Love at First Bark

She was such a tiny little thing. Her jet-black waves framed her face, drawing attention to her brown eyes - so brown that one had to look closely to be sure that they too weren't black. We found her huddled in a corner. There were only three of them. Their parents had been taken away as had their other siblings. Her brothers didn't seem to mind, but she was clearly frightened. My heart immediately ached for her. She was so young to have had so much loss. We sat in the room, simply visiting with her guardians. Her brothers played as if life was everything they wanted it to be. We waited, hoping that our presence, our unintrusive presence, would eventually relax her and bring her out. We hoped to gain her trust by not forcing it.

Fortunately, the young are more trusting than the rest of us, and we didn't have to wait long. Slowly, she uncurled herself as she continued to watch us warily. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her body relax. She ventured ever-so-slightly away from her place of safety. We continued our conversation. She took a few more steps in our direction. Paused. A few more steps.

BAM! One of her brothers tackled her where she stood. She took off after him - our presence, for the moment, forgotten. We watched her play. Yes. She was the one. We adopted her then and there and brought her home with us.

When we took her from her siblings, all the fear and shyness we had observed at first came back with a vengeance. She kept her head down. She had to be by our side constantly - touching one of us at all times - even when we walked from one room to another. We often tripped over her but miraculously never fell on her.

Then we had the breakthrough we'd hoped would come. It came from a source we'd attempted to use many times as an instrument to distract her from her fears, but as it so often happens when we try to control others, try to make them behave as we see fit, force them into our mold for them, the change didn't come in our time but in hers - when she was ready.

I remember it clearly. I sat at the kitchen counter. She had become comfortable enough now that she could venture a foot or two away, so she sat on the floor nearby. A ball lay at the foot of the stool upon which I sat. We'd tried to play ball with her many times but she would have none of it. Today, I absent-mindedly kicked the ball. It rolled across the floor in front of her. I watched her watch the ball. She'd never shown that much interest in it. The ball bumped the cabinet and stopped. I got down off my stool, her eyes now on me instead of the ball. I went over to the ball and tapped it. It rolled ever-so-slowly towards the refrigerator. She stood up suddenly fully alert, and then it happened. She barked for the first time. What was this thing that seemingly moved of its own accord? She went up to it. Hmmm. No butt. Where to sniff first? Somehow she figured it out, sniffed, and deemed it safe. She nudged it with her nose. It rolled! I flicked it with my finger, sending it into the dining room. She ran after it.

Our lives haven't been the same since. Whereas our empty-nest used to boast a clutter-free, dust-free floor, we now find balls of assorted color and size scattered among those of the black furr variety. Brushing teeth, drying hair, or applying makeup are now coupled with a game of fetch. We've become adept (okay, my husband has become adept. I've got a long way to go) at kicking a small ball while performing mundane but necessary household chores such as: making the bed, cooking dinner, or folding laundry.

I some times wonder how our lives would be different if balls didn't intrigue Marje as they do. I suppose I would never have acquired the indispensable talent of typing with one hand while playing fetch with the other.