Juliette may seem a little slow, but that dog’s got some game. You give her a tennis ball, and she knows Jolie will want it. She also knows it’s about the only time that the two of them will play without Jolie growling and snarling at her (big dog in a little body; Jolie tries to scare her into compliance because she can’t beat it into her). When Juliette has the ball–Jolie’s treasure, her prize–she has all of the power, and Jolie has to play her game.
So she dances around, drops the ball, pushes it with her paw, turns her head away. And then, once a fully-enraged Jolie comes charging at her, she grabs the ball and runs like hell.
This is more useful to me now than ever. Now that I can’t run them, chase them, or even really walk them far or fast at all, there is this one thing I can do: lead them into a fenced-in grassy area that no-one knows what it’s even there for, so people use it for picnics and dogs who like to run in circles. Juliette wriggles under the fence first, although it’s a tight fit, and I hand her the tennis ball. It’s like turning the screw on a wind-up toy, if you crossed a wind-up toy with a perpetual-motion machine and ended up with a run-time somewhere in the middle. For dropping one tennis ball into the beagle’s mouth, today I clocked them at eighteen minutes of uninterrupted chase.
They’d have even gone longer, except I got bored. Did I mention how incredibly boring it is? I mean, sure: cute at first, but then they’re just chasing…and stopping…and chasing…and Jolie barks once…then they chase some more…. And I stand there while people walk by and stare curiously, or, even worse, run by. This morning I went a little earlier than usual and got passed by about three million groups of runners, all of whom looked fit and energetic and like they were enjoying themselves immensely. Most of all, none of them looked like people for whom each additional minute of walking distance directly threatens their social lives.
So I lure them back under the fence, and then I pull the second tennis ball out of my purse and throw it for Jolie. She won’t bring it back unless Juliette is safely distracted, but luckily Juliette loses interest in her own ball once Jolie loses interest in her, so she drops it and wanders off after Jolie. I pick it up, wave it at her, remind her how cool it is, and she sees the remnant of her former importance to her best friend and goes bounding clumsily after it, giant paws flying everywhere, when I finally let it go.
Jolie, sensing her moment, bolts up to me and drops her own ball into the “V” I make with my stupid, ugly sneakers, and we repeat the process. Over. And over. And over.
My MRI is in ninety minutes. Wish me luck. Or, at least, cuter shoes.