THIRTY-SEVEN
After filling his belly and hydrating himself with a whole bowl of water, Frisbee seemed to have a newfound sense of energy that wasn’t present before. When we had first found him he seemed happy enough, bounding through the field toward us. But at the same time he looked tired, like an old man on the last leg of a long quest.
Now, in Steve’s backyard, he explored with vigor, familiarizing himself with his new surroundings. He first set off to a far corner and whizzed out about a gallon of piss onto a patch of dead weeds. Then he started searching along the fence line, his brown and white coat like a camouflage suit against the wooden boards. He sniffed everywhere he could get his small head into; Gopher holes, piles of rubbish that had been heaped onto the dead lawn only God knew how long before, chinks in the fence that separated the houses behind Steve’s.
When he was done with his exploration he let out a burst of energy that dazzled and entertained us. He started at one end of the yard and ran as fast as he could to the other end, turned in a wide circle and headed back just as fast. He did this two or three times, running in wide loops and then changed it up and began doing figure eights. We began clapping and yelling for him to go, go, go. He was really scooting, running faster and faster, like a racehorse from a glue factory, doing those crazy figure eights.
He must have gone around that yard nine or ten times before he finally came to an abrupt stand-up skid, facing us, tongue lolling from the side of his mouth, his gold speckled eyes aglow.
“Woohoo, Frisbee,” Cory shouted.
“That was great, boy,” Steve commended.
“Way to go, Frisbee,” Jason said.
I yelled, “He’s the fasted dog in the world,” and pumped my arm at the sky.
And to us, it seemed as though he were. He was like a fuzzy brown streak of lighting when he ran.
Steve and Jason began patting their thighs, calling him toward them and as he trotted over, we all gathered around and showed him what a great dog he really was.
After a moment, Steve said, “You guys keep an eye on him. I’m gonna get the box from the garage.” He ran around the side of his house and a minute later was dragging the large cardboard container behind him, a big GE logo on its side. Placing it down next to the chimney, he then went into his house and retrieved a large, pink blanket, wadded it up and laid it within.
“There,” he said. “He should be pretty comfy on that. Go ahead, boy. Try it out.”
Frisbee, still panting, looked up at Steve and then to the box on the ground. He took a couple of steps toward it and sniffed inside. With one more look at Steve, he headed in and lay down. Once on his belly, he gave a bark of approval.
“I think he likes it,” Jason said.
“Of course he does,” Steve told him, looking at the dog. “That’s your new home. You stay as long as you like.” And with a whisper, added, “Please.”
It wasn’t much of a home for a dog, but it was the best we could provide for him. We wouldn’t have to worry about him getting cold at night, not for a while anyway. During summer, the temperature hardly ever got below seventy-five degrees at night. Even during winter dogs could survive outdoors at night in Southern California. But if worse came to worse Steve could probable talk his mom into letting him sleep in the garage, that was, of course, if she let him keep the dog in the first place.
“Hey,” Steve said, a light bulb winking on above his head, “I just thought of something.”
None of us asked what it was, but we waited for a response.
“Remember how I said that he looked like a Frisbee dog? Well I’ve got a Frisbee inside. Let’s take him out front and see if he knows how to catch it. Maybe we can teach him some tricks.”
“Yeah,” I howled. It would be pretty cool to see what he could do. Maybe whoever had him last had taught him how to catch.
Cory said, “Alright. We’ll take him out front while you grab the Frisbee. Meet us out there.”
“Okay.”
Steve went back inside yet again as the three of us led the dog back around to the front yard. We all made sure to step around the mud puddle once again as we passed by the gate.
Steve must have known right where the Frisbee was because by the time we had reached the front lawn, he was just coming out his front door, the green disk in his hand. He ran down the length of the grass and bent down in front of the dog, showing him the toy.
Frisbee sniffed at the object and licked it once.
“Think he’ll go for it?” I asked.
“Let’s see,” Steve said and twisted around to one side. He whipped his right arm forward a let loose the Frisbee. “Go get it boy.”
For a twelve year old, he was pretty athletic. He could run fast, play baseball and football well and seemed to have really keen eye to hand coordination. Between the four of us, Steve could throw the farthest as well and it was no surprise to see the disk travel over a hundred feet up the street in a perfectly straight line.
The dog never moved a muscle.
Like us, he watched the Frisbee soar up Cottonwood, then slowly make its way back to earth and scrape across the asphalt like a downed UFO.
We were all silent for a moment, looking down at the motionless dog.
“I guess he’s not a Frisbee dog after all,” Jason said.
