It’s that first whiff that hits you hardest. Like dunking your snout in a puddle of snow-melt when chasing down a tennis ball, you’re overwhelmed with scent information. The first sniff of my two-legger told me she was an adult female, on a really boring diet of too much yogurt, too many carrots and bananas, and far too little pizza. My previous two-legger had been a big fan of pizza. Emphasis on big. Continue reading “Fleegle Votes for Pizza”
Echo was sitting in her studio apartment, polishing her brand new red Doc Martens in preparation for a night out with her friends, when she saw a dark shadowy form of an animal crossing the room on the other side of her coffee table. It looked like a black dog, except that it lacked detail and definition. If her hair weren’t already glued into a Mohawk with half a can of super-hold hair spray, it would have been standing on end from the tingling sensation she felt working its way up her neck.
The shadowy form stopped and seemed to turn and stare at her, then shake its head like dogs do. Echo could actually see the moving shadow of dog ears flapping about the side of its head, but it was all done silently. Was it a ghost? She thought ghosts were supposed to be white puffs of smoke, and she’d heard of shadow people on late-night paranormal radio, but not shadow dogs. On the same show she’d heard about the multiverse theory of the universe. which is that of a bubble bath where each bubble is a universe and there are an uncountable number of universes, some so different from our own that they might have their own laws of physics, others so similar that all the planets might be identical and the sole difference is an alternate history on the third planet from our sun. Sometimes bubbles overlap and air and soap pass from one bubble to the next, and so it is with the multiverse. Either way it was freaking her out staring at her like that, so she took the freshly polished boot in her hand and tossed it at it, hitting it square on. But instead of the boot passing through it, making it disappear like she thought it would, it caught the boot in its mouth, turned and skedaddled. Continue reading “The Rabbit Hole”
When I die and leave your side
I’m going to fly like a sparrow
up into the pussy willow tree in the backyard.
I’m going the cruise the skies
like a hawk looking for a meal below.
I’ll fly into the city and glide between the office towers,
barking at the two-leggers in their glass kennels.
I’ll ride the wind back to our neighborhood
and hover like a hummingbird
outside our bedroom window as you sleep,
and if I’m feeling mischievous, I’ll paw at the glass
and yowl, “I love you.”
The little dog was very happy now that he’d relieved himself. He was in the middle of marking his spot at the park by scratching the grass with his back legs, when he saw what his two-legger was up to and let out a peal of barks in protest. With his hand encased in a plastic grocery bag, the old man leaned over and picked up the dog’s freshly excreted poop which was no bigger than the green goose droppings surrounding it. Continue reading “Rocky”
It’s a good thing I don’t have a job or else I’d look like the Thompson cat after being chased through the brambles behind old lady Tucker’s house. You two-leggers don’t appreciate the work that goes into looking good when your entire body is covered with fur. Sure, you all have a little tuft on top of your head, but that’s nothing compared to me, a full-figured, fluffy Samoyed with my arctic white fur shining as if glistening with morning dew. And I’m beginning to wonder if that tuft of yours might be a wig, since more and more of you are going without, mostly men, and when I smell the women’s hair it smells very similar to what my two-legger uses to clean up my wee-wee. I don’t know what you use to clean a wig but you might use that. You certainly wouldn’t use wee-wee cleaner on your own hair, or maybe you all would. The odd stuff you do never ceases to amaze me. Continue reading “Snake Oil”
Gnawing the Bone 