Ping-Pong

Welcome to my first post of the new year.  Hopefully 2015 will be filled with lots of belly rubs, squeaky toys galore, a limited number of funny looking outfits to wear, and a boatload of yummy treats.  And speaking of yummy treats, I'd like to give a shout out to Ralphie's mom who gave me some seriously delicious homemade cookies (my family was so impressed with how good they smelled that I'm afraid I might have to keep a careful watch over them to make sure they don't take to sampling).

And now, on to my story.

New Year's Eve ended with a bang in my house.  Just hours before the big shiny tennis ball dropped in Times Square marking the start of 2015, I was invited into the basement Land of No to partake in my family's New Year's Eve tradition:  a rousing game of ping-pong. 

Truth be told, I wasn't very interested in the whole ping-pong game experience when I first climbed down the stairs that evening.  After all, I suddenly had full access to a rarely explored Land of No and needed to devote all my time and energy investigating every nook and cranny.  But, after checking out all the storage boxes filled with toys, house wares, and papers, after barking at a counter top on which a supply of squeaky bones were stored, and after being unceremoniously tossed out of the laundry room for trying to steal some dirty socks, I was finally able to devote my full attention to the game.

First, I dedicated myself to learning the rules of the game.  I did this by resting my slobbery chin on the playing table and watching while Pa and Sister batted a tiny ball back and forth to each other using paddles.  Try as I might, I must admit that I didn't really get the point of the game.  It seemed to me to be a modified version of playing fetch which I don't get the point of either (people trying to put as much distance between themselves and a ball only to expect it to be returned to them--if you wanted the ball that bad, why did you throw/bat it away?).

Bored with my court side view, I decided to try my hand at the game itself.  But which team should I join--Ma's, Pa's, or Sister's (they were taking turns playing one-on-one)?  I circled the court a couple of times and decided that the best team for me was all teams.  As a result, I spent the next couple of rounds playing doubles with all players--being careful to stand directly between the player and the court.  And let me tell you, my teammates were always very pleased with my assistance.

It was a missed return that introduced me to another thrilling aspect of the game of ping-pong.  There I was, helping my teammate kick butt, when the small white ball went whizzing past my head.   Now, as I mentioned earlier, I'm not a fan of playing fetch, but this was an opportunity I couldn't pass up.  Skidding on the tile floor and slowed down by the back and forth hip checking between myself and my teammate (who apparently had the same idea I had), I made a bee line for the escaped ball and scooped it up in my mouth.  I was just about to bite down through the relatively thin plastic, when my entire family pounced on me and began to pry open my mouth.  I was no match for them.  I relinquished the slippery slobbery (and intact) ball into Pa's hand.  Over the course of the evening, I got hold of the ball a few more times, but, sadly, I was never given enough time to thoroughly destroy, I mean, investigate it.

When the game was over, the ball and the paddles were put away (I tried to grab the paddle out of Sister's hand, but apparently she can read my mind and moved it away before I got the chance), I was escorted back upstairs, and the baby gate blocking me from the basement was returned to its spot.

The Land of No was once more the Land of No.