“Maybe he just needs a little practice,” Steve responded, staring up toward the disk. “Let’s try standing in the cul-de-sac and throw it around to each other. Maybe if he watches us do it for a bit, he’ll catch on. Cory, go grab the Frisbee and bring it back down here.”
Cory looked at Steve and held his hands out in front of him. “No way, man. I already chased your stupid tennis ball up the street earlier.”
“Alright, alright,” Steve said with a laugh. “Ricky, can you go grab it?”
Without a word I dashed out into the street, not bothering to look either way for cars like my mom had taught me. When I reached the spot half a minute later, I picked it up, turned around and trying to imitate Steve’s earlier throw, flung it back down toward the other guys and the dog. It wobbled in the air for about ten feet and then slammed into the windshield of a car parked at the curb. I looked around quickly to see if anyone had seen my pathetic throw. No one had.
Once again I picked up the disk and jogged down a few houses. When I was in front of our house Jason yelled, “Throw it.”
This time, when I stopped I stood sideways and took a couple practice twists first. On the fourth one I let it go, which only managed to flip the Frisbee vertical. It crashed back down to the ground and rolled the rest of the way to him.
Jason bent down, without moving, and scooped it up just before it rolled through his legs.
“Nice throw, chief.”
I hustled over to my spot to complete a square they were forming for the game of catch. We were each an equal distance of about thirty feet apart and I stood in front of the Maherrin’s house, Cory in front of the Pharris’, Steve in front of Cory’s and Jason in front of ours.
“You ready, Frisbee?” Jason called to the dog who was sitting on his hind legs between Steve and Cory. “Catch.” He tossed the disk toward Cory who encouraged the dog to go for it, but he ended up catching it himself.
“Okay,” Cory said. “He just needs to watch a few throws first to get the hang of it.” He turned to Steve and shot it in his direction. “Go get it.”
Frisbee watched it closely, but made no effort whatsoever to chase it down. Instead he lay down on his belly, head raised like the Sphinx.
“Heads up, Ricky,” Steve hollered and sent it toward me. I put my hands out to grab it when it got to me but it thunked off of my chest, hit my chin and flipped over my shoulder, landing behind me with a smacking sound.
The other boys thought this was funny as hell and began laughing at my expense. Frisbee barked once.
I picked the disk up off the ground and tossed it to Cory, and, like before, it turned sideways, dropping to the road. It turned at a slight angle away fr
om Cory and rolled to Steve.
“I meant to do that,” I hollered, giving them the thumbs up. They rolled their eyes and shook their heads at me.
Steve tossed it over to Cory who tossed it to Jason. Jason tossed it back to Cory who tossed it back to Steve. It went on that way for several minutes and soon enough I got the distinct feeling that they were skipping me on purpose.
“Hey, come on guys. Throw it here,” I pleaded.
Steve, Jason and Cory continued to throw it back and forth. I’m not sure but I think they gave up on teaching Frisbee how to catch a Frisbee. He sort of just lounged their watching us kids have our fun without much interest in the flying disk.
Cory flipped a low one to Steve who caught it neatly between his legs, spun around and flung it to Jason.
“Come on, Jason,” I begged. “Throw it to me. Please.” I was the smallest of the bunch and it hurt sometimes to be left out of games.
Jason was about to send it over to Cory but stopped at the last moment. “Alright. I’ll throw it to you but if you don’t catch it then you got to sit out. Okay?”
I thought about it. It was true that I sucked at most games but I knew if I really tried I could catch it. Besides, if I did have to sit out, I could always play with Frisbee while the other guys went about the game.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll catch it this time. Let ‘er rip.”
I put my hands out in front of me like a quarterback waiting for a shotgun snap. Jason twisted back and let it loose.
Now, I probably should have learned something from that morning when Steve pulled the tennis ball trick on Cory, but I hadn’t. I actually thought my own brother would toss me a catchable throw, but he didn’t. Instead it soared about four feet over my head, and though I tried to jump for it, I got nowhere near it.
The three guys burst out laughing, once again at my expense, as the disk floated over me and landed in the Maherrin’s driveway and skidded until it hit their garage door with a bonk.
“Very funny,” I yelled as I turned around to retrieve it.
The Maherrin’s car was gone which meant they wouldn’t be coming out to investigate the noise, not that they would have cared much. They were nice people. I jogged up the incline of their asphalt drive and bent down to pick up the Frisbee. Just as I put my hand on it a pair of black boots slipped into my vision and a voice said, “Nice catch, kid.”
Frisbee Page 44