Play Time

Brenda rushes out of her crate like a bowling ball thrown by a child—a little wobbly and bumping into both sides of the lane. She’s not quite a gutter ball but she’s no strike either. Her head seems disconnected from her torso, which doesn’t quite fit with her hips, which is in complete opposition to her tail. She lets out a stream of snorts, chortles and sneezes.

She’s perpetually sick, but it rarely dampens her spirit. Illness has become her normal mode of existence. The other day she started whimpering when I touched her right ear and I can hear fluid sloshing around inside when I palpate it. But that doesn’t stop her either.

She runs up to Sadie and barks and snaps directly into her face before maniacally hitting the canine play position over and over again like a yogi on meth. Sadie stays stoic for a second and stares at Brenda. Sadie’s ears are pressed back and her posture is rigid. Her eyes are so huge and the skin of her forehead pulled so far back that she looks like an old lady who forgot to draw her eyebrows on.

Then Sadie cracks. Can’t take it anymore. Can’t resist the invitation. Bam, she bows and the game is on. Brenda is so excited she goes in for a nip and retreats almost instantly. Her confidence is so low. Sadie rolls on her back, shows some belly and pops upright. The dance continues. Brenda’s barks get louder and louder.

Porter wakes up and decides he wants to have some fun, too, and tries to join. While Sadie is gentle with Brenda, she’s ruthless with Porter. But Porter can handle it—when he wants to. A couple of weeks ago a boxer puppy named Rose gnawed on his ears while at daycare and the staff had to pry her off of him. Most of the time he’s a big whimp.

Porter and Sadie play so loud and so rough I’m paranoid my downstairs neighbors will call the cops. In two years, they haven’t even asked us to be quiet, though. We’re lucky. Brenda is pushed out of the scuffle and gawks at the two of them. Her ears flop in front of her head, her magnificent clown-face smile is on in full glory and she pants. Then she barks—and barks and barks—as if to applause the magnificent healthy creatures in front of her.

On the bed, off the bed, on the couch, dive roll into the oversized bean bag, run into the hall, bump into a wall, chase each other back onto the bed. Sadie takes Porter’s entire thigh into her mouth. He retaliates by humping her.

Ben and I watch this unfold. Laughing, pointing, commenting. Then it’s “Enough!” Paranoia that someone in the building is going to knock on our door, or that we’ll hear the head of a broom thumping from underneath our floor sets in again, and we make the dogs stop. It is past midnight, after all.