Musings of a Super Mutt (Chapter 8)
Ah, Balls! How do I love thee? Perfectly round, beautifully bouncy, aero-dynamic little spheres of joy. Yep, fuzzy or smooth, nothing beats the feel of balls in your mouth.
No, I am not referring to the ones that were unceremoniously snipped from me when I was a helpless youth. I’m talking about the ones I seek to play fetch with whenever the spirit moves me — which is pretty much any time I’m awake and not eating. Actually, if you gave me a choice between a bowl of kibble and a ball, I’d take the ball any day. A ball versus a rib-eye bone? That’s a tough one. Depends on how much meat is still on the bone.
Regardless, the point is clear: Balls are essential to the health and happiness of any dog. That’s why I’m giving them their own chapter. I like the symmetry of it all. I started my musings with balls and I’m ending with them. I’ve come full circle, so to speak.
Beyond the aesthetic appeal, why are canines are so freakin’ crazy about balls? Obviously, much of it is instinctual. As carnivores, our need to stalk, chase, and capture runs deep. A simple game of fetch satisfies this urge, especially if the ball has a springy texture so we can bite into it and feel its succulent squishiness with our eyeteeth. We delight in running down the prey-like orb and bringing it back to our human friend so they can throw it again. Well, to be honest, the “bringing it back” part is not executed well by all dogs, myself included. We fully embrace the chase and capture part, but relinquishing it after the fact? Not so much.
Sure, if you’re a robotically obedient goody-two-shoes, you return the ball directly back to your human’s waiting hand. This makes you the dog version of a hall monitor, so good on you. But the rest of us are less inclined to give up the hard-won prize. I mean, we did all the work, so it’s only fair that you contribute some effort as well. This is why many of us drop the ball a good distance from you. It requires you to move your lazy butts and go pick it up.
Even better, we sometimes don’t give you back the ball at all. We entice you to chase us for it. Besides adding another fun dimension to the fetch game, it makes you work harder. And I know I speak for quite a few of my canine brothers and sisters when I say we enjoy watching you chase us. Your ridiculously slow and hilariously awkward bipedal gait is the definition of comedic entertainment.
I’m especially amused by your earnest expressions when you try to strategically corral us with your arms spread wide. You have zero chance of catching us unless we slow down to humor you, but you still believe you can overcome this by imitating a flightless bird. Bless your determined little hearts. If we could praise you with a rub behind the ears without scratching the bajeebers out of you, we would. Thank you for being you.
And yet, there is more to balls than sheer entertainment. They allow us to connect more deeply to our human friends. Sharing the playful ritual of “human throw ball, dog retrieve ball,” further deepens our mutual bond. It’s actually quite remarkable when you think about it. Such a basic formula yielding such powerful results:
Dog + Human + Ball = Best Friends
I am humbled by its simplicity.
Yes, balls are amazing, and I’m sure every dog on the planet remembers the day when they first realized how important balls truly are to them. For me, it was during a typical walk around the neighborhood with my dad. I was a mere adolescent, a little over a year of age, and we were strolling past the community tennis courts where a couple of humans were practicing hitting balls with their racquets (another crazy human invention that sincerely makes me think you have too much time on your hands). Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted what appeared to be dozens of tennis balls lying on the court. I was drawn to them like a fly to poop.
Unfortunately, the courts were surrounded by tall chain-link fences, keeping all the precious orbs tragically imprisoned. This did not prevent me from commencing a digging effort to somehow burrow beneath the fences and reach the promised land. Alas, my dad pulled me away, explaining that this is not acceptable and that the balls were not mine anyway. I sadly accepted his paternal logic but continued to look forlornly in the direction of the court.
I must admit I felt a tad resentful about the inequity of it all. After all, I did not have a single ball with me, yet the two racquet-flailing humans had enough to fill a doghouse. I’m not so naïve, nor selfless enough to expect there to be equal distribution of said balls, but this disparity was simply too much. I felt compelled to take action.
I emitted a pathetic whine, which managed to attract the attention of the two racquet-flailers. They looked curiously over at me and my dad. Kudos to my Dad for helping seal the deal. He quipped to them, not entirely erroneously, that I thought the ball-laden court was actually doggie-heaven. This made them smile and sympathetically toss one of the delectable little spheres over the fence to me. Well, as you can imagine, I was ecstatic. I quickly retrieved the ball, tugging the leash so hard in the process that my Dad fell over.
I was so happy at my newly acquired treasure that I barked joyously in thanks. This, of course, resulted in said treasure flying out of my mouth and another bout of retrieval, leash-tugging, and Dad stumbling. I made a mental note that when you have a ball in your mouth it is virtually impossible to keep it in place when you bark. A lesson in the pitfalls of multi-tasking, if you will.
