Scene: My kitchen, most any morning of the week.
Just back from a 4 mile walk with the dogs, I wait for the teakettle to belch steam. Zwa and GeeGee slurp up water on the far side of the kitchen. Tasha drinks coffee and reads in the living room. Birds chirp and squirrels chatter in the yard.
Then it begins.
Zwa, a young and agile husky, struts over to me and crouches into a perfect Downward Dog–his front legs stretched out on the ground, his back-end up in the air, his tail expectantly wagging.
We lock eyes.
He lets out a low pitched, happy, expectant howl. It’s an invitation to play. He’s saying, “Let’s play chase!”, or “You can’t catch me, old man!”, or “Please, play with me!”
I take a quick step and he’s off in a flash–past the pantry, through the dining room, into the living room. GeeGee and I pursue him. Zwa spins around, back into Downward Dog. He taunts us with another howl. Tasha grabs her coffee and sinks into her chair. GeeGee and I approach him from opposite sides of the coffee table.
He runs at us, leaps effortlessly into the air and sails over the 6 foot long table. GeeGee and I spin around, chasing him back to the kitchen. Tasha takes a quick sip of coffee.
GeeGee blows past me, catches Zwa by the neck, and they slide across the wooden floor. Zwa breaks free and zooms back to the living room. We spin around and head after him.
On it goes–chasing, grappling, crashing, twisting, spinning, leaping.
I call a Time Out when my water boils.
The dogs keep at it.
Tasha suggest this play goes outside.
Then it’s nap time.