BLOOD IN THE SAND

Spring training has just begun, here in New Mexico, and already we have had our first casualty.

A ninja dog has to work hard to keep on top of their game. My dog Buddy's cat-like reflexes don't just happen; those skills need to be constantly honed and tested.

In this household, that task falls to me. My other dog, Boopy, just doesn't feel that it is his responsibility. So I work out with Buddy daily.

We play ball. He's the shortstop on my team. He can go into the hole and pivot with the best. His lightning fast speed and incredible reflexes astound the major league scouts that have attended workouts. Boopy says that he's our first-baseman. We never argue with the boss.

Another of our regimens is our sparring sessions. I make feint attacks that Buddy defends. My job is to try to work around his defenses and tag his butt. Once tagged, he goes into his ninja spin. The other day he must have spun ten times; to the point where he made himself dizzy.

He defends these attacks by trying to put his teeth on my hands before I can do this. Here is where fun leads to injury.

The skin on the back of my hands is tissue thin from all the teeth scrapes over the years.  Today, he got me good.  I now have two huge gashes  from my wrist to the knuckles. 

It's really quite embarrassing. I always look as if I can't seem to stay out of fights.

I can't.