I’ve had several dogs throughout my childhood. There was Jasper, the 260-pound Great Pyrenees, who refused to eat his kibble unless served on a dinner plate like everyone else; Katie, the greyhound, rescued from a track after she lost one too many races; Miranda, a basset hound, who found it highly amusing to demand an extra long walk, 1-2 miles, then refuse to walk back; and Paxton, a morbidly-obese, necktie wearing boxer with a love of Nutty Bars. However, I have never had a dog that loved to play fetch as much as Alice and Arlo.
Alice and Arlo are absolutely enthralled by the game of fetch. It doesn’t matter what is thrown or where we are. If something leaves my hand, they won’t rest until it’s returned. While it makes it easy to get them exercise – I use a racquetball on hardwood floors. It’s hysterical – it can sometimes be a distraction, such as now, when I’m writing this column trying to ignore the tennis ball being repeatedly rammed into the small of my back, or this weekend, when Arlo killed a rat.
Arlo discovered his love of catching rodents this winter, when he accidentally killed a mouse running across my kitchen floor. I didn’t think much of it at the time; he is a rat terrier mix after all. However, returning from work the next day, I was greeted by Arlo, who proudly showed me not one but four dead mice he had so diligently piled on my pillow as gifts.
Saturday, though, it was not a mouse he caught, but a fully-grown rat, about the size of a squirrel but less fuzzy. I’m not a big fan of my dogs bringing me dead animals, but I wasn’t going to put up too much of a fuss over a rat. Better dead than rooting through my trash cans, or so I thought.
Praising him, I traded him a puppy treat for his trophy, took a few steps back and lobbed the thing into the woods as far as I could throw it. I think we all know where this is going.
Alice, who was rather upset at her little brother’s attempt to show her up in my eyes, was after it like a flash. Plunging through the dead leaves, sticker bushes and rotting logs, she snagged the rat, ran back and deposited it at my feet.
Being the college-educated man that I am, I didn’t think about the consequences as I grabbed the rat and again threw it into the woods. Again, Alice ran off, returning a few moments later with the object I threw. Arlo, trying to get in on the game, brought me a piece of brick he found under the porch – he’s not the brightest.
I’d like to think of myself as a fairly intelligent person, but even I have some doubts after I threw that dead rat into the woods five times, having it returned by panting, but entirely thrilled dogs each time. Finally, and by complete accident, I threw the rat onto the roof of the shed, where Alice and Arlo circled below trying to figure out how to get to it. Disgruntled, I called my two furry companions and we went inside to wash up.
I wish I had a moral to this story or had something profound to tell you came out of this experience. Mostly, I just felt defeated and rather annoyed. However, I am glad my dogs had fun and hope whatever hawk or buzzard finds that rat appreciates the struggle I went to get it to them.
Thomas is the managing editor of the Newton County Appeal. He can be reached at thoward@newtoncountyappeal.com
