I came home from my Sunday afternoon ride to find my lovely wife, Diane, taking a nap on the couch. I slipped out of my lycra, cleaned up and laid down on the bed. I was whooped and was very happy to get a few seconds to sit perfectly still.

My new pup, Layla, you know like the Clapton song, hops on the bed with a tennis ball in her mouth. The tennis ball has clearly seen better days. It was still green, but definitely had hints of brown, which I'll hope were mud. Layla dropped the ball on my stomach, and huffed at me. Wagging her tail she barked, encouraging me to throw the ball.

To tell the truth, I just wanted to go to sleep, but Layla was relentless, so I chucked the ball half hearted, out the bedroom doorway, over the banister and down the stairs. Riley, my other dog must have been coming up the stairs, because he charged up the stairs with the ball in his mouth. The dogs raced into the bed room, jumped on the bed and planted the ball on my stomach, ready for another throw.

Now, my first thoughts jumped back to the Brady Bunch. That's right, you know the one, the one where Peter was playing ball in the house and broke the vase. So I admit, my first instinct was to listen to Carol Brady's nagging voice and "don't play ball in the house" but... Riley and Layla barked at me, as if to say, "common man, it'll make you feel good." " all the cool kids are doing it", "the first time is free, just do it man..." I swirled with energy and in my head, yelled "f- you Carol Brady, I'm playing ball in the house! "

And so I started the routine. I picked up the slimy ball, fired it out the bedroom doorway, over the banister and down the stairs. My dogs launched themselves off of the bed, and then down the stairs chasing the green slimy ball of joy. They'd race back up the stairs, charge back in to bed, and gently place the ball back on my stomach. Quickly they'd bark, as if to say " common man, just one more hit, take just one more hit"

Boy did I , over and over, all from the comforts of my bed, laying on my back I threw the ball, out the door, over the banister, and down the stairs. And my boys, my dogs, they chased it like there was no tomorrow. What did Carol Brady know? I’ve got a lamp down there but as long as you have skill, and man for guys lying on their back throwing a slimy tennis ball, I’ve got mad skills. Carol Brady don’t know shit, if you’re smart you CAN play ball in the house.

After about 45 minutes of this, my pups, they were tired. However, more important in bringing this activity to a halt was that the ball had become less of a muddy tennis ball, and more of a slimy, saliva covered, slushy ball. I knew that when my hand felt like I sneezed in it, and my boy’s tongues were dragging the ground, it was time to call it quits.

Just then, Diane wakes up and I hear her call me. " Honey, come downstairs" For me this experience of throwing the ball out the doorway, over the banister and down the stairs all while laying prone on my backside was very peaceful and recuperative. I jumped out of bed and ran down the stairs. I noticed my pups; they stayed up stairs for some reason. As I walked down the stairs, with horror I looked at the wall that runs along the stairwell.

It was covered with tennis ball sized muddy, slimy, saliva covered marks. The wall that was formerly white was now polka dotted with slime. "god damn it, Ms. Brady was right!" I screamed. Diane asks "what?" as she turns the corner to see my handiwork. She starts laughing at me, I try to explain " honey, I was throwing the ball out the door, over the banister, and down the stairs" She continues " and apparently off the wall..."

A half hour later and two Mr. Clean Stain Removing Sponges later, I am happy to report that brown polka dotted wall, is once again white. Layla and Riley did not help clean up the mess. Somewhere Carol Brady is having the last laugh here. Karma, like Ms. Brady, can be a real bitch.

respect
fatmarc