14 June 2019

by Tom Swift

After coming back from a fifty-minute walk your little buddy sprints down the line of the fence to chase a squirrel racing down the top, prompting the squirrel to leap onto a tree branch — six feet up being not high enough for comfort. Then he, the little buddy, sprints back into the yard, turns, and sprints with the ball you just rolled his way, pushing that bigger-than-his-head-ball with his nose, sans break stride, popping up when the ball bounces, getting low when the ball rolls, adjusting when the ball runs into the fence, playing it off the wall (as they say in baseball), coming back the way he came, ball still with him — up, then down, left to right, yeah, buddy, go — as he growls the growl he’s earned, the growl that comes with the DNA for play. After all these years he still has that mojo. He still can make the moment. He shows you that.