The Ball 2
Bentley Catches a Mouser
You’ve probably been on the edge of your seat, as it were - sweat on brow, heavy breathing, mouse at the ready, eye trailing your staggering cursor, and with an eager finger wanting to click - to seek, to know, to find out whether I did in fact toss the ball or not. I can tell, my goodness, my comment section is so so full, on my ‘The Ball’ hub. Many were lost in the wonderment of it all at work, chatting about it around the water cooler. The ‘ball subject’ is popping up all over town. And at a monitor near you, whether it be one at home, on your lap or in the palm of your hand.
Bentley's first snow
I did toss it ....
.... and in the pond as I wanted to do, not in the garbage can, Baron would have liked it that way, and am damn proud of myself for doing it. it was so ‘grown-up’ of me I know, but I really had hopes, none the less, of having a picture of it for posterity reasons, and to post here. The last picture in the long line of images I have of Baron. Most had to be shot quickly, he didn’t like having his picture taken when he was alive, flash or not, but I think the flash started it; I only thought it might scare his ghost away. I know, silly me. Oh, what we go through for our dogs, our beloved dogs. Our best friends, and we have them for such a short time; an unlawful short time, to say the least!
At least the picture here, before you read on, must have put you, fellow followers, at ease, right? Well, about this picture, as most of you probably noticed already; it’s a newer ball floating there, nestled in the leaves and twigs, and not the rotting one I’ve told you about, that Baron guarded at night and bothered Bently. Actually, that one didn’t float.
The little gold stand ....
.... that held the rotting relic; I had to take off the shelf and put in my drawer, maybe that should have gone in the pond to. Bentley still couldn’t keep his eyes off it, and it’s funny, he still looks up at that area of the shelf, like pavlovas dog, when there’s nothing there anymore. He does seem happier since that day, after I tossed it. For a brief instant I thought he was going in the pond after it. He had the moves, but then he stopped at the waters edge. We both heard the ‘plop’ it made in the water, and we both watched the ripples roll from it, till it all was calm again. We were alerted by a few bubbles surfacing and I thought great, it was on it’s way back up from the murky bottom for a few bobs in the water, a last glimpse, a final farewell, and I’d hear a distant apparition of a splash from Baron, before it made it’s final decent, but it didn’t happen that way. Those bubbles were the last air it had in it before it sank, and left me forever.
The ball that’s left floating ....
.... pictured here, is the one I had in the other pocket, and it didn’t need a plastic bag. I brought it along that day just in case Bentley, after seeing that Barons ball was gone and out of his life, might be confident enough and snap out of his fears and fetch it. And he almost did it, and it seems he wanted to do it. It was in him to do it. His inner ‘dog thing’ was ready to follow through with it. But, it just wasn’t going to happen that day, just as you see it floating here, is the same way we left it. Not even a few sticks and rocks I hurled in, close to the ball, intised him enough to go in after it, or after anything in there. He’s not much of a swimmer either. He did wade that day. The water was up to his chest, which was better than usual. I’m anxious to see what he does at the beach. But I better hurry up and take him, he just turned 10 years of age. Or, ‘the big 7 - 0' in our time frame.
This is Bentley coming out of the corn field. Does that look like a smile to you? It sure does to me.
He's a cross between a chow and lab. Notice the one ear up and one down, coat is thicker and he doesn't have that 'whip' tail labs are known for. Also half his tongue is blue and the other side pink. I do notice a difference in him. He’s been sleeping closer to my room at
night, as well. It’s cute how he’s been doing it. When I wake, and the few
nights I’v had to use the restroom, I’ll see the progression he’s making.
Whether he walks or creeps in on foot through out the night I can’t say. I’v
haven’t heard him. He’ll come running in, tail wagging his butt, in the morning
like nothing has happened throughout the night. And I certainly, half
thankful, don’t hear any thumps in the night from his predecessor.It's been about a month now. And it seems the coast is clear for Bentley to become my shadow now. It's never too late. We're going to the beach next weekend, just him and I. I figure I won't have to bring any balls or toys or Frisbees, I can always through in a dead fish or crab or something. If that doesn't do it nothing will.
Know you'll love this story:
In the early 1800's a man called John Gray, a gardener, arrived in Edinburgh with his wife and son looking for work. The weather was cold, however, and the ground was hard, so there were no gardening jobs available. He took what work he could find, and became a member of the Edinburgh Police Force - a Constable.
As a condition of his job, John Gray was required to have a dog. He bought a Skye Terrier and named him Bobby (Bobby was the nickname for Constables in the Police Force). Bobby became a beloved and loyal companion.
Unfortunately, after a few years as a policeman, John Gray became ill with tuberculosis, and died in February 1958. He was buried in old Greyfriars Kirkyard (Churchyard) in an unremarkable grave with no gravestone.
For the next fourteen years, Bobby sat and kept guard over his master's grave. He left the grave only for food, waiting patiently until the one o'clock gun was sounded, when he visited the cafe at 5/6 Greyfriar's Place which he used to frequent with his master. There the owners (who changed over the years) would feed him his dinner. The last owner to feed Bobby, John Traill, had a special dish made for him (engraved "Bobby's Dinner Dish"), which can be seen in the Museum of Edinburgh.
Bobby's grave can be found in Greyfriars Kirkyard, about 75 yards from John Gray's grave. Theheadstone is engraved with these words: "Greyfriars Bobby - died 14th January 1872 - aged 16 years - Let his loyalty and devotion be a lesson to us all".