A Lesson on Play from Lady Jane (1)

  

On numerous occasions I took care of Zorba and Zelda when their “parents” were out of town. Taking care of them meant letting them out of the house to go potty, giving them food and water, and keeping an eye on their wellbeing. Zorba was a bloodhound, and Zelda a midsize mixed breed full of energy. Zorba was a senior citizen, Zelda an adolescent. While their spacious yard did not have a physical fence, they were on an invisible fence system and were trained to respect it.

 

During my first time watching Zorba and Zelda for a weekend, I planned to spend some playtime with them on my visits, giving them exercise and attention. After all, we were always playing with our puppies (they are always puppies) and ensured that they had plenty of toys. Playing with our dogs was a natural element of daily life for us.

 

Since “fetch” is Play Time 101, I assumed I’d use one of their toys and that I’d give them some good exercise. The first problem was that they had no toys. Really? No toys? How could this be? How could dogs not have toys?

 

Well, I thought, okay, we’ll play “stick.” After all, all dogs know how to play “stick.” I’ll find right-sized sticks for Zorba and Zelda and throw them. Zelda will fetch hers and bring it to me for another throw, and Zorba will do likewise. This will be good exercise for them since they are inside the house more than usual while their family is away. The three of us will have fun.

 

With woods on three sides of their house it didn’t take me long, with my practiced eye, to select two sticks which any Golden Retriever would be proud of; certain they would meet with their approval I called both dogs to me. Then, in anticipation of a rousing good time of throwing and chasing and retrieving and throwing again, in expectation of tiring both dogs out so that they’d be ready for a good dog nap, I heaved first one stick and then the other across their yard. They were beautiful long and high arching throws, giving Zorba and Zelda time to be off and running, tracking their sticks in dogful joy, perhaps even eliciting barks and howls. I envisioned Michael Jordan and Scottie Pipen racing in tandem down the court to the basket.

 

Instead, they both looked up at me, as if to say, “Why did you do that?”

 

“Stick!” I said. “Go get stick!”

 

I ran to where both sticks were, thinking they would follow me. I’d demonstrate what I wanted them to do. I clapped my hands, I encouraged them in my sweetest and most excited doggy voice, I picked both sticks up and threw them again. I waited, no movement, the dogs were exactly where they were when I made my first two throws.

 

I fetched both sticks again and went back to Zelda and Zorba.

 

“Stick, when I throw stick run and get it. It’s fun. Let’s play stick. One, two, three, GO!”

 

Again, I gave both sticks heaves that an Olympic javelin thrower would be proud of, certain the dogs would be tearing after them.

 

Again, I…not the dogs…ran after the sticks. (What were the neighbors thinking?)

 

I am slow, sometimes I can be very slow, very very s-l-o-w; it finally dawned on me that Zorba and Zelda did not know how to play.

 

When I returned home after that first visit, I said to Vickie, “They don’t know how to play. They don’t have toys, but beyond that, they don’t even know how to play “stick.” How can this be? How can dogs not know how to play?”

 

C.S. Lewis wrote somewhere that “Joy is the business of heaven.” Paul exhorts us to “Rejoice in the Lord always, again I say rejoice.” Joy and rejoicing and “play” are gifts from God, they are distinct experiences, yet they often overlap. Many of the Bible’s psalms are exuberant, loud, boisterous, and demonstrative. John’s Revelation portrays heaven and the Throne Room as a place of loud noises and thunderous activity, yet these noises do not offend our senses, they inspire us, they awe us, they give glory to God and draw us into worship. (Yes, there are also times of silence and rest in Revelation and in Psalms.)

 

We can only play when we are secure. We can only play when we are at peace. We can only play when we are at rest, and we can only rest when we have played. Play is fun, it is joyful.

 

A wealthy man once boasted to me, “I have never even thrown a ball with any of my children.”

 

Now for sure it was sad that Zorba and Zelda did not know the doggy joy of playing fetch, but it was even sadder to hear this man, who took pride in his wealth, boast about not playing with his children.

 

Someone once said that you can measure a congregation’s health by the laughter you hear. I think that’s a fair observation. While it is obviously not the only vital sign, for sure its absence is a warning sign.

 

Lady Jane, our calico, has been with us indoors for a little over two months now and she is teaching us a lesson on play.

 

To be continued…