“Please throw it. Please throw the ball.”
Their gaze. Focused. Like that of an olympic sprinter on the starting line. My arm, acts as the starting gun. And when the ball leaves my hand. They are off. With one goal. The ball.
On their return. I can not help but admire thier trip back to me. It looks more of prance than a run. A victory lap. Proud. Tails wagging. Grins worn on their face. Like that of a toddler about to dive into birthday cake.
The ball drops at my feet. A loud bark sounds. Telling me, we are ready. Then “the look” returns.
This game can go on for hours. Or as long as my body can hold up. And on every throw. Every return. Their excitement level, always the same.
But today. Something is different for me. After a few throws. The familar thoughts of “my arm is sore, can we be done” shift—to pure happiness. Laughing. Smiling. Running. And tossing the ball in new directions.
I join the game.
As the game, continues. Each toss as fun as the last. Our laughs and bark fill the air. As if we were playing in front of a sold out crowd.
Then, without words. Our game ends, we head home. But the excitement, worn on our faces. Smiles. Sweat on our brows.
And it hit me. Today. I lived in the moment, I was present—for a game of fetch.
Words from Waylon Lewis, In the Moment:
Author: Jeramie Vaine
Image: Author’s own
Apprentice Editor: Jeramie Vaine