The game of the rose
April 2nd 2010 21:22
Most mornings, in a peaceful park on a quiet street corner in Melbourne, Australia, Scratchy chases Daisy.
The park is not big and they cross it in a flash, Daisy's legs blurred pistons as she dodges and weaves to keep away from the more languid but faster lope of Scratchy. Daisy runs like a scrapper. Scratchy runs like someone whose aristocratic paternal component to the mix was flown, frozen, from Ireland.
Around the slippery dip they fly, behind the benches and through the perimeter trees. And each time Scratchy gets close to Daisy's tail, she feints and dodges and he is left looking at fresh air.
Being greyhounds, they don't keep this up long. After a few minutes they are, like true sprinters, done for the day and ready for a recuperative 10-hour nap.
They always come to a stop, by agreement, on either side of a big flower bed, Daisy on one side saying, "(Puff, puff) I think that will do for today," and Scratchy on the other side looking wild-eyed and desperate, if only he had some adrenalin left, to keep the energy flowing.
That's when he eats a rose.
He has been doing this for so long now that we thought we had better seek professional advice. We went to the renowned canine psychologist, Doctor Dachsy Dobermann, and explained the problem. "He doesn't eat a rose," I explained, "so much as grab one and shake it so that petals fly everywhere.
"After that, he calms down."
Dr Dobermann listened carefully to all we had to say, and then delivered his verdict, "I think," he said, "that Scratchy catches a rose because he can't catch a Daisy."
Daisy image: Dries Knapen (www.focusonnature.be)
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