All in all, it was a day to remember, and in my mind it solidified the deep — dare I say holy? — importance of balls in my life.
Now, some of you may feel that the canine obsession with balls goes too far, but you must admit that you humans share our love of balls. All of your major sports revolve around them. Baseball, Softball, Basketball, Soccer, the aforementioned Tennis, Golf, Handball, Volleyball, Ping Pong — the list goes on. (Note: I didn’t include Football in the list because the ball it uses is oblong, not perfectly round. When it comes to balls, I’m a purist. With the name “Baloo,” can you blame me?). Curiously, many of these sports also involve the patting of each other’s butts which, while endearing, represents a missed opportunity. I mean, if you’re already going to pat each other’s butt, why not take advantage of the proximity and take a nice sniff? But I digress…
The point is that we dogs are not alone in our adoration of balls. I see this as yet another wonderful touchpoint of the commonality between our species. There is a comforting consequence to this. We like balls, you like balls, ergo we like each other. Perhaps I oversimplify, but the gist of it rings true.
Where our species part ways is when it comes to knowing the difference between obsession and addiction. Dogs may become obsessed with an object, but rarely do we become addicted. Sadly, this is not so much the case for humans. I’m not just referring to the obvious things like alcoholic beverages, or the weird little pills some of you take to your detriment. I’m also referring to the dangerous little device you carry around all day. This object you call a cell phone appears to own you. And it miraculously does it without the intoxicating scent that balls acquire from bouncing through grass, carpet, dirt, pavement, and various other pungent surfaces.
Admit it, that little device controls you. And it does so without a leash. Yes, you are its bitch. And when it comes to bitches, I know from whence I speak. For most humans, the cell phone is the first object you engage with when you wake up in the morning, and it’s the last thing you play with before you go to bed. In between, you check it every few minutes. And for what? Is there really so much pressing information that you need to access it that frequently? Will you honestly fall apart if you don’t know the latest thing someone said or did? As I’ve stated before, dogs covet a good walk so they can sniff around and learn what’s happening in the neighborhood, but we don’t need to do it 57 times a day.
I think the most troubling part of your addiction is that you believe cell phones connect you to life when, in fact, it removes you from reality. The here and now. The scent in the air, the wind in your hair, the sounds of life around you. To my amazement, many are the times I’ve seen people staring at images of nature on their cell phones… while sitting in nature itself! Seriously? Wake up! Turn off the damn device and look around you. Connect with living creatures that are in your physical proximity, instead of viewing them through a sterile screen. For heaven’s sake, you can’t even smell what you are viewing on that little screen. As a dog, I find this aspect especially irksome.
The bottom line is that the benefit of the cell phone — being able to speak to a loved one who is not present, or read important information — has been overshadowed by crap that distracts you from the very thing you were put on this planet for: Living.
Don’t ask me how you will ever overcome this addiction. I’ve seen each of my parents panic when they can’t find their cell phones. One wonders if they’d worry quite as much if one of the cats went missing. Sure, they’d worry and search, but it pales in comparison to the intense re-tracing of steps and self-recriminations that come with a misplaced cell phone.
In fact, I once overheard Dad suggest to Mom that they should train me to find their cell phones if they ever got lost. At first, she thought it was an excellent idea, but they ultimately jettisoned the idea because they feared what would happen if I actually found it. Nightmarish visions of my drool drenching the cellphone and rendering it inoperable put a kibosh on the plan. The fact that Apple’s warranty covers dog drool did not seem to influence their decision.
Please accept my observations in the spirit in which I intend them. I want what’s best for you — to fully engage in all the physical world has to offer. Not spend your days with your nose embedded in a cold, addictive device designed to prevent you from experiencing the here and now.
A final question: What the heck is “butt dialing”? It sounds so impressive, yet it invariably results in one person telling another they’re sorry. Not sure what to make of that because, from a dog’s perspective, you should never apologize for anything involving the butt. It should only evoke feelings of pride.
So, there you have it, my last unsolicited musing on a topic I hope you found illuminating. I know I’ve enjoyed my many musings with you and I pray Dad accurately translated them as channeled. If not, I suppose we’ll never know, but I do trust the man. With the exception of his complicity in the early removal of my biological balls, he has been a stand-up guy.
Now if you’ll excuse me, nature calls, and there’s a tree stump out there waiting for me…
Author’s Note: Musings of a Super Mutt was inspired by the thoughts and observations of Baloo, a mixed breed rescue dog of humble origins but noble intentions. He was my furry best friend who departed all too soon at the tender age of four. Unafraid to pull punches (he was part Boxer, after all), Baloo told it like he saw it, or more often, smelled it. Awesome, goofy, loving canine soul.
