The Curse of the Third Ball

We have a number of four-legged grandchildren scattered around the country - four up here in Chicagoland. The closest is Birdie - a mostly black lab. Those of us close to her choose to believe she is a lab, she certainly presents as such. However, her parents did have her DNA tested and that revealed a predominantly Labrador critter of mixed heritage. A touch of hound, which may explain those long legs that, in her puppy days, she used to drag around after her, not quite sure to whom they belonged. These days she uses them to bound effortlessly around, clearing the couch - which tries her patience as she moves from kitchen to living room - in a single graceful leap.

And as anyone who knows anything about dogs will tell you, mixed breeds are smarter than their purebred kin. Amazing creatures, dogs. They pad along hospital corridors as therapy dogs, bringing comfort to the afflicted and lonely. They warn their owners of the onset of seizures. They lead rescuers to the lost or trapped. They can detect illicit substances, and now detect and distinguish among various cancers and other diseases! Little wonder that we claim these furry buddies as our best friends.

But although we are confident that Birdie could, if she chose to, execute all these tasks and more, Birdie has decided to hone a skill that we choose to see as unique. Anyone who owns a lab knows that they will chase a tennis ball to the point of exhaustion - and then ask "just a couple more? Huh? Huh? Please?" And here Birdie runs true to the breed. But her exceptional extension is this:

And this:

Yes, Birdie can hold two balls in her mouth at one time! But this seemingly innocent extension of the norm carries a hidden peril: The Curse of the Third Ball. You see when Birdie has those two balls in her mouth, it is simply not enough. She looks at you with pleading eyes, so you toss the third ball.

She rushes to it, and only then realizes that she already has two balls in her mouth. She tries mightily to add the third ball to them  - unsuccessfully. Inevitably as she attempts to collect the third ball one or both of the other balls escape, rolling away. What results is a comic, piteous and futile series of attempts to get all three balls in her mouth at the same time.

You can learn a lot about people by watching dogs. There are those individuals in human society who have mastered the trick of holding two balls in their mouths at the same time. They have, say, money and power. Two balls that many would consider sufficient. But sadly, for them, it is not enough. They look around and see there are more balls out there, seemingly available for the taking.

Money, power, OK. How about acclaim? Having people love you? Maybe you can get a nip of that third ball but careful, one of the other two might slip. How about access to sex? Drop Jeff an email. No wait he's dead. Damn. Oh, wait! Celebrity! Open wide. Oops there went . . . Which ball was that? You get the idea.

In our culture a poisonous uberclass has risen to the surface, like a toxic algae bloom on a polluted pond. They are not content with the balls already secure in their grasp. They want more. Whether the richest man in the world, or the holder of the highest office on the globe, they want more. And they do not care who they harm in pursuit of that 3rd, 4th, 5th, . . . . nth ball.

I have heard tell that some of the top .001 percent are investing heavily in "life extending" technologies. Seemingly not content with amassing as many balls as possible in their natural life, they seek to carry their acquisitions on in some version of an unnatural life. It would be like, it seems, grafting chipmunk's cheeks - which can expand to three times the size of the critter's head - onto Birdie so that she could stuff three, four, or even more balls into her face.

Or perhaps, instead, we could teach her restraint. "No Birdie, I'm not going to throw you this third ball. It will make you crazy. You will try to stuff it in with the other two and may, in that fevered attempt, lose all your balls - or marbles."

Another lesson we could learn from watching our dogs. No more third balls.

So sit Birdie. Stay. Good girl. Two balls is enough. Wanna treat?