Anything Lime



Ah, the magic of rediscovery

Two-ball fetch: noun 1. A game of retrieval played with two balls rather than one to avoid having to wrestle the single ball from the mouth of the dog time after time. 2. Kya’s all-time favorite game to play.

Months ago Kya and I were playing in the park when we lost one of her two heavy, yellow balls. We play fetch with field hockey balls, which I discovered to be more durable and less likely to collapse under the jaws of Kya than tennis balls. They’re hard to come by, which is why it saddened me after 30 minutes of hunting to leave the park with one ball short of what we came with, a sadness that made me feel a deep emotional connection to Lance Armstrong. Eeesh, ok, I take it back.

The next day we went back out to the park in search of the mysterious vanishing ball. I spoke to a few of the maintenance workers who spend much of their time in golf carts out in that area. I talked to a few kids who frequent the park. But even though they all said they’d keep an eye out for it, I was quite discouraged. Mostly because it was about this time the landscaping trucks were pulling up. If my ball was out there, it was a) in a bush, in which case I’d never find it or b) about to be run over, chopped up or drilled into the ground by the industrial mowers. I heaved one of the neighborhood children into the dumpster in an act of protest before realizing that it was not, in fact, a good idea. No formal charges have been filed.

One-ball fetch: noun 1. A game of retrieval that takes much longer because it requires having to wrestle with the dog to get the ball back after every single throw. 2. Not fun. 3. An explanation as to why my body is covered in bruises and bite marks.

Days in the park were much less enjoyable. Kya wouldn’t get as much exercise,  but would instead spend all of her time chewing the ball and running away from me. She’d find a spot in the shade, lie down, and then I’d find out on the walk home that she’d rolled in something even more unpleasant than a game of one-ball fetch. Like dog poo. Like a snake’s nest. Like a pile of McCain-Palin buttons.

I almost didn’t believe it when I saw a tiny patch of yellow peering up at me from the ground. I recognized it right away, and realize that the landscapers had run over the ball buried all but a tiny bit of it.

“Kya!” I shrieked in my most excited voice, which I have to use when she’s preoccupied chewing on her ball and rolling in the shade. “Kya, what is that?” She was immediately intrigued by my excitement, not like that time last week when I caught on fire and she did nothing, but instead poked Soto a few times before trotting off to chew a dentabone.

“Kya! Look, Kya, what’s that? What IS that?” She looked around the ground for a few seconds, and the minute she recognized it, I thought she was going to collapse and fall asleep. This dog can only handle so much excitement.

Her ears perked up, her eyes widened to resemble those of a demon, and she pounced on the ball and dug it up instantly. She reached down and scooped it up, then looked up at me as drool and dirt and worms and a few bits of grass dripped slowly from her mouth. She flashed me a smile as if to say, “I found my ball mom. Look at it. I have it back now.”

I’m picturing my mom cringing at the thought of my dog’s dirty mouth. It gets worse, mom, I LET HER KISS ME WITH THAT MOUTH.

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Comments

  1. * ash says:

    I don’t know if it is just becoming immune to gross, but with Ashley living here I am actually no longer disgusted by doggie kisses! I figure that worm and dirt covered ball cannot be worse than when they lick their butts!

    | Reply Posted 8 years, 11 months ago


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