Delightful smells permeated the Mayhew’s well lit kitchen, each rich and flavorful in its own right. The almost nutty smell of cooked rice, smokiness from the meat and vegetables on the grill, and the rich sweetness from the bread baking in the oven composed a symphony of scent. Flapjack Mayhew’s mouth had been watering for over a half-hour and the slimy substance seeping out of his lips was beginning to pool on the floor where his head rested.

Flapjack’s human, Peter, was wearing his Snoop and Stewart apron and focusing intently on his current task: sculpting a ball of rice into a strange, squishy creature with large eyes and too-many limbs. He was on his ninth attempt already and was beginning to get visibly frustrated. At his feet, Flapjack yipped at his human. Peter would either take it as encouragement, or perhaps a suggestion for what to do with yet another wasted rice ball. Like giving it to the dog, for example. Flapjack was content with either interpretation.

Peter often sent his mate, Renea, off to work with a lovingly constructed bento box in hand. And nearly each one included an artistic flourish, frequently employing balls of rice molded into the shape of animals. Most of his cutesy designs were simple: a dog that looked vaguely like Flapjack, but less majestic; kittens with fluffy little ears; pigs with curly tails. That kind of thing.

This boneless-looking, eight-legged creature was proving to be slightly more difficult for the silly man. Still, he seemed determined.

“Alright,” Peter told Flapjack, stepping back from the counter and placing two fingers against his chin thoughtfully. “Making the legs out of rice just isn’t working.”

Flapjack looked up at him curiously. Drool oozed out of his mouth, adding to the pool below him as he lifted his chin.

“I know that octopuses have tentacles, not legs. That’s not the point.”

Flapjack yipped plaintively. Octopuses?

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“No. It’s octopuses for the plural. I looked it up.”

Peter slid the mangled attempt off of the counter and into the bin.

Flapjack pouted at that, but he had already benefited from Peter’s first eight failures and the venerable corgi was really beginning to feel his age. He shouldn’t eat too much. Gaining weight, even a little, would increase the uncomfortable joint pain he was already experiencing.

Flapjack followed his human to the tall, white box where the humans chilled their food stuff. Peter stood there holding the door, stooped over and staring blankly into the well organized cold box.

“What if…” Peter trailed off, sliding open a drawer and retrieving an item.

Flapjack stepped closer to see what he’d picked out, shoving himself between Peter’s legs and craning his neck to look up at his hands. Hoddogs. Peter was holding a package of hoddogs.

Flapjack growled without menace and then borked twice. Renea loathed hoddogs.

“I know,” Peter said sadly, placing the package of hoddogs back into the fridge. “But I’ve seen people using them to make octopuses for bento boxes on the internet. They’re super cute and probably so much easier to make.”

Again, Flapjack borked twice.

“Yeah. Something else…” Peter closed the cold box. He opened a cabinet, glanced over its contents, and then moved on to another. “Eureka!”

Flapjack spun in a tight circle excitedly. Peter figured it out! Whatever his solution, Flapjack was certain Renea would appreciate it as long as hoddogs were not involved.

Flapjack did a second excited circle and then whined softly.

“Aw, thanks bud. You’re a good boy, too.”

Knowing that Peter now had the solution to his problem in hand, Flapjack felt comfortable leaving his odd human to complete his task. It was nearly time for an afternoon nap and the sun was pouring through the sliding glass door in glorious beams. He trudged over, circled looking for the best spot to lie down and then, with a groan of effort, lowered himself to the ground.

With yet another mission accomplished, Flapjack closed his eyes. He took in a deep breath through his nose, savoring the scent symphony for a moment. Peter’s tuneless humming and the comforting scents all around him acted to lull Flapjack into a state of extreme relaxation.

He drifted away into the dream world within seconds.