Casualty

Oh, Squeaky, we hardly knew ye.

Pooka eviscerated her squeaky ball last night.

We went for a jog, had dinner, then played a round of squeaky hedgehog.

For those of you unfamiliar with the rules: I squeak hedgehog until Pooka takes hedgehog and enthusiastically squeaks it herself. When she starts to lose interest, I make little squeaky noises of my own and wiggle hedgehog in her mouth. Sometimes she goes back to gnawing and squeaking. Sometimes she drops it. At which point, I squeak hedgehog and toss it up in the air. Pooka pounces and chews. Repeat.

When she tired of squeaky hedgehog, we escalated to squeaky ball. Squeaky ball, Pooka! Where's your squeaky ball! (Of course, Pooka doesn't actually know what I'm asking her to do yet, so I actually go fetch squeaky ball.) Squeaky ball is much more compelling for Pooka because the ball's squeaker is about 1,000 times more irritating than the hedgehog's. She plays it like a 5-year-old on a harmonica: Steady, fast closing of the jaws (screeeeeeech), opening (eeeeeeeeeeeeech), closing (screeeeech), opening (eeeeeeeeeech). This game varies slightly from squeaky hedgehog in that it's me, not Pooka, whose enthusiasm for the chewing and screeching wanes. I grab the ball and chuck it into my bedroom. She flops after it, pounces, brings it back to the living room and the racket begins again.

I bought squeaky ball to convince her balls are fun, so that when we're the only freaks in the dog park on a pouring Sunday she and I have a way to bond that still involves her running for a bit. Last Sunday, we actually played fetch with a disgusting, muddy, slimy tennis ball for 20 minutes.

Last night, though, Pooka discovered the tiny plastic vent that made squeaky squeak. I noticed when the screeching stopped and P. started picking at one spot on the ball with a single sharp tooth. It wasn't long before squeaky's squeaker was on the carpet, and the ball was just another tennis ball with a hole.

I fear for hedgehog's life.