Two ball fetch
I want you to know I’ve officially out-smarted my dumb dog.
Like all dogs, our Lando — a Papillon-mix — has selective intelligence. He knows when it is 5 o’clock and time to eat. He knows the words “walk” and “kong” and “shake.” He lets us know when he needs to go outside, he knows he shouldn’t steal socks.
After about two years, we’ve been able to confirm that there is a moral compass that Lando does follow, and when he strays from it and chews up toilet paper or starts to licking a shoe, he knows that’s wrong.
But fetch? He’s not great at fetch. The concept confounds him.
My wife works nights occasionally, and when she did the summer after we got Lando, I made it my purpose to teach Lando fetch. We bought a green ball, a rubber one that we could play tug of war with.
The first step was teaching the word “come” and “fetch” and “get down” and “please stop barking.” At night, with the crickets and in the flood lights, I had him sit, Gooooood, then staaaaay, Gooooood. Then come!
That took a few weeks.
But finally he ran to me across the yard and into my arms one night and I was so proud, and wow was that a revelation about how emotionally fragile I’ll be as a parent someday.
So then the big week came to introduce fetch. I’ve never had a dog good at playing fetch. Mary, our cocker spaniel growing up, was alright. My brother trainer her to fetch golf balls for him in the back yard. But she generally ran to the tennis ball once, then ran around with it in her mouth, then plopped in the yard and chewed the fuzz off.
Our next dog Joe was hopeless. He howled while I played guitar, so that made up just about everything. Our next dog, Jenny, had a stroke when she was just getting smart enough to pick up fetch and now can hardly run.
I had a friend growing up who had a dog Henry, a little guy, a dachshund, who was great at fetch. I’d go to my friends house and we’d play fetch with Henry all night. We’d sit on the back patio and talk over the locusts and Henry would nuzzle a slobbery ball into your hand. We’d toss it into bushes and he’d scurry away and always, always found it.
Henry was great. I wanted Henry.
And Lando was my chance.
So we go outside in the humidity when Molly’s at work that summer and I tossed he ball high into the air, over the tree branches in the backyard, about 15 yards toward the fence. And Lando runs and he sees the ball land, and he picks it up and he runs back to me, and I yell encouragement as I bend down, and Lando stops in his tracks four feet from me. I inch forward and he takes off zooming around the tree, and he’s now created a new game of me chasing him around the yard asking for the ball, which isn’t fetch and wasn’t the point. With the new game, he controls me and won’t come inside. So I get our large rake, corner him and pick him up.
Molly was embarrassed. What if people saw me and that rake, running around the yard?
But I was determined. If neighbors gossiping was what it took for Lando to figure out fetch, so bet it.
The next night we try again, and it’s the same four minute exercise. We try to bring out treats and encourage him to drop it and it works with moderate success. But he’s no Henry, and that’s a lot of treats for a 14-pound dog, so that’s not a long term solution.
So the night after that I bring out a stick. Mary would sometimes fetch sticks. Lando sometimes chews sticks. This could be the key.
So I throw the green ball, high over the branch, 15 yards down and the yard and Lando gets it, then before he gets to me, I tell him to drop it and he does, and I toss the stick and it bangs against our garage and Lando picks up and brings it back and the next few weeks are born. While mowing, I find a few sticks in the yard that are the perfect length and girth and I pile them next to the garage.
At night, I put on slippers and Lando jumps on me. We throw the ball, then the sticks, until eventually he picks one stick he likes and lays down to chew it. I call that a win most nights and collect him again with the rake until eventually, he realizes all the sticks taste good. And the ball not so much. So let’s just eat the sticks instead of running around, OK?
So we’re at another in-pass, so close to the finish line, when Molly comes home with another rubber ball. This one red, to match his new red one after his original ball was lost in a yard back in Kansas City. Molly blames me for forgetting it there, but if we’re being honest, isn’t it the dogs fault for not going to get it and return it in the first place? That’s been the problem all along!
So we go outside with the two balls in the snow, now.
I throw the first, high over the tree branch, it hits the top of the garage and falls onto the yard. Lando stuffs his face in the snow and hurries back. He drops it and I fire the next one, this one low. It bounces off the ground and Lando tackles it, the snow flying around him, and he returns while I prepare the cannon.
I toss again and he chases after it, then repeat, and repeat until my fingers are cold and the circle is complete.
Two ball fetch is born. He still doesn’t come in easily, and the rake part isn’t perfect.
But at night, after dinner when we have time, I put on shoes and Lando jumps up and down until he can sprint outside. And I can decompress from my day in the rhythm of drop it, good boy, toss, drop it, good boy toss, living in the middle of our first little family tradition, created by our first little furry fiend.
What I’ve been working on
I do apologize it’s been awhile. The last few weeks have been used for finishing a 4600 word story, which you can find here. Abuse and anger derailed Teddy Allen's life. Now he seeks redemption with the Huskers
Best Thing I Read This Week
An SEC football coach became a Trump-loving Senate hopeful. His players no longer recognize him, from the Washington Post.
Writing Music: