Tennis Ball by Thomas Gibbons

(This is a disclaimer from the author, Thomas Gibbons. While the original prompt was to create a story surrounding an-otherwise “ordinary” object to create some sense of significance to someone, somewhere; during the process of the assignment, my family’s dog, Jade, passed away suddenly and unexpectedly. Almost immediately after finding out, I tossed out my old template and created this, an actual significant object. Apologies for any inconveniences this might have caused. The actual tennis ball on auction is a replica.)

In terms of appearance, it doesn’t look that much different than an ordinary tennis ball. Average shape, 2.6 inches in diameter and 2 ounces of weight. It still has a fair amount of bounce, but depending on how long it’s been played with, it could be dropped in your lap covered in red, Sedona dust, or happy dog slobber; or simply reeking of pond water.

But this is more than a ball. This is a heart.

I’ve never cried while wearing a mask before. Tears are sculpted to run down a person’s face like raindrops down a car window. The mask absorbs some of it while parts wash through, wetting the face underneath. It feels wrong, off, restricting in a time where emotions cannot be restricted.

Early afternoon on October 13, 2021, I received a phone call from my family saying that our dog had passed away. Jade was only 7 years old and had recently made a full recovery from a leg injury that left her walking on three legs since Thanksgiving. She had peacefully passed away in her sleep overnight, and a vet found nothing wrong in her body, no sign for her sudden, unexpected death. 12 hours earlier, she had been her usual self, running around the backyard with the other family dog, digging up rocks and rolling in dirt. It’s possible she simply passed from old age, but as a black lab/pitbull mix, both genes had a lifespan of nearly double that. Her cause of death will likely remain a mystery forever.

Jade was found by an animal humane society in North Carolina, hiding under a trailer. She was estimated to have been around three weeks old at the time, and there was no sign of a mother or any siblings. When her health stabilized and she was eating solid food, she was moved to an animal shelter in Rhode Island, named “Jade” by the staff there.

My family had been hesitant about getting another pet after the carnage that our last dog, a Chihuahua, caused. With the biggest Napoleon Complex in the animal kingdom, he only ever got along with one dog in his entire life.

Jade.

When the decision was made to surprise my mom with a new dog as a Mother’s Day present, it was a back-and-forth choice of two options: a black lab puppy that adored people, yet was instantly aggressive towards other dogs; and an already-grown German Shepherd who was only put up for adoption because his previous owner could no longer keep him. With no decision on which was better, mom stepped in to make the decision herself, and asked at the animal shelter to see the black lab. Coincidentally, they mentioned they had just gotten a new black lab puppy and brought Jade out first.

The matter was settled instantly. Jade was brought home that very same day, and the name was kept.

As soon as she made it home, the tennis ball came into play. As curious and playful as a puppy is, they naturally require plenty to keep them busy and occupied with their sporadic attention spans. Thus, among her first batch of toys was a simple tennis ball, an icon of dog enjoyment. At first, she was too small to carry it, instead rolling it with her snout, gnawing at the edges as she started teething, and eventually carrying it by a stray bit of fuzz that just barely hadn’t fallen off yet. In only weeks, she grew to the point where she could carry it normally, and from there, something seemed to click for her.

It was as if the tennis ball became a part of her. Day after day, she would run up to anyone, regardless of what they were doing, and drop the ball at their feet to play fetch. If there was no response still, she’d pick it up and drop it on the ground, hoping the bounce would get the person’s attention. Further ignorance upset her, and she’d turn to little temper tantrums as if to say, “How can I make it more obvious that I want to play?” From there, when the tennis ball was inevitably thrown (it always was,) she’d dart off in the direction at full speed to grab it, then trot back over to repeat the process a couple hundred times, if not thousand. Even when everyone else got tired of it, she never did; forever entertained by a simple bit of sports equipment that bounced and rolled across any surface.

And it wasn’t just limited to play: when my family moved back to Arizona, we noticed that Jade would sometimes go and pick up a tennis ball, but not bring it over to play with. She’d just idly gnaw at it, making little rubber popping noises as she strengthened her jaw muscles, until she eventually spat it out to yawn and lie down. It turns out that she was also using the ball as a therapy ball, chewing at it to calm herself down during stressful situations, like fireworks outside on the Fourth of July, overexcitement when my siblings and I returned from college, or getting her anger out when a diet was started and her food bowl was filled less. Heck, there was once a time where she suffered an anxiety attack because she couldn’t find a tennis ball in the house- as soon as she found one, her mood immediately calmed down.

In a way, that tennis ball was such an icon of her that it effectively was her, more than any collar, leash, or harness could have been. And now, as the pale green ball fades to the color she was named after, Jade still lives on. The ball is her heart- for every bounce it makes, her heart beats. When it rolls, you can hear the scatter of paws in the wind, trying to push a canine to its limit to catch it as soon as possible. And when it lands in water and bobs at the surface, one can practically see the lab/pitbull mix dive in after it, submerging her head like she was bobbing for apples, and emerging triumphantly with a green glow and a wagging tail.

Good dog.

Thomas Gibbons is an aspiring writer, currently working as a senior at University of Arizona for a double major in English and Creative Writing. After graduating, he plans to become a freelance writer. When not studying, he spends time with his family in Sedona.