Chaos Agent
On playing ball in the house.
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Hi there. Thanks for stopping by. If you are new here then let me introduce you to Peggy and Steve. You’ve now met the two most important dogs I know. Today we’ll talk about two dogs. Let’s all take a deep breath and direct our focus on a dog for a moment. But first, an arresting photo.
It almost always starts with Peggy. She and Steve keep their toys (read: de-fuzzed stuffed animal corpses) in an old wooden milk crate near the couch. Mostly, the decrepit toys sit undisturbed and disembowled. But every few days, without warning, they are visited by the the Angel Of Death who comes in the form of a lumbering three-legged dog. There’s no rhyme or reason to these visits — no special time of day. But when they come, they set in motion a series of events that turn the house into a fuzz and felt graveyard.
First, Peggy roots around carefully, her black muzzle probing and slashing through the crate with surgical precision. As she maneuvers, making pleased snorting noises, Steve’s ears perk up, his spine becomes rigid and he rises, tail wagging furiously. He forms a queue behind Peggy but instead of waiting for his turn he lunges for whatever victim Peggy has picked. A tug of war ensues.
Given Steve’s speed, energy, and quadruped stature, this shouldn’t be a fair fight. But in both matters of the heart and felt, Peggy is not to be trifled with. Using her monstrous forelegs and a ferocious Georgia mutt snarl (reserved only for such occasions) she frequently wrenches the traumatized fuzz carcass from Steve’s soft bite. But what Steve lacks in ferocity, he makes up for in persistence. Drawing on the rich, historical tradition of annoying little brothers everywhere, Steve does not rest until the plush facsimile of a barnyard animal is his. By that time, Peggy has moved on to the next victim. All are happy.
Unless, of course, the chaos agent is involved.
The chaos agent is spherical. It is made of a rubbery plastic. It has many little spikes on it. It comes in three colors (blue, orange, green). It looks a bit like those models of the coronavirus. They squeak relentlessly. You can buy a package of them on Amazon for like six bucks. According to Amazon they are: “Squeaky Balls for Dogs Small, Fetch Balls for Dogs Rubber 6 Pack Bright Colors TPR Puppy Toys Dog Toy Balls Dog Squeaky Toys Spike Ball Dog Chew Toys.” Don’t let the catchy name fool you, they are chaos agents.
The chaos agent is, almost always, reserved for outside time only. Peggy and Steve chase them at great distances in fields for hours on end, pausing only to maul them with their jaws. But the chaos agent is durable; it lasts about six months or so before succumbing to the mandibles.
Occasionally, the chaos agent enters the house. It is usually a harmless oversight, but no matter. The game is afoot, fire in the hole, etc.
Peggy, as always, finds it first. There is no early warning system, only the sound of the squeak. But by then it is too late. Steve has encroached and a strange dance begins.
What follows is a peculiar dominance negotiation, in which Peggy takes the chaos agent to a corner of the room. Facing the wall, she spoons it, paws at it, chomps it two or three times, and then keeps it in her grasp. She stares at the wall more and pants. Steve loiters a few feet behind casually before making his move. He strikes quickly. Strangely, Peggy does not put up a fight. Steve takes the chaos agent to his corner. There is some light chewing but mostly he seems disinterested. He keeps the ball in his grasp tauntingly. And then, in a maneuver that often defies physics, nudges the chaos agent with his speckled snoot under the couch, into oblivion.
At this point both dogs begin to cycle through the Kübler-Ross model of the 7 Stages of Grief. Here it is from Peggy’s perspective:
Shock and denial (Peggy jumps on the couch or gets a perch on a nearby chair to survey the situation. She stares across at us, mouth agape).
Pain and guilt (Peggy stares at one of us with wide, confused eyes and issuing the faintest Pant of Concern).
Anger and bargaining (Peggy stares at Steve with an intense, covetous focus, canine laser beams emanating from her hazel eyes).
Depression (Peggy stares into the middle distance in a daze, like a runner at the finish line of a marathon or one of those absurd 1970s Olan Mills K-Mart portraits).
The upward turn (panting stops, there are thoughts of a nap).
Reconstruction and working through (Peggy comes down from the couch to approach Steve).
Acceptance and hope (Peggy licks Steve’s face gently, all is well).
The chaos agent is forgotten…for now. But, rest assured, it will be back.
Your faithful correspondent,
Charlie
This is so perfect!! Love Peggy and Steve!
I love this! We too have an orange spiky ball that we call the corona, as in “Manny, go get corona!” It doesn’t squeak though... Love to Peggy and Steve.