Go jump in the lake

Five days of our vacation are being spent at a lake-front property. It's rough, let me tell you. All this swimming, fishing, paddleboating and lounging. (Hathaway is laying at the edge of the water as I type, watching the butterflies.) It's exhausting.

Back in November, I wrote about Hath's dislike of water. As the weather got hot early this summer, he actually started dipping his paws in the ocean to cool off. Next he started chasing his pals, splashing along the shore. Then I started throwing a ball for him, and voila! the pit bull can swim. It isn't always pretty, especially since his head and shoulders account for about 45 of his 64 pounds, but he retrieves better than some of the retrievers.

Now swimming is a regular part of his daily walk, vacation being no exception. I think he likes the fresh water better than the ocean's saltiness. The water is also calmer, so I throw the ball farther. It's also warmer, so it's not a big deal if I have to go rescue him. He charges into the water with a big splash and power paddles his way out to the ball, leaving a wake like a motorboat.

The day he found a 4-year-old to throw the tennis ball for him was like a dream come true. She was as tireless with her tossing as he was with his fetching. He'd bring it back and drop it at her feet. Again! And Cassie would squeal and laugh and throw it. Again!

Even though he thinks he's a Lab sometimes, he's still a pit bull at heart. Despite all the swimming and fetching, I haven't yet been able to get him to jump off the end of the dock.

And he still avoids puddles at all cost.

Requiem for an orange ball

Oh orange ball, my orange friend
I can't believe you've met your end

Inseparable were you and I,
and I carried you proudly, head held high

While showing you off to one and all,
"I'm Hathaway; this is my ball."

I chased you down through mud and Nor'easters;
kept bringing you back, out-retrieving Retrievers

You didn't break in my pit bull jaws
or under stomping pit bull paws

You kept your bounce, unlike the others
that split their seams and shed their covers

I could find you in a foot of snow,
and held you when I had to go

I shared with friends, Carmen and Danny,
Toby, Jake and even Manny.

We fished you out of the water before,
but this time you sank too far from shore

Dear orange ball, where for art thee?
At the bottom of the ocean, buried at sea.

Rookie mistake

1 a.m., settling in to finally sleep. Trying to get comfortable, wrestle covers from the dog, scootch 60-pounds of snoring dead weight out my space.

Felt something odd under my back. Round. Rubber. Tossed it out of bed. Thump.

Ball! In an instant he was full-on awake, sat up to consider the sound, the jumped out of bed to find the ball. Ball!

Rooted around for five minutes in the dark trying to find it, ignoring pleas to "Come!"

Finally, after a strange shuuuuushing, cascading sound, I gave up and turned on the light. The way the closet is designed, you (meaning if you are the size of a toddler or a pit bull) can walk in one set of closet doors and out the other. There's a bit of wall in between

1:07 a.m. Everything was quiet, still and in it's place. You could see Hathaway's head in one set of closet doors, his tail sticking out the other set. He looked up with a sheepish grin, lime green rubber ball in his mouth, then came back to bed.

Back in my spot, I turned out the light, told him to drop it and tossed the ball out of the bed ...

This is Hathaway and his friend Carmen, a beautiful Rottweiler, at the dog park today. Sunny and 60 near the water in Massachusetts in November. It doesn't get any better than that.

Hath has his eye on Carmen's ball, possibly because he doesn't have any of his own, most likely because tennis balls are his version of Trident. He chews them like gum. He also likes to take a ball if he thinks he'll get chased. He's been running like a greyhound with really short legs lately. Go, Hathaway!