Bing, whom we embraced in the household a year ago this week, came as the shyest and most timid four-month-old puppy I have ever seen. She was afraid of everything and shuddered at the sound of a cricket. The sight of another dog evoked pitiful howls and true panic attacks.
She did become comfortable with Clover last summer when Nick lived about 45 minutes from our Tennessee house, and came along on all visits. During the tragic and sad events that brought Clover into our home last fall, one blessing is that she and Bing became immediate soul mates, and Clover has brought Bing out from the umbrella of timidity.
When a puppy turns a year old, typically, the battery starts to lose a little charge. Bing certainly cannot be described as overly active, so at 16 months, when she began a siege of strange, unusual and downright goofy behavior, Roger and I have spent the last couple weeks of evenings looking at each other with the puzzling look of bewilderment.
Something has gotten into Bing and we are scrambling.
No one loves the pursuit of a good game like Bing. Whether the game centers on a Frisbee, a ball, or a laser light we call “Mr. Green,” Bing loves to play the game. We often confine Clover during Frisbee throw because Bing is forced to play wide receiver. Clover pulls no stops in her own game of interference; a referee would bench Clover, and we often do.
I don’t know if the warm nights have jazzed Bing, or if she has reached an age where she really understands the games and their pursuit, but when the dust settles and we relax for the evening, Bing’s alights with uncontainable carryings on.
Typically, anytime either of the dogs grabs a burst of playful energy, they invigorate the other to raise the bar for fun. Lately, this practice has taken a turn. Our evening ritual includes Roger and me having after-dinner downtime on the porch. The dogs play in the yard and this sometimes involves us, and sometimes not. When we are ready to go in the house (it gets chilly in the evenings here in Michigan), Bing and Clover take their places on their respective dog beds in the living room.
So, recently, when we come in the house, Clover settles into her spot and takes a breather while Bing tears through the house at breakneck speed unraveling the carpet and unearthing every chew bone, ball, or torn-up toy she can find. Balls roll under furniture quite often in our house where they collect dust for up to a few weeks before discovery. Bing now darts from couch to chair to buffet to desk in her quest to release the captured rolling toys. This brings both Roger and me quickly to our feet as we do not want the furniture marred with Bing’s long toenails and voracious paw swipes. We find our faces on the floor with hers pressed against ours, as she defers to opposable thumbs for assistance.
Once the ball has been set free, she takes off like a firefighter in pursuit of flames for a few seconds until the ball finds itself lodged again. Repeat process.
Last night after Roger bravely endured a tough Father’s Day, Bing and her antics were in full play. He questioned me about her caffeine intake and slid down to the floor to pet her and bring her under wraps. Meanwhile, Clover who never turns down a party invitation, watched angelically not batting an eye at the scene’s frenzy.
Out of nowhere, a random thought struck me. Clover is almost never innocent of mischief, and Bing is almost never an instigator, but loves to follow her doggy sister into the abyss of trouble. Could this be the energy of Nicholas’ spirit goading Bing to her frenetic level just for the sheer fun of watching us chase her? Is it possible that he is playing her like a puppet on a string to keep his dad and me active in the evenings when we are typically quiet and blue? Funny, how Nick’s beloved Clover quietly observes, innocent of all charges.
When I shared the thought with Roger, he smiled and agreed that it would follow Nick’s dry wit to drive us batty with a revved up poodle. Nonetheless, we may just look at Bing’s goofy gallop just a little bit differently tonight.
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