Wag - What the Dog Knows - page 194

then he'd bring him to an empty ball field a mile from the house, where Coda and I would
meet them. Megan was on an extended playdate with our good friend Barb Smalley and her
dog, to keep introductions simple.
We were punchy with exhaustion, sore, hungry—too old for this nonsense. Dusk was set-
tling in on the ball field and surrounding woods as I opened the back door of the Camry.
I left Coda in her crate and stepped away. Solo leaped from the Civic, greeted me exuber-
antly, and went over to sniff boulders and lift his leg. I had to call him over to the Camry. He
briefly sniffed Coda through the wire grate, then returned to the more enticing urine on the
rocks. Obviously not car possessive. While he was distracted, I carried tiny Coda out onto the
field, set her down, and backed a few steps away. David had Solo's red ball. I had treats. Coda
barked sharply five or six times at the approaching monster, then ran back to stand between
my legs. I heartlessly backed up a bit more. Solo sniffed her, hackles up, tail high and wag-
ging, then low and wagging. he hackles came down, and he opened his mouth and grinned.
He stretched his big body nonchalantly, luxuriously, over the black puppy, whose outline was
starting to blur into the dusk. She sat up underneath him, barely skimming his belly, one ear
flopped over like a bang, one already straight and cone-shaped. Solo flipped toward David,
levitating his back legs in a delicate pas de deux, leaving Coda untrammeled. She no longer
looked cowed, but curious. Solo stared at David. You're the one with the ball. So let's play.