Something Worth Biting Me For.

Well, it may not be official for a few more days, but I believe summer is already here. This thought occured to me while standing underneath a tree today. At the time I was doing a little dance, trying desperately to remove the green worm inching up my shoulder. Trees + Worms = Summer. It's a disgusting natural truth. Summer = outdoor flyball practice, hence my interaction with the worm.

Now, I'm in a weird position. In order to go out and enjoy a worm-filled flyball practice I have to spend 3 hours in the car in order to pick up my dog and drop him off back home again. Every Sunday. Life circumstance's dictate that he live with my parents. I love flyball, and I LOVE my boy, but as you can imagine all the driving is wearing a little thin. To make matters worse... Benny bites.

Not like... bites, bites. Just ... nips. And ONLY if there's a tennis ball involved. So driving to practice tonight I was contemplating what compels me to go so far every Sunday for a dog with vampire-ish qualities. I didn't catch on until I was leaving the city once again, in the dark, with a very tired, very happy little boy laying on the seat next to me doing his best 'Hobbes' impression.

Benny was given to me when I was sixteen. We were on the farm, and as every farm kid knows... there is nothing scarier than walking around the place at night. There are 'things' living out there, you know? No one knows what kind of things... cougars, coyotes, a particularly threatening looking fence post (most likely)... so that walk is a lot easier with a great protector by your side. Someone willing to eviscerate that clump of grass (... I swear to God it moved...) if the need should arise. I would go out with friends and roll home during the ungodly wee hours of the morning, and park my car that 100 dark metres from the house. But it was okay. Because I always had an escort. He'd walk me to the porch, kissing my hand with glee, listening to my stories, feeling so pleased that he had been charged with the care of this girl. When I was safe and snug in my room, he would be outside making sure that all those imaginery baddies never set foot in the yard. Although always sweet as the dicken's with me, I have ALWAYS known that he harbors a certain ferociousness, and I've always found that calming. Whether we live together now or not, we have a history. In it, I'm his little girl, and he's a giant wolf charged with my safety (ya' never know about those fence posts).

So I drive for him. Because he has ALWAYS been my pal, and if he thinks that flyball is worth biting me for, then it's worth fighting for. If he is so driven that he will go through me to get to his tennis ball, then that ball must be pretty special. Because I KNOW he thinks I am.