the side.

“Why do you keep sniffing me and looking at me like that?” I asks.

“You are Raud, aren’t you?”

“Huh? Of course I am. That’s a silly question.”

“You don’t smell like him.”

“Well, I did change my brand of soap this morning.”

“I’m not some dumb puppy that can’t figure that out. You’re back to using Ivory again. It’s not your soap. You smell, well… alien.”

“Oh alright, I’ll tell you. When I went out last night, I ate garlic pizza.”

Fleegle plops backwards onto his haunches. “You had pizza without me? Who ate all the crust? Did you give it to some other dog? Now I know you’re not Raud. He would never do that to me. You’re an alien for sure,” he says and struts out of the den.

“Where are you going?”

“To the kitchen to check on the alien egg thingy. Maybe it hatched and you’re the result. Pod-Raud.”

 

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Negotiating with Cookies – Chowder

Published on by Raud Kennedy1 Comment

As I pour hot water into my tea mug, Fleegle drops his rawhide chew flip into his water bowl.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He stares at the rawhide soaking in the water. “Letting it steep for 3 to 5 minutes.”

“Like my tea.”

“Oh, but much better than your tea. That’s like comparing thin broth to chowder.”

A little while later I’m in the den with my mug of tea on the table next to my chair, when Fleegle walks in and drops his gooey half chewed rawhide into my mug.

He looks at me and wags his tail. “Here, give it a try. You’ll love it.”

I look at him nonplussed.

“Ah, poor Raud, you must be on a diet,” he says and scoops his rawhide out of my mug with his tongue. “Mmm, I taste honey.”

 

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Previous Negotiating with Cookies – The Force

Negotiating with Cookies – The Force

Published on by Raud Kennedy4 Comments

I set my book down in my lap. “Fleegle, why are you staring at me.”

“It’s time to eat, Raud.”

“No, it’s not. It’s not even eleven yet. The earliest you get lunch is eleven-thirty.”

Fleegle isn’t convinced. He rests his head on the floor, but continues to stare at me. I go back to reading, but every time I glance over the top of my book, he’s still staring and I start having trouble remaining focused on my book.

“Fleegle, stop staring at me.”

He lifts his head from the floor. “These aren’t the droids you’re looking for.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.” He rests his head on his paws.

“Your Jedi dog tricks aren’t going to work on me.”

“You can go about your business.”

“I will.” I get up to leave and Fleegle follows me into the kitchen where I find myself scooping an extra large portion of kibble into his bowl.

“Now move along,” he says and starts to eat.

“Yes, Master Fleegle.”

 

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Negotiating with Cookies – Eggs Benedict

Published on by Raud Kennedy1 Comment

I finish pushing the reel mower around the backyard lawn and go inside for a glass of water to wash down the pollen where I find Fleegle in the kitchen sitting in front of the refrigerator with the door wide open and a strange blue glow on his face.

“What the cat, Fleegle? Close the fridge door. You’re letting all the cold air out.”

He doesn’t budge. “But then I won’t be able to see it.”

“See what? The egg?”

“No, the ham.” He wags his tail. “Are you ready for your sandwich yet?’

“It’s only 10:30 and I had a big bowl of oatmeal for breakfast.”

“I know, it was tasty.”

I step over to close the fridge door, but stop. “Does it look bigger to you?”

“The ham?”

“No, the egg.”

“Maybe, but the ham definitely looks smaller. If you were smart you’d go buy a new light bulb for the fridge and give that crazy egg thingy to Timber Jack. I bet his jaws can crush anything.”

“You’re probably right, but we need to see this through. Don’t you want to know what it is?”

“Not as much as I want to avoid another encounter with crazy space chickens.”

“Oh Fleegle, you worry too much.

  *   *   *

In the middle of the night I’m woken by a cold wet nose in my face. “Raud, wake up. It’s happening.”

“What’s happening?”

“Your reckoning. Listen.”

I hear the muffled sounds of something thrashing about coming from the direction of the kitchen.

Fleegle jumps off the bed. “You better bring that bat you keep by the bed.”

I glance at it as I slip my feet into my slippers, then grab it and follow the noise to the kitchen.

Fleegle cocks his ears. “It’s coming from inside the fridge.”

As I open the fridge door, the sound stops, and all looks normal inside, bathed in a pink glow of a Key West sunset.

“It’s gone,” Fleegle says.

“No, it’s not,” I say and point at the egg.

“Not the egg, the ham.” His hackles go up and he growls. “And the egg looks definitely bigger.”

I flick on the kitchen light. “And so does your belly.”

 

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