He loved these balls. He would play with one for days very carefully, then at some point just squeeze hard and poke a hole in it. After that, the ball was doomed and destroyed in a matter of hours, and I would go and get him a new one, because I loved to see him happy. And he was always happy to see a new ball in my hands! That's the magic of a rubber ball.
He passed before he had time to destroy this one.
Cheap rubber ball with dead dog's teeth marks traveled to Canada with me. It was hidden in a drawer all these years, and once in a while I would take it out, roll it across the room, and think about Gin (short for Imagination - why on Earth I named my dog Imagination? I have no idea. I didn't even speak English back in Russia!).
He was a good dog. He was part of our family. He was the friendliest and smartest dog ever. When we lost him, I thought I would never have a dog again. I kept his rubber ball.
And then, more than 15 years later, here was Alfred. Unsure of his new situation, he was very timid and quiet at first. Didn't know how to play with the toys I got him. One day, desperately wanting to cheer him up, I took out Gin's old rubber ball and rolled it across the floor.
Alfred run after it and was happily chasing and bouncing it around the room. Rubber ball still have that magic inside. At this moment I cried.
It became one of Alfred favorites. He fishes it out of his toy basket, brings it to me and smashes it into my calves, inviting me to play.
At some point he squeezed hard and poked a hole in it. Someday he will destroy it and I would go and get him a new one.
The circle of life.
That's what we looked like in that other life:
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