Mr. Wiggle's Winter Sport

As he signalled his need to go outside, our delightfully rambunctious retriever, Mr. Wiggles, changed his plans, once he got there. Suddenly, he began to play hockey, Canada's game, with the 'puck' that had been lying there for months.

He eyed this rather large plastic egg-shaped 'football' that had been ignored for most of its early summer 'release', last year. It had been 'sidelined', having absolutely no play value, according to our wiggler. As it it could not be carried or grabbed in the mouth of our youngest retriever, the yellow 'puck' remained a daily dismal reminder of a pet store purchase gone horribly bad. Why had it been for sale, anyway? It was a nuisance. But I had misjudged its play value in the life of our perpetual gift-giver, Mr. Wiggles. 

It was winter, now, a season of ice, snow and freezing temperatures as our 3-year-old pup deigned to want more from his outdoor play routine. He walked towards this new toy that suddenly had merit and deserved serious consideration. Last summer, this large, awkward misshapen albatross could not roll easily on the rough uneven surface of the freshly laid straw. (Grass had disappeared long ago). It could not be picked up in the jaws of our retrievers, lovers of the grab and run. I wondered what to do with it 'till Mr. Wiggles showed me last week. I began to refer to this thing as the 'puck' so as to not confuse them with the 'ball', the other curved instrument of play.

As Mr. Wiggles moved, he began pushing the monstrous 'puck' ever so quickly across the snow covered icy patches of ground, while eying me up and down, for my reaction. He looked up at me with that “I dare you to touch this 'puck'” look. Naturally, I did. Nudging this thing, left and right, with my foot, gave our wiggler a reason to react, pushing the 'puck' with his snout and open mouth, quickly, along the icy surface. His hockey lesson had begun. ... He moved the yellow egg, affectionately known as the 'puck', with an intensity and agility only a seasoned hockey player could. I was intrigued by his veracity and focus. The slippery surface had given him the idea. Hockey was officially his game. It was also Sally's claim to fame, our 8-year-old female retriever, as she began to watch then hustle her baby brother in a high stakes game of face-off hockey, with my help, of course. I hoped they would see the potential in this new winter routine. Keeping the 'puck' moving, engaged our Wiggler and his sister into action. A gentle kick, here and there, gave him the idea to push it further and faster, away from his sister who had ideas of her own. He watched as I kicked the puck, ever so gently, out of the dips of the ice and snow. Sally out-maneuvered us both, as she ran, lifting and kicking, using both front legs, like a double cohort of hockey sticks, taking over and scoring on both of us. “Oh, my. We'd been hustled." Their personal 'hockey' styles played to an engaged audience.

Sally's skill set was top-notch. (Had she gone to hockey school, I wondered)? As the 'puck' got closer to her, she grabbed, pushed, and ran with it using her personal 'equipment' to defend her territory as her baby brother attempted to push the puck with his mouth. She growled. He barked. This incessant 'chatter' was relentless. “Hey, sis, This is my idea, my game. Go away.” “No way”, she seemed to say. “Catch me if you can.” And on they played. ... The noise of this plastic egg, rolling along, on the bumpy icy and snow covered surface, seemed to excite them both as I watched from afar so as to not be injured, as in the past. Mr. Wiggles would stop, his eyes on me, wondering what my next move was going to be. The 'puck' gained momentum whenever I got close, shooting it down the length of the yard. This gentle kick seemed to ignite his enthusiasm more, in another round of playing for the 'puck'.

“Had I been icing the puck?”, I asked my husband, a diehard Montreal Canadiens' fan who had played hockey, knew its rules and loved his team. “Yes”, he replied, “under those circumstances, you were icing.” But now Sally, Wiggler's wiser, older sister, was fast becoming a bully, hoarding the 'puck', in the 'corners'. This was called boarding, I was told. Our female 'smart face' had taken this game of hockey, up a notch, moving the 'puck' faster and faster, using her front legs, strategically, in a competitive dynamic force of wills. Mr. Wiggles stood there barking, wondering how a game he discovered could suddenly be lost to his sister, on such short notice. Trying to assert himself was of no use. He had lost control of the game he loved. A referee was needed. Who could that be? Not me, I reasoned. And so it continued.

Hockey had been discovered one slippery, icy winter's day. The misshapen plastic football, purchased last summer, had remained an 'invisible' useless outdoor accessory, devoid of any therapeutic merit until our sweet Mr. Wiggles discovered its potential for fun, one slippery cold day. It took a young male retriever to teach me that I did not know it all and that a little outside-the-box thinking, in a cold wintry season, was all that was needed.