While I ruminate on yesterday
and worry about tomorrow,
my dog chases off a crow
and wags his tail with satisfaction.
Tag: dogs
Negotiating with Biscuits #20 – Cheese for Fleegle
“
Fleegle sits next to me on the couch, watching my every bite. “You know, the proper way to eat pizza is with your hands, not on a plate with a fork,” he says.
“And how would you know this?”
He jerks his nose at the television screen. “That’s how everyone on your television eats it. Maybe you missed that lesson. You think I just sleep, but sometimes I watch too.”
“Eating it by hand when it’s hot is a quick way to burn the roof of my mouth and ruin the whole pizza experience.”
“How’s that Parmesan taste?” Drool dangles from his lower lip. “Aren’t you glad you put on extra like I told you to?”
“Most of it has fallen off onto the plate.”
He licks his lips. “Yes, I’ve noticed. You’re lucky to have such a good plate cleaner handy.”
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Forget the Biscuits, Gimme Tacos
“We talk to our dogs all of the time, but what would happen if they talked back? What would they share about the world from their perspective? Take a ride with Raud and his dogs and find out.”
This is the premise for my new series of dog fiction that I’m writing for Kindle Vella. It’s titled, “Forget the Biscuits, Gimme Tacos”. The first three episodes are free. Only two are up right now because I’m still writing the third.
I hope it gives you a laugh. I know we could all use one these days.
https://www.amazon.com/kindle-vella/story/B0CLLNH5KJ
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Mold Box
A mold box takes shape. Today I will be using the green goo to make the mold instead of the blue because it’s more flexible. The backs of the ears are tapered in such a way that I’ll need that flex to get it out of the mold without cracking them.
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How to Make a Sandwich
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.
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Negotiating with Biscuits #7 – Om
In the backyard, I sit cross-legged on the grass, close my eyes and begin to meditate. I count my breaths and try to clear my mind, and just when mental silence sets in, a wet nose bumps me in the back of my neck.
“Whatcha doin?” Fleegle asks, circling around to my front.
“Meditating.”
“What’s that?”
“A way to make contact with my higher self.” The words are no sooner out of my mouth before my curiosity prods me to open my eyes to see if he’s staring up at the sky.
He is.
“How high up did you say he was?” Fleegle asks.
I look into the sky where he’s looking. “At this rate, very high up, maybe even beyond the stratosphere.”
“Stratosphere?” he ponders the word. “Does he look like you?”
“My higher self? In a sense, yes.”
Not seeing anything, he raises his nose high and sniffs the breeze, his snout twitching back and forth. “Well, I don’t think he’s anywhere nearby unless he smells like what the cat next door just left in little Jimmy’s sandbox. Maybe your meditation remote needs new batteries.”
“Meditation doesn’t require a remote.”
“Are you sure? You’re always saying check the batteries.”
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The Laughing Pug
This guy is one of my favorite pugs that I sculpted, so I was quite dissapointed when I went to finally make a cement casting, something I had neglected, I’d only made resin castings, to find that it had been damaged and was no longer usable. So I used the sculpture I have to make a new mold and now I have my cement casting.
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Negotiating with Biscuits #6 – Stinky Butt
I’m in my den reading, when Fleegle walks in. “Hello, Mr. Stinky Butt,” I say, using one of my many endearments for him.
“My butt doesn’t stink,” he says. “I can reach around and lick it. It’s always clean.”
“So that’s what that goobering sound is in the middle of the night that wakes me.”
“Yep, doesn’t stink one bit. In fact, I try to keep other dogs clean too by licking their butts. You’re the one with the stinky butt because you can’t reach yours. You want me to help you with that?”
“Um, no, but thanks. I think I’ll just continue to stink, if that’s okay with you.”
“I don’t mind, Raud, because I love you even with a stinky butt.”
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Negotiating with Biscuits #5 – 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.”
“Is the soothing 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.”
“Pizza gives me far out dreams.”
“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 has found out 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 and they try to poop on your head from up in the trees.”
I feel the bed move as he gets up. “Now I can’t sleep. 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. “Poor flies.”
But then is strikes me. “How does Buck get into the yard past the fence?”
“Beats me.”
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Negotiating with Biscuits #4 – Babies
I’m tossing and turning in bed, struggling to get to sleep, when Fleegle asks, “Where do babies come from?”
I look through the murky darkness in the bedroom at his black silhouette sitting on my bed. “The stork flies them in and delivers them to houses of families who want them.”
“What’s a stork?”
“A bird that’s big enough to carry a baby in it’s beak and still get off the ground. Why are you asking about babies?”
“The neighbors behind us just got one.”
“Uh huh.”
“So if I stop chasing the birds out of the yard, a big one will bring me a baby?”
I worry where this is going. “Yes, that is correct. But why do you want a baby?”
“Not just any baby.”
“Hmm. I’m confused,” I say.
He tilts his head. “You? Never.”
“Do you mean one who looks like me or one who looks like you?”
“There’s a difference? I thought you looked like me.”
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The Hydrant
When Arthur arrived at the cafe, the hostess seated him outside on the sidewalk patio at his favorite table right in the midst of the diners where the people watching was best. He ordered a glass of wine, not because he liked it but because he didn’t. It would last a long time and he didn’t want to get drunk, not tonight, not with what he’d learned this morning.
The middle-aged couple on his right were discussing current events. He eavesdropped for a bit but they were just boringly parroting talking points they’d picked up from television news like something they’d tracked in on their shoes. Besides, Arthur knew all that was just lies fed to the public to keep them engaged enough to be complacent but not so engaged that they started digging for the truth and got mad. You see, Arthur had found the perfect source for news, one that never lied and was honest to a fault.
A month or so ago at the beginning of spring, he had been weeding around the fire hydrant in his front yard by the curb when he was struck by an odd smell. As he sniffed the air trying to identify it, he started to hear voices in his head and see images in his mind’s eye, as if he was watching other people’s memories, but then he started hearing even stranger voices commenting on what he was hearing and seeing. There he was on all fours, sniffing the air next to the fire hydrant, and he felt like he was watching a show next to someone who was giving a running commentary on what they were watching.
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French Bulldog Sculptures
I am currently cleaning up the flaws and tool marks on these two Frenchie sculptures in preparation of making molds of them.
