This kicking dog is the moment when a dog becomes a play monster. Jake, in the midst of a good chasing game or some kind of barking, scrambling on the floor thing, would use that front paw, just like that, all straight-legged, he'd give a good whack, then hop up or turn and run all slippery pawed, away. Chase him and he'd wheel around, barking, to land another one on you, grinning barking dog mouthed, he'd spin and run again. Dog play, if the biting doesn't get too rough, can be so fun, so full of barking and laughing. How does a dog know so well how to play? See that tiny little show of teeth, those barely parted lips? That's how Jake played with his mouth too. We would head to Doran Beach for a run in the winter. Before leashes became necessary, Jake liked to take hold of the cuff of my jacket sleeve, to be nearby, to be sure we didn't lose each other, because he was tender hearted. We'd run along that way for a long ways. If something caught his attention, he'd go investigate, I'd keep on running. Oh course I couldn't run as fast as a dog, not at all. Jake would complete his research, then oh, he would come blasting up the beach, I'd be so sure he'd bowl me over or tear my arm right off; but no, in that tender-toothed mouth, he'd daintily find the cuff again, take it into his teeth, match his pace to mine, and bounding along we'd go.
This kicking is also something I learned from Omar. Omar was my first, a baby, black Afghan hound, who came from Austin, my boy friend, for a high school graduation gift. At three wiggly months, Omar jumped out the car window, just trying to be first. The car was at the moment, safely parked in the driveway, but not safe enough to spare him breaking his front leg. The leg however, bound in a cast, simply became a new toy for Omar, who'd take a nice swing at you with it, landing a good whack, he'd run off in hopes of a chase. Oh man, that was another sweet boy dog full of plenty of fun. This kicking dog, he's the memory of the best dog fun.
