The Games We Play

I know I'm a lucky dog. I have lots and lots of great toys. They're kept in a woven basket in the family room. I ignore them most days, but every once in awhile, a toy calls to me.

And so I dig.

Inevitably, the toy calling is at the bottom of the basket and though its scent is strong, I must work very hard to find it.

I bury my head in the basket, locate the specific toy, and then toss out the ones in the way.

This can take quite awhile and though my moms are intent on watching the NCAA Women's Final Four Basketball game, I dig and sniff and dig and toss until I find the exact toy I want.


Occasionally, I lift my head to take a breath. It's hard work though it may not look like it. My moms aren't really any help. They just sit on the couch, watch the game, and throw out some encouraging words like, "Good dog" or "Keep digging, fella!"

But finding the toy is up to me and me alone. It's Zen in a way. Sole focus, in the now, dogged determination...(a puppy pun that is!)...and eventually, eventually I get to the bottom of that basket to find my nemesis...the toy calling my name.


This time it was a bone, one my best friend Monty had chewed on the night before. His scent was still on it and, in fact, it was his scent that knew my name.

Oh, the games we play.