A New Game

            I foresee Grace not eating again this morning when she bolts past her full food bowl, into the living room, and pounces on her Nylabone toy. She growls and tosses it across the floor. Her muscles quiver in all the excitement as she darts around the room.

            “Grace, enough,” I say.

            I know exactly where this is going: this slight bouncing will lead to an all out energy explosion with Grace running on the couch, down the hall, and into the kitchen. She’ll jump on me and nip if I don’t get the leash to control the situation in time.

            I step toward the end of the six foot leash, and Grace bolts. I get my foot on the end of the leash before she can pull it away from me. But she doesn’t calm down. Grace leaps at me, jumping up and biting my t-shirt. I dodge her teeth as I grab the leash.

            “No.” I yank the leash hard, and I hear the metal of the training collar chink as it slides. “Sit.”

            I pull a handful of times before Grace parks her butt on the carpet. I don’t see any sign of malice in her brown eyes, only excitement. She’s not being bad on purpose. She just has a lot of energy and doesn’t know where to put it.

            Still, I’m annoyed. My puppy may be wound tighter than a spring; however that doesn’t give her the right to jump and nip.

            “Heel,” I order.

            I march into the kitchen with her at my side, and I stop suddenly. Part of me hopes she doesn’t sit, despite her training to the contrary. But Grace sits, and she looks up at me with her big eyes so full of energy. She just wants something to do.

            An idea pops into my head. Grace’s trainer suggested something at one lesson to focus her energy. I’ve never done anything like it before with either Grace or my first dog. What’s a better time to try than now?

            I put Grace in her crate, head downstairs to the garage, and grab five milk crates. I placed them in a straight line in the backyard before remembering that I need her favorite outside toy, a red octopus that squeaks. I find it in the toy bucket and then toss it under one of the crates.

            Anticipation pools in my stomach, making me feel lighter and infusing my muscles with a shot of adrenaline. I can’t wait to get outside. This is going to be fun.

            I head back inside to grab Grace.

             “Let’s go,” I say.

            She scrambles out of the crate, through the kitchen, and to the back door. She almost flies down the stairs to the garage, and I tug on the leash to slow her down.

            “Easy,” I tell her.

            We step on the porch, and Grace spots the milk crates.

            I ease the tension on the leash. “Find toy, Grace. Find toy.”

            She trots over to the milk crates, sniffing the hard black plastic. After pacing the line twice, her nose hones in on the middle crate. She keeps sniffing it, and she doesn’t seem to be interested in the other ones.

            I smile proudly.

            “Good girl, Gracie-Gray,” I say.

            I flip over the crate and toss her the red octopus. I watch her leap onto the toy, her teeth clamping down on the squeaky head. I’m not sure if she realizes that she’s supposed to use her nose to find the toy yet.

             And I don’t think she realizes the implications of this little game. We can train to track a scent during competitions to see which dog is the best tracker. Or we can enter the world of search and rescue dogs, responding to emergencies all over the country and world. We may also just keep this little game of ours in the backyard. It may end up being just a little game we play whenever someone has more energy than the house can handle.

            “Come on, Grace,” I say. “Let’s do this again.”

            I put her in the garage and reset the milk crates for another round. I feel excited when I bring her out a second time. I knew I could do a lot of things with my dog. I never thought I’d actually be doing them.