Go Fetch

The last couple of days have been particularly windy in the NYC. And when I say windy, I mean that even with an extra ten pounds of meat on my bones* I am having a hard time keeping my feet on the ground. It's been several days since the dogs have had any real exercise because, lets face it, I'm a lazy slob. Or else I just don't love them. I do, after all, let them fish their food out of the litter box. Hey, you know? Poop is like their chocolate. Who am I to deny them such a decadent pleasure? If that's not proof of my interest in their well-being, I don't know what is. 

This morning I was feeling livelier than usual so I decided to peel myself off the sofa and take the dogs to the park to throw a tennis ball around. Of course I forgot our tennis ball, so I was forced to throw one of the matted, feces speckled tennis balls already in the park.  You know the kind. It's been slobbered over and chewed on by so many different dogs it's hardly recognizable as a ball anymore. It's lost it's circular shape and most of  it's green fuzz. If it were a velveteen rabbit, it'd be real. This seems to make the ball all the more appealing to Valentine, and she's jumping around in circles, eagerly anticipating my throw. I draw my arm back and Valentine races towards the other end of the park. She likes to get a head start on the ball. I swing my arm forward and release the ball. But the thing is, not only do I throw like a girl, and not only has the chewed on lump of rubber lost all the qualities that once made it aerodynamic, it's really windy out. Really windy. The ball does not head in the direction I've thrown it. Instead, it launches right for Valentine and conks her in the back of the head.  She reels forward and all four legs go out from under her. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" I cry out. I jog over to her and crouch down to make sure she's all right. She responds by wagging her tail and nibbling my nose. Let's try that again, I think. I pick up the ball, she does her happy dance. I hold the ball over my head and she races to get her head start. I launch the ball into the air, the wind picks it up, carries it right to her, and she gets another smack in the head. "Baby, I'm so sorry!" I call out, as if she understands English. I rush over to her and stroke her face, scratch her ears, apologize. She nibbles my nose and my ears and wags her tail to let me know all is forgiven. I reach for the ball slowly, not sure she's still up for the game. The tail-wagging doubles in time. I  stand up and bring the ball over my head and this time, she hangs back behind me. Girl catches on quick. I raise the ball over my head and launch it. She stands about a foot behind me and watches as it sails through the air. "Go get the ball!" I say, excitedly. And then she turns and looks at me and I swear to God, if she had the proper set up she'd have said, "You get the ball, Bitch."

*We'll talk about that later.