I live in the tiny town of Boyd, Oregon with my five-year-old daughter, Molly. She's not your average daughter, though. Really. Molly's got some fantastic black curly locks and I think she could be a model except for the fact that her ears are too short, and her legs have the same problem. So, she couldn't actually be a model, but as far as I'm concerned, she's the perfect toy poodle.
Molly gets up with me every morning and is at my heels the whole time I'm getting ready for work. She paws at me to tell me it's time to get up. While I'm getting dressed, she prances around in a circle at my feet, hoping I'll hurry so there's time before I leave for a quick game of ball. We go downstairs to the bathroom and she lays on my robe while I get my personal things complete. She's really quite patient about everything, considering she knows it's almost time for me to be gone for almost an entire day.
After my personal things are out of the way, it's time to take care of the daily things for Molly. She still waits, watching everything I do, just in case I reach for a toy to throw.
Then it's time to play! We have about seven minutes each morning to play fetch. The game starts off with a question that I already know the answer to, "Do you want to play ball?" Of course, the answer is yes! She zips accross the living room and bounces off my knees then flies around, looking for the ball.
Once she finds it, she doesn't bring it straight to me. First, she tenderizes it for us. Her tongue has to be at least six inches long and she uses every inch to produce as much saliva as she can to transfer over to our ball. We use a very small version of a tennis ball, about a two-inch diameter, so it soaks all that spit right up!
By the time she decides it's time to pass the ball to me, I don't want to touch it with more than two fingers and even that's pushing it. As I take it from her mouth I could swear (except I have papers to prove otherwise) that she's got a Saint Bernard in her ancestory.
When she gives it to me, there's a line of saliva dangling in the air between that slimey spit ball and her little mouth. It's nice and warm. Of course, it's terribly gooey so I try to think about how much fun she's going to have once I've thrown it, rather than how nasty it is.
I start to draw back my arm with the ball, while her whole body tenses up as she gets into "Get Ready" mode. She crouches down to "On Your Mark" stance as the ball goes up in the air, still poised in my hand. I hold that position for a moment, to watch her eyes sparkle a little in the low lighting. She's so alive and happy! It's the best part of the game for me, sitting with a slime-ball almost above my head to watch her eyes while she's still "On Her Mark..."
"GO!" I fling the ball toward the other side of the house and she's almost on top of it. Sometimes she's even ahead of it so she can catch it before it even hits the floor on the other side of the room!
Split moments after I've thrown the ball, it's back in my lap and my pants slowly start to soak up Molly's slobber. I don't ever seem to notice the ball is so wet until I've thrown it again and the wet dot on my jeans starts to get cold. I really need to train her to put the ball next to me instead of on me.
Seven minutes doesn't last long and it's soon time for me to go to work for the day. We put the ball back into the toy basket, I tell her to have a good day and be a good girl while I'm gone, then I'm off for a busy day at work. Molly, on the other hand, is stuck at home waiting for me to get back home. Perhaps I should look into an automatic tennis ball thrower so she can play all day while I work.
For the time, Molly will just have to wait for me to get home - or talk my Mom into a game when she's home. Sounds pretty boring for Molly, but it's fine with me because I'll get to see that extra sparkle of excitement at the beginning of the game. And the game always starts again when I get home.
No comments:
Post a Comment