The Red Ball

Harriet is not a keen ball dog. She will reluctantly fetch if told to, but her heart is not in the game. She does, however, harbor a deep affection for her red rubber ball. I got it for her about five years ago, and it was love at first sight. It’s hollow and soft and fun for both chewing and bouncing. Inevitably, she will lose it behind or under a piece of furniture, forgetting about it until it comes to light months later. When it does, the reunion is celebrated with wiggles and kidney beans and all manner of Boxer happiness.

Today was a reunion day. I found her ball under some shelves in the kitchen while I was sweeping. I picked it up and bounced it down the hallway. Harriet, hearing the unmistakeable sound of her ball, woke up from her nap and raced after it. She batted it with her feet and nudged it with her nose. She carried it from room to room, chewing on it, then flung her head from side to side so that it flew away, and chased it. She took breaks, resting on the floor or the couch, with her ball between her feet, waiting and watching intently, lest it sneak away while her attention was elsewhere. She rolled around on her back, ball in her mouth and feet flailing, like a trout on dry land. She shoved it under her blanket, hiding it, then, not being able to stand having it out of her sight a minute longer, dug furiously until it was uncovered.

When the game was over, the ball retired to yet another safe spot under the furniture. In another month or so, it will re-emerge, rested and ready to play.