Tomboys United!
They're little girls. Three of them. Oops, and a spare. So that makes three and a half. Three ten years of age, and one a mere six years old, barely tolerated by the older girls, but having a very good time hanging out with them. Sugar and spice and everything nice. As opposed to say, boys for whom frogs and dogs' tails are the order of the day. Girls and decorum. Boys and mayhem. Oh yes indeed.
These girls race around the house, chasing the dogs, and there are plenty of little beasts to chase. The large dogs just look a trifle concerned, but don't move. They know the chase isn't on for them, but rather for the small, the really small ones. The cat, too. And he will have none of it. The cat, a large grey neutered male, strikes a stance, then leaps prodigiously right over their heads and literally sails out of the room. I cannot believe the testimony of my eyes.
Ahah! the 3-1/2-lb Pomeranian has been cornered and caught. He is clasped lovingly in two small hands, held out of the reach of the other greedy hands, and yes, tossed in the air, and handily caught. The 8-lb Chihuahua, normally begging to be picked up has been cornered at the edge of a sofa and sits there, snarling, but he is snared and caught up like the other. He is cuddled, not tossed, and turns his tiny head under his captor's arm.
The girls decide to reward the dogs for their patient participation in the antic proceedings and in the kitchen take solemn stock of the possibilities from among the various treats meant for the dogs. The dogs sit expectantly, eager and very willing to accept any and all offerings. When the appropriate treats for each of the applicants-for-reward have been determined the crush of hot bodies giving and receiving becomes a tangle of colourful limbs.
The girls race up to the second floor amid shouts and screeches and squeals, all human in origin, all animal in intensity and texture. They leapfrog, they turn somersaults, they exclaim, they declaim and they challenge one another to the highest-pitched shriek, the most perfect somersault, the most daring leap. Oh dear, the girls are ordered out of doors. What took so long?
Out they stream, teasing one another, boasting their running prowess, and all of them greyhound around the perimeter of the house, the breezeway, the guest cottage, and back again. The door has been opened and all of the dogs rush outside right after the girls, in hot pursuit this time of their targets and pandemonium reigns supreme.
The girls rush for the garage, each toward a different object promising further opportunities of athletic endeavour. There are two bicycles, a skate board, a scooter and each is claimed and becomes a vehicle for physical interaction, skids, turns, and bypassing. There are exchanges. The bicycles, skate board and scooter change ownership and off they go again. The air hangs heavy with claims and counterclaims. Suddenly, silence, and the girls stream back into the house to claim apples, fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies, milk. The dogs leap around them expectantly, anticipating crumbs that just do not materialize, alas.
Outside again! Hula hoops, basketballs, and the electricity of motion and emotion crack the atmosphere. Girls are so sweet, so biddable, so calm and serene. So hysterically comic in their earnest girlishness, their frantic boylike behaviour.
posted by Pieface @ Sunday, May 14, 2006
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