On Jaybird, Spiffy, Women, and Why Dogs Chase Sticks--Conclusion* (*Scroll down for Parts 1 & 2):

My niece Jaybird presents me with a bit of a conundrum. Now that’s she’s ten I’ve finally begun to enjoy her company; yet as she gets older I can see traces of adolescent femininity begin to take hold. I fear our our window of easy-going time spent together has already started to close.

Luckily, Jay’s got a bit of the tomboy in her. She’s very athletic and is a big NBA basketball fan. Her favorite players are Manu Ginobli (her dad’s from Texas), Rajon Rondo of the Boston Celtics; and of course, Denver’s own--Chauncey Billups.

This last visit to Denver I took Jay to a Nuggets game. As I drove, there were times I’d glance in her direction and could swear she’d somehow become 17 years old. It happened to me a couple times where I had to do a double-take.

But then Jay would open her mouth and remind me of her age.

“Uncle Lodo,” she asked as we remained stopped at a red light, “you think you’ll ever get married?”

“What?!” I asked, surprised by her left-field question.

Jay laughed at my discomfort. “I asked if you’re ever gonna get married.”

“...I doubt it,” I answered as the light turned green.

I could feel Jay’s eyes on me as I proceeded to drive.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Wellll, I’m 43 years old and the idea’s never even crossed my mind. So it doesn’t seem likely. Besides, women and I don’t get along that great.”

“Why not?”

“...I guess we just have different interests. I’m not crazy about most women; and they probably feel the same way ‘bout me.”

Jays eyebrows furrowed a bit before she turned to look out her passenger side window. She remained silent for a few seconds, and when she finally spoke she still didn’t turn to face me.

...”Well aren’t I a woman?” she asked, seemingly upset.

Several seconds passed in which she didn’t turn around.

“...Hey,” I finally told her as I forced her to look at me, “you’re still a girl.”

Jay looked into my eyes and we both broke into a smile.

After the game, I didn’t see Jay for a few days. It wasn't 'til the end of the week that I rolled-in to my folks’ house, only to be confronted by a house-full of females: my mom, my sister, a group of their mutual friends, and Jaybird (my dad had gone to the gym).

Introductions were made, along with the usual feminine pleasantries.

“Oh, you’re from New York? Are you married? I’ve got a nice girl for you. Beautiful. You’d have beautiful children.”

Um hm. I can assure you reader at times like these there’s only (1) girl that interests me and I’d never been so thankful for her as I was then.

“Well ladies, nice to meet you; but if you’ll excuse me I’ve got to take my dog Spiffy for a walk.”

“I’ll go with you!” Jay exclaimed, already half out her seat and round the table. To her credit, I think women bore Jay as much as they do me.

So Jay and I took Spiffy for a walk. We got about 30 or 40 yards out the house when Jay suddenly had a mind-flash.

“Uncle Lodo, we forgot Spiffy’s ball.”

“That’s okay. She’s too obsessed with that thing. A nice walk without it will do her good.”

We walked 'til we reached a small park. I released the clasp of Spiffy’s leash and she proceeded to sniff around as Jay and I worked our way toward a picnic table. The sun had just started to set and we watched it against the mountains.

But I was soon distracted by a scrape at my leg, and when I turned around there was Spiffy with what had to to be biggest stick in the park. More like a limb--with twisted branches that protruded like eyes of a potato. She dropped it at my feet and began to bark. Throw it! Throw it!
Jay and I both laughed. Spiffy could barely lift the thing.

I grabbed the stick from the ground and broke-off the various protrusions. Then I snapped it in half with my foot till it was a more reasonable size. Still somewhat ridiculous for Spiffy, but at least she could carry it. She remained quiet, so I threw it for her.

“Spiffy sure likes to fetch, eh Uncle Lodo?”

“That’s for sure,” I answered as we watched Spiffy struggle to run the stick back. This time she dropped it at Jay’s feet. Bark! bark! Bark! Throw it! Throw it! Throw it!

Had it been me, I’d have waited for Spiffy to pipe-down. I don’t let her manipulate me. But Jay just threw the stick.

“..Uncle Lodo--how come Spiffy likes to fetch so much?”

“Its an atavism,” I answered, which is probably a good indication of how much time I spend with 10 year old girls.

“An ata--what?” Jay asked as we watched Spiffy run the stick back.

“An atavism,” I said again. “Its like a throwback trait. Like when we used to have tails. A million years ago, when Spiffy was a wolf, it was important for her to fetch. The pack would chase food, bring it back home for their pups. That’s what wild dogs do. We bred the best fetchers to help us hunt and eventually made Spiffy. But its pretty-much a useless trait now, at least in Spiffy's case.”

Jay grabbed the stick.

“Cause we don’t need to hunt anymore?” Jay asked as she whisked a lock of hair from her face.

“Exactly,” I answered, impressed with her maturity. “We’ve got plenty of food.”

“So maybe one day Spiffy wont chase sticks?”

“...Spiffy will always chase sticks, that's what she's designed to do."

All our talk made Spiffy impatient. She began to bark. Throw it! Throw it!

“There’s that ata-thing again!” Jay said with a laugh, and for a second I saw that look like I’d seen in the car. Like she was 10 going on 17. “Ata...ata..I’ll never get that word.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” I said as I watched my niece throw the stick against the backdrop of the descending sun “you’ll get it soon enough.”