I had some extra cement after filling an order. It was either toss it or do something fun. This Dane is so blue he literally sheds it when I touch him. I had to stop work and go wash my hands after taking him out of the mold to stop smearing everything with blue smudges, including sculptures not intended to be blue.
It started raining today in Aloha. Not sprinkles but real rain. The rain I grew up with. So I had to improvise with the umbrella. As I stood under it, mixing cement and filling molds with frothy brown cement, it was as if I were serving up lattes in strange silicone cups.
As I scoop kibble into Fleegle’s bowl, he spins counter clockwise in circles, with his butt leading the way in a backwards circle.
“Keep it coming,” he says and spins another circle.
I empty the third scoopful into his bowl and tighten the lid back on the kibble container. I use a small scoop to lead him to think I’m giving him a lot more then I am.
“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?” he says.
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“Well, I can walk and poop at the same time.” He nose bumps my leg. “Ha, beat that.”
I shake my head in defeat.
“Now give me my third scoop or I’ll demonstrate.”
I woke this morning to a cement smorgasbord of castings that were eager to be free of their molds.
I’m sitting at my desk filling out next week’s dog walking 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. Even looking at your very chewable shoes makes me salivate.”
“It’s not dinner 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.”
Fleegle and I are in the car waiting for a red light to change. Riding shotgun, Fleegle 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.”
“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 and we go. We pass the man and will never know what he’s up to.
After visiting my rock garden, it appears the heads on the left are still annoyed at the head on the right prattling on about the wonder of life.
I’m cooking my breakfast in the kitchen when Fleegle trots in from the backyard. “Feeling better, I see,” I say.
“Absolutely.”
“I bet that’s the last time you’ll be eating duck treats.”
“I’m not so sure that’s what made me sick. They were pretty tasty. It might’ve been something else,” he says, hopefully.
“What else did you eat?”
“Kibble.”
“That’s never made your stomach upset before.”
He sniffs the air by the stove where I’m cooking. “Bacon and eggs have never upset your stomach before, maybe I should have some of them.”
“Is that Labrador logic?”
“It’s the process of elimination. If I sample everything I’ll eventually find what made me sick, starting with your eggs. I’d like ketchup on mine, please.”
That’s it, put some mayonnaise on it. No, don’t put it away, don’t be cheap, put it on with a spoon. Stop worrying about your arteries. Stress will kill you long before the mayo. What? The jar’s almost empty? Well then, use it up. Oh yeah, there you go. No, don’t put it in the sink, you idiot. Put it on the floor and I’ll get it ready for the recycle bin. I know lettuce is good for you but let’s not over-do it. Okay, I need roughage. You could play eighteen rounds with that last poop. Spray ’em white and sell ’em on eBay. Ooo pickles, I like pickles. I wonder if you could pickle a cat. Mmm, that sounds good. Let’s pickle Buttons and put him on a bun. Might have to get some more mayo though. Tomato slices work, put a few more slices on. Whoops, you dropped one. Here, I’ll get it for you. Slurp. Gosh, I don’t see it. Where’d it go? That damn cat must’ve kiped it. He’s fast for a fat bastard. He might even be enough for two sandwiches.
It needs more ham, more turkey. You might as well be a vegan for what you got on there now. You need protein, boy, lots of it. Okay, now it’s looking good, but it could use some strawberry jam and some whipped cream and some lox. Look at all that stuff you got in the fridge you could put on it. If it won’t fit on the sandwich just use the plate. Plate too small? Get a bigger plate or a serving platter.
What? That’s it?! One little sandwich on one little plate? Are you insane? You’ll starve and die and where will that leave me? I’ll end up in the pound because of your tiny sandwich. Okay, let’s go into the living room and sit down. Sure, I’ll sit next to you on the couch. What’s wrong? Aren’t you going to share? What about living your life as an example to others? I doubt Mother Teresa would do this to her dog. Dagnabbit! Give me half. I was the one who showed you how to make it. You’re such a pig.
Oh, the phone, that’s right, go answer it you greedy bastard. Slurp, gobble, slurp, lick, lick.
Sandwich? It was the cat. I warned you he’s fast. Don’t look at me. No, I’m not smacking my lips. No, that’s not mayonnaise on my nose. Lick. See, it was never there. In fact the sandwich was never there. You must be hungry. Come on into the kitchen with me. I’ll show you how to make a sandwich. I know, I get that feeling too sometimes. Déjà vu, like we’ve done all this before.
Fleegle is curled up on the den couch. “I don’t feel so good.”
“For a chocolate dog, you look mighty green. Is that grass stuck in your front teeth?” I pull it out for him. “So much for your duck treats, eh? Did you throw up?”
He nods. “By the back gate near the garbage cans.”
“Poor dog.”
“And in the flower beds.”
“Poor flowers.”
“And in your shoes by the bed.”
“Poor Raud.”
