Treat time, even in later years, remained a highlight of Kola's day. The sight of Grandma Kay reaching for the familiar biscuit container was a signal that cut through any fog. As she settled into her favorite chair, container in hand, Kola would begin his excited preamble – perhaps alerted by the routine or the visual cue, he'd offer a happy wiggle and expectant gaze nonetheless.
"You want a treat, little doggie?" Grandma would ask, holding one up clearly in his line of sight. "Are you a good doggie?" Kola's tail would thump enthusiastically against the floor, his eyes locked on the prize and her preparatory gesture. "Of course you are!" she'd confirm, her voice full of unheard affection. The toss might be a gentle underhand lob from her chair, sometimes accurate, sometimes landing short or bouncing off a table leg. Kola tracked its flight visually, caring little for precision.
He'd scramble after the biscuit, guided by sight, sometimes catching it deftly mid-air, other times nosing it along the carpet before finally grabbing it. He'd trot back proudly, dropping it near her feet, looking up expectantly for the next round. Occasionally, if his visual excitement seemed too intense, her expression might change. "No, no, I don't have anything," she might say, momentarily forgetting the game, perhaps putting the container aside. Kola would look confused for a second, seeing the game interrupted, biscuit perhaps still in his mouth, before nudging her hand gently, drawing her attention back to the ongoing fun. Regardless of the occasional verbal detour or visual pause, the simple joy of the game, the visual connection between them, always shone through, punctuated by happy tail wags and Grandma Kay's loving, unseen pats accompanying her words, "You're a good little doggie."
Back to Kola's Corner