I've just put the medicine in Neon's ears again. He's such a good dog, but for some reason, he yelps every time I put the ointment in his left ear. I don't know if I'm sticking him someplace sore, or if the ointment is too cold, or if it's something else entirely. If I had to pick a bad ear for Neon, it would be his left one, but that of course only makes me want to be doubly sure that he's got the medicine.
(This is my first taste of what it will be like when my baby won't be feeling well. Just like Neon, she won't understand why I have to do what hurts, and I'll have to do it anyway.)
I do my best with Neon to cheer him up right after we've done his ears. Occasionally it's a snack, but more often it's play time with the ball. He's pretty good at shaking off the bad feelings and playing.
Pasta and Neon are both nuts over the tennis ball. I'm convinced it's genetic for Cocker Spaniels to be this way. I know they were bred for hunting and retrieving, and I guess a tennis ball is the kill of today.
The first Cocker I ever knew lived next door to us when we were growing up in Chestnut Hill, PA. Her name was Muffin. She lived with an older couple in a converted stable, which was convenient for them, since the husband could roll his wheelchair up the ramp once used by horses to get into the house.
Muffin obsessed about the ball. If I was walking home through their yard, Muffin would greet me with the ball. I'd throw it over and over as I made my way across their field (it was pretty big), and she would bring it back until we reached the edge of their property, when Muffin would go back home.
Her best trick was playing by herself. She'd learned that she could lie at the top of the ramp and drop the ball out of her mouth. It would roll, quicker and quicker, down the incline, and she would chase after it like the demon it was. Once she'd captured the ball, she'd proudly trot to the top of the ramp and lie down. And begin again.
My first Cocker Spaniel, Mr. Saunders, loved to play with the ball too. Sadly, we had to put him to sleep just before his fourth birthday (a story for another day, perhaps), so he didn't get to play as much as he would have liked.
Pasta and Neon are brothers, from the same litter. When I got them, I wanted two dogs so they would have each other's company during the day while I'm at work. What I should have known was how competitive they would each be to get the ball. It is a daily focus for them. Make that hourly, when I'm at home.
If I sit on the couch or another particular chair, Pasta will quietly approach me and leave a ball nestled next to my leg. Sometimes I'll go ahead and play right away, other times I'll make them wait. Now and again, I stand up not knowing that the ball has been planted. It falls to the floor bouncing and the dogs both scurry giddily to retrieve it.
I've taken to more complex games. The dog's cage is right next to the television. If I put the ball on top of the television (which is on a table), Neon will buck up his courage and climb atop the wire cage, then balance on his hind legs on the cage to grab the ball.
There's no place he won't try to go to get the ball. And if either of them has a ball and I pick up a new one, the other ball is dropped to the floor immediately so they're both ready to chase my ball. They even know how to spell ball. If I just say 'B-A-L-L', one of them will run off to find one.
When we lived in Bumpass I would throw the ball over and over again in our field until the dogs finally became exhausted. This usually took more than half an hour, but by the end of it they were the happiest dogs on the planet.
So for the next week and a half while I continue to medicate Neon's ears day and night, we'll be playing with the ball a bunch. I can only hope that the fun he has makes him forget the pain I'm causing him.
This morning's sleet turned to rain, but by the end of the day we were through the storm. Tonight when Jean and I went for take out, I noticed icicles hanging under the rear view mirrors.
listening: Star Trek VI (Soundtrack)
reading: The Hobbit (Bumpy's Bedtime Book)
© 1999 Kevin J.T. Creamer