For as far past as anyone can remember, the Rainers have birthed, lived and died on this here piece of Kansas territory we call home, Lowland County. Never had reason to leave and never had want. But Ma always says I'm a peculiar sorta person who particular sorta things happen to so it wasn't that much of a surprise when I became the first Rainer to leave Lowland County in, well, forever.
I was playing fetch with Rocket, the slowest dog in the universe. We were using an old, faded tennis ball. I threw it. I also fetched it. Rocket drank my lemonade.
"This was supposed to be our game." I told him. "That's generally what Fetch is about. I throw, you fetch. Not, I throw, I fetch and you drink my lemonade. Which, by the way, was made by Wendy and you know she's got a cough and is not particularly careful when it comes to keeping her germs to herself. Or covering her mouth when she sneezes."
Rocket whined and backed away from the lemonade. But after watching me play Fetch by myself for a little longer, he lapped up the rest of the lemonade. The effort of watching me run back and forth must have been exhausting.
"Don't blame me if you get sick." I warned. "I don't know if dogs are even allowed to have lemonade."
Suddenly worried, I reached for the cup but Rocket slowly got up to place himself in front of it, hackles raised and attempting a growl. It was a poor attempt but I didn't tell him as much.
"Very impressive, Rocket." I lied, throwing the ball as far as I could. "Now how about you do your greyhound ancestor proud and go bring back that ball fast as a bullet?"
Rocket is about as mix as a dog can be. He's part every breed I've ever heard of.
Rocket suddenly let out a small whine of alarm and I looked up to see the tennis ball speeding back toward me faster than I knew was possible.
I watched it grow larger and closer, wondering who had thrown it. No one on the farm has such an arm. Not Ma ( though she did play pitcher on her little league team as a kid, and apparently she was so good Pa fell in love with her arm and in later years, with her) or Pa and certainly not Wendy who'd been having a Kitchen Fetish and hadn't been seen anywhere but for the past 3 days.
I reached up to catch the ball and it slammed into my palm at about a hundred miles an hour. I suddenly wished I'd been wearing my baseball glove.
I shook out my hand, wincing and straining my eyes to see who had thrown this bullet of a ball.
