On A Tale of Two Balls, Part II

Part I: When I play ball with the Germans, it's like playing with two different beasts entirely. One is so like a normie, and one so like an addict. They both have these funny ways of believing things - of making their reality fit their beliefs.

But before we talk about playing ball, and the uncanny lessons in addictive personality traits and behaviors that these guys highlight, let's back up and just have a tour of everyday oddities, with these two.

The Big "W" has full rights, within my household. He's earned them - by being stable, non-destructive, obedient, and a myriad of other pleasing things. He reads my demeanor, and knows what to do, and listens with an uncanny focus.

"A," however, does not have full rights - but it's of his own doing. And he RESENTS this.

Oh, does he harbor resentments.

"A" cannot have run of the whole household because of a variety of reasons. First, I do not want to expand his neurotic-pee-zone into any more of the household carpeting than is necessary. He's gotten a lot better as he's matured, but it still does happen on occasion - perhaps once a month, a small stream of a partial-ounce or so.

But it DOES still happen, and enough is enough. I have to have boundaries - what I will accept, in household hygiene - do I not? (Fortunately, I have a steam cleaner/extractor type machine, or he'd be banished to hard floors ONLY. Oh, and enzymatic cleaner solutions that break down the pee.)

Secondly, "A" does not settle himself.

When he's in a room with a person, he has to stay-in-their-face. He physically rubs against you like a cat, and if you ignore him (which is rather difficult as he's pushing 100 lbs and there's not an ounce of fat on him - I don't believe in fat pets), he inserts his overly-long American-bred snout under your arm and - with surprisingly violent thrust - attempts to dismember the extremity.

Or he paws the edge of the table or desk or couch with a force behind his paw and inch-long claws that can ruin finishes and fabrics.

Or he puts his Kong upon your keyboard, and then gnaws on it, or rolls it with his nose to behind the keyboard, where he'll have to block the keyboard with his big lunk-head as he tries to gnaw it there. He's rather tall, and can look over a table top or desk top - disconcerting if you are having beef for dinner. He knows better than to approach such a delicacy, and stays quiet as I insist on manners in the kitchen, but he'll just stay as close as he dares and breathe on you the entire meal, quietly staring at that meat. He will not go lay down, and settle, as Big "W" does, at mealtime.

Or if you're sitting in a chair, he will literally try to climb into your lap, one forepaw then the other, and then try to shove his wedge-like snout into your - ahem - nether regions, as though he thinks himself a tiny lap dog seeking the comfort of a small corner of space. It doesn't occur to him that his hindquarters are still on the ground. Totally body dysmorphic, "A" is.

And you can't stop him. You can scold him, or physically remove him, or even forcefully shove him away, and his feet stay planted and he bounces right back into position just like a rubber cartoon. Funny, how he's so clever with an extensive arsenal of behaviors to garner attention and get what he wants, but seems to have no IQ whatsoever when I ask him for something I want. Hmmmmmmmmmmm.

So, first thing in the morning, after the Big "W" has awakened me with his bedside ritual, the two of us head down the stairs, where "A" without fail is stationed, front two paws on exactly the first step, the boundary where he is allowed, and no farther.

"A" stands sentry, in this position, awaiting our arrival, each morning. And each morning, he faces the same quandary: seek love and attention from me, or act out on his resentments against the more privileged Big "W."

Inevitably, the same scene plays out, every single day. "W" heads down the stairs in advance of me, and as "W" hits the level of the first step, "A" is there, jaws widely agape, waiting to swallow "W's" head, blocking "W's" descent into the kitchen.

"A" attempts to engulf "W's" head into his mouth, and "W" turns his head sideways, avoiding the annoyance, stepping around the bulky mass of "A's" body, as "A" prances alongside, still trying to swallow "W's" head. It's so comical. "A" is so frustrated by his resentments - no doubt replayed all night long as he sleeps alone downstairs in second-class pack status - that he looks forward each morning to releasing his frustration in this act of defiance toward his higher-ups.

Thank goodness "W" is ego-stable and feels no need to prove himself in the face (pun!) of this annoyance, each and every single morning, like clockwork.

And this has gotten long enough, for today. Stay tuned for Part III.

-The Traveler