Persistent Pooch Pulls No Punches

By Denise Adams

It was a beautiful afternoon. The sun was shining, the humidity was non-existent, and my three sons and I decided to spend a few hours soaking up the gorgeous day before the sun went down.

We headed to a nearby golf driving range, a place where they enjoy pretending they're Tiger Woods, and I believed I could sneak in a half hour of peace and quiet on the range's outdoor deck.

My oldest son is a golf enthusiast and he agreed to teach his younger brothers a thing or two about this difficult yet simple game of hitting a ball into a hole. I tucked a new paperback book into my purse, thinking I could lose myself in the written word while they were on the range.

Splurging, I bought the boys two large buckets of range balls, told them to have fun and found a quiet spot on the deck where I could see them and still feel the sunshine on my face. Arranging myself into a comfortable canvas chair, I opened my book and began to read, soon losing myself in the novel.

Suddenly, I felt something plop in my lap. Grudgingly pulling my eyes from the pages, I looked down, and there was a slimy, wet golf ball in my lap and a huge golden retriever patiently sitting at my left elbow. He was panting away, and it was obvious what he wanted.

A game of fetch and retrieve.

No way, I thought. I only have about 30 precious minutes to myself, and I'm hogging every second. I pulled the book closer to my eyes and started to read again, but the dog didn't move. In fact, he edged closer to me until the drool from his tongue was dripping on my pants.

"Now listen, big fella," I said, closing the book. "I'm not playing, so go away."

I could hear my boys' laughter, and I looked up to see what was so funny. It seemed my youngest son had swung his club in a full arc and clearly missed the ball. My middle son had also hit an air ball, and all three were pointing at each other, holding their stomachs and laughing.

Thank goodness they were having fun, I thought, and I reopened my book and went back to reading, quietly dropping the golf ball on the deck, hoping the dog would realize I wasn't playing and go away.

But he didn't. He simply licked up the ball, adding more slobber to it and, once again, dropped it in my lap. I looked around. There were other people on that wooden deck, but I was the one that shaggy blonde dog came to - me, the person who just wanted a few minutes of solitude on a pretty afternoon.

What could it hurt a voice inside me nagged, to throw the ball a few times for this lonely dog. Sighing, I closed my book; and with the tips of my fingers, carefully picked up the wet golf ball and threw it. Immediately that golden retriever bounded off the deck, scooped up the ball in his mouth and ran back to me, dropping the wet ball in my lap again. Then he looked at me with his big, honey-colored eyes.

So I threw the ball again, and he was immediately off in hot pursuit. While he was sniffing around in the grass, I had a panoramic view of my sons on the tee-box. I saw my youngest boy hit the ball farther than I thought he was capable of and spontaneously jump for joy at his accomplishment. My eldest son was showing his younger brother how to hold the golf club. While I was watching my sons, the dog kept bringing a golf ball back, and I kept throwing it. If that mutt hadn't jarred me from my own private world, I'd have missed a golden afternoon.

I wouldn't have witnessed the patient guidance my eldest boy demonstrated, and I wouldn't have seen the look of adulation the younger boys gave to their older brother as he stood behind them, placed his hands over theirs and showed them how to swing the club.

If that dog had chosen someone else's lap to drop a wet, slimy ball into, I wouldn't have seen the graceful straight drive my middle boy hit after heeding pointers from his older brother.

When their golf ball baskets were empty, the boys walked back to where I was sitting, their shadows stretching out behind them. Smiling, I patted that big, curly-haired dog on the head and scratched his neck. Then I threw that golf ball as far as I could to make the game fun one last time and to thank him for opening my eyes.

This was indeed a perfect day, one that doesn't happen very often. And I owe it to a patient, slobbering dog who pulled me out of my own little world and allowed me to add an unforgettable afternoon to my mom memory book.

Thanks, pooch.

Denise Adams is a weekly columnist with The Herald-Coaster newspaper in Rosenberg, Texas and can be reached via e-mail at dhadams@herald-coaster.com.