Fetch

One mild, lovely morning a few days ago I sat on the front porch drinking my coffee and waiting for the sunrise.  What a lovely way to start the day.  Then someone let the dogs out.

Around the corner from the garage door they came - assaulting me with barks and ruffled up fur on their backs.  Surely I was a Bad Guy.  I thought dogs have a great sense of smell? Do they really not know who I am? Or is this an act, a demonstration, to reassure me that they'd take good care of me and the premises, willing to charge into the unknown and save my life?

Lassie and Georgie wiggled and gyrated their hyper, attention-seeking, hairy, slobbery selves as close as possible to me, nestled in a chair. Oh, they're going to spill my coffee; the coffee mug must be protected from the Otter Tail; gone is the peace, the quiet.

Oh, but look how cute they are.  Look at Georgie staring at me, drip, drop, drool, holding her ball, tense with hope that I would just throw it.  Just once.  Okay, twice.  Oh, ZILLIONS of times, really.  If she could talk she'd be promising me the moon for just one good throw.  (And there really is just one good throw, since after that first one, the ball is so goobery with slobber there is no goodness left to touching it.  A good solid kick toward the far end of the lawn works best.)

Georgie was at attention, ready for my command - if that command had anything to do with the ball anyway.  "Give," I said and she dropped the ball directly into my hand, then spun out trying to get toward the lawn, surmising a toss was imminent.  A throw toward the apple tree, scooped up on the first bounce, not missing a stride as she whips around back to the porch to deposit the glazed orb in my (gulp) hand.  Oh, I do not want to touch it!  Ah, the sooner I throw it, the sooner I'll be rid of its mess.  But here she is back again with it, and this time she's taking a little extra time to goober it up before the hand-off.  It's a sign of love and devotion, I'm sure.  This repeated a dozen times, until I squibbed a throw off the porch column (too much slime, I'm sure, not a lack of skill, of course) and the ball bounced downward toward the sidewalk where Lassie was lurking.

Here was her chance to show Georgie what she was made of!  She was no ordinary herding doggie, nipper of heels - she, too, could scoop up the ball in a single bounce and return it to the master!  Except that the ball was large, and she is small, and it's probably hard to breathe and run with the thing.  Anyway, she lost the ball, Georgie recovered it and trotted proudly to me on the porch.   I pretended not to notice, preserving Lassie's self-respect.

I threw the ball as far as I could and went in the house to wash my hands.