Game of Tennis Ball Brings Office to its Knees

By

Kevin Garrison

 I always thought that when the kids were finally grown and gone it

would be a golden age of self-employment. No interruptions! No leaving

my home office to tow a car out of a ditch! No trying to concentrate

while hearing a too-loud rendition of the latest pop pap.

 

Of course, a newly childless couple can also be a lonely couple, so we

added a dog to our pack last fall. A Corgi named Chloe.

 

It turns out that this particular Corgi likes to play tennis ball. No,

wait a minute... saying she likes tennis ball is like saying that

celebrities like attention or that politicians like rich donors.

 

Basically, the game goes like this: Chloe pushes the tennis ball to me

from across the room with her nose. She can putt a tennis ball

accurately about fifteen feet. I pick up the ball and throw it or toss

it in the air. She gets it and repeats the procedure.

 

For up to twelve hours a day if you let her.

 

I could ignore her, but how long will she want to do this? Dogs don't

live that awful long. How would I feel if I told her to stuff her

tennis ball and went back to my work?

 

Plus, in addition to being cute and intelligent, we have never had a

dog who would return a tennis ball exactly at your feet. You know what

I mean. Most dogs will go after a tennis ball, but will either lose

their concentration once they catch it or get sidetracked on their way

back to you.

 

All dogs mean well when it comes to playing with their

humans, but they lack the attention span or attitude to stick with a

game for more than a few minutes. The exceptions to this rule are the

Frisbee dogs and those cool mutts who jump off of lakefront docks just

to catch a toy in the air.

 

Dogs don't know anything about deadlines, utility bills, health

insurance forms, or returning phone calls. Having a dog who wants to

play with you is a blessing and a wonderful thing. I hate to waste our

opportunities to play just because I want to do the too human things

like pay bills and fund overpaid health insurers.

 

Chloe brings the ball back every single time. Every time, that is,

until she tires of the game and goes under a tree (or in the case of

my office, the table) to rest for a minute. Once refreshed, she is up

and playing again and again and again.

 

Part of this whole process makes me a little sad. I think back on all

the times when I had my actual kids to play with but put them off

because I wanted to finish some moronic piece about Elvis or to pitch

a book project to a cretin who never ever returned my calls. Every

time a child wants to play and doesn't get to play with you is

something you never get back because eventually kids get older and

don't want to play with you anymore.

 Following my policy that dogs are more interesting than people and

knowing that I'd rather have a cute corgi bothering me than an office

full of balding middle managers I continue to throw the stupid ball.

Who knows? Throwing it may delay the onset of carpal tunnel for ten

years.

 

My dream of at least one hour of continuous creative work will have to wait. Chloe just putted me the ball – again.

C.2007 Kevin Garrison