“Don’t even think about it.”

In the pre-dawn hours this morning, I could hear Olive quietly but persistently licking some part of herself. Maybe her leg. I should have known better. When she licks this long, there is one of only two things wrong. Since I can’t see what she’s licking, I assume it’s either a) she’s trying to express one of her bloated anal glands or b) she’s about to barf. She finally hops off the bed, walks over to the gated doorway and fixes her soul-piercing amber eyes on me. “OH ALRIGHT, I’LL GET UP.” And I do. Just in time. I start hearing her retch and quickly drag her off the carpet onto the tile floor in the bathroom after flinging the bath rugs into the tub as though they were Frisbees. And there it comes. “GAAAKKKKKKK.” A pool of yellow bile-like liquid is expelled. And in the middle of it? A piece of the inside of a tennis ball about the size of a quarter. 100% undigested. It’s Olive’s favorite snack when she’s at the dog park. “GAAAAKKKKK.” A smaller pile of puke. “GAK.” The last bit, just a dot the size of a half dollar. ‘OH OLIVE, I TOLD YOU THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU EAT TENNIS BALLS.” I run around the dog park like an idiot trying to get Olive to give up the bits and pieces she either finds that Laszlo the German Shorthaired Pointer-Spaniel mix has torn to pieces, or that she herself has dismembered. For her, it’s a scavenger hunt combined with the thrill of treasure hunting. For me, it’s exhausting. I could offer her a plump fresh rabbit thigh and she will not part with the half-eaten tennis ball clenched between her teeth. ‘THAT’S IT. I GIVE UP. ARE YOU ENJOYING IT? BECAUSE YOU WON’T BE SO HAPPY WHEN YOU TRY TO EXPEL THE ALIEN TOMORROW MORNING.” About 100 feet away, the mischief-maker stands with her weight evenly distributed just looking at me. The ball remains trapped between her incisors. The tail wags about 100 miles an hour as if to say, “HA, HA, HA, COME AND GET ME!”