Play Ball!

So, one of the goals I have with Tiki to engage her sense of play is to teach her how to play with a ball. I was excited, ordered a small/medium sized ball from PetSmart (COUPON!!! WHOO-WHOO!) and ripped open the box with delight when it came. I envisioned Tiki and I, much like I did with her sire, out in the pasture happily playing ball with each other within days. Sure, it was a trained behavior, but Eddie loved to play and would joyfully run over and stomp on, grab, or carry anything you pointed him at. Hats, zippered jackets, climbing on steps and benches, large and small balls--anything amused him. So, I thought for sure this would be a score for Tiki. Finally, she'd have something and someone to play with.

Boy was I wrong. I go bounding out to the pasture with the ball in hand. I open the gate and as per usual, she comes running up to me expectantly. "LOOK TIKI! A PLAYTOY!" I tell her, proudly holding it out to her nose to sniff. She snorted at me derisively and took off bucking across the field. She was not impressed. I was deflated, but not defeated. I walk off after her, put the ball on the ground and punt it in her and Mona's general direction. It rolls underneath Mona's feet and touches her feathers. Suddenly, it was like Mona was prodded with a hot poker by her legs. She snorts, springs about 2 feet off the ground, lands next to the ball with legs going a million miles a minute and runs at full speed across the field. Tiki, shocked at her mother's sudden and explosive dismay, joins her in her frantic flight from the Ball of Death. NOT a good introduction to the object that is supposed to be hours of entertainment.

I felt like a parent that had been duped by the glitzy kid commercials played ad naseum during Saturday morning cartoons. It rolls! It bounces! Your kids will love it! She likely would have been more amused by the box and bubblewrap, like most toddlers.

I sighed, grabbed the ball, and walked over to the horses. Tiki stared at the monster I was holding, snorting and shaking while Mona grazed. Food, to a friesian, is often higher on the priority list than the lions they must run from in the survival chain. I wondered how many friesians, if in a predator-driven environment, would succumb to their appetites versus stay alive. I imagined a herd of friesians in a particularly tasty part of an African plain, grazing quietly while a lion stalks them. The lion leaps out, roaring, and while most of the friesians immediately take flight, two of them stand there and discuss the options with mouths full of green grass. "You gonna run, Jimbo?" "Nah, I haven't had grass this delicious for at least a day". "Yeah, I'm with you--my stomach's pretty full and these blades ro......." Lion: CHOMP. No wonder friesians were almost extinct, right??

I was determined that Tiki was going to play with the ball. I let her sniff it all over, made it make noise, and bopped it around on the ground in front of her. She walked away and went back to pretending to graze. That's the most insulting part. She's not even grazing. She doesn't really have much in the way of teeth yet, and she's not chewing and swallowing grass. She's just mimicking mom as she sees her grazing in the field. It was akin to a child pretending to sleep to ignore you. I rolled the ball in front of her legs and, curious, she touched it with her nose as it passed by. "GOOD GIRL!" I yell and walk up to scratch her as a reward. She stares at me in confusion. Why did I make such a big deal out of this all of a sudden?? Remembering my trick training and target training days, I roll the ball again, holding my breath and waiting for the moment for her to stretch her neck out as it goes by her nose and touch it again, poised to praise. As expected, she reached for the ball as it rolled by and again I yelled "GOOD GIRL!!" and walked over to scratch her in her favorite places, making a huge deal out of her. I was watching the light bulb in her head slowly begin to turn on.

This went on for about 5 minutes--the average baby horse attention span--with me repeatedly rolling the ball by her, praising the moment she made any move towards it, and scratching her with vigor for every attempt to touch it. After the first few punts, trying to make her take a step towards it, I started kicking it a little further away from her. At this point, her interest completely waned and I began to play a pathetic game of kickball with myself in the middle of the field. People driving by were staring at me as I went from kicking a ball to a ghost opponent in a field peppered with manure piles to pleading eye to eye with a small foal to please touch the ball. At this point I decide to pack the ball up and leave with my dignity only slightly degraded.

The next day, I march doggedly out to the field to try this again. Hoping to pick up where I left off, I walk into the field, set the ball on the ground, and punt it towards Tiki. I wait expectantly as it rolls towards her and gets closer to her legs, hoping for a repeat of yesterday's behavior so that I can praise and scratch her. Much like a slow motion horror film sequence I watch as she turns toward the oncoming Ball Of Death and a look of terror spreads across her face. She leaps into the air to escape the ball and sprints behind Mom to hide. Peeking around Mona's shoulder, she watches as I walk towards her, determined, ball in hand. I again go through re-introducing the ball, letting her sniff it, touch it etc. Again I roll it past her nose and wait with baited breath to praise her for touching it. Gotta start somewhere, right? She reached, I praise, I pet. Finally, I walk a little distance away and roll it in a way she has to take a step towards it to touch it. The ball gets close, goes past her, and stops a short distance from her. She looks at me, cranes her neck toward the ball and takes a tentative step towards it. "GOOOOOOOD GIIIIIIIRL!" I squeal and run up to her to scratch her. She startles, puzzled, and scratches me back as I itch her withers. I make it an extra long scratch for her and make a huge fuss over her. The lightbulb shines bright now. I roll the ball further and further away from her, forcing her to have to take more and more steps to touch the ball with her nose.

At this point, I'm thrilled. Is Tiki going to take over Pele's position with the Cosmos? No. But, I have her consistently walking over and touching the ball. She was loving all the scratching and attention, so I felt this was going well. As with most training and small attention spans, her attention span burnt out quickly and I had to wait until the following day to continue trying to teach her about the ball. The next day we were able to start right where we left off. Tiki is very motivated by any attention, so it was great to have something she felt it was worth it to work for.

What I didn't expect, though, was what happened next. The parent and child relationship reversed. Here I was, like a kid, gleefully kicking the ball in the field for Tiki to walk up to and touch. Whenever she touched it, I jumped up and down, squealed with happiness and ran over to pet her. Tiki, channeling a patient mother playing with her toddler, began to watch the ball roll by, look at me, sigh, put her head down and walk over to the ball. She would touch the ball and stand expectantly for her scratches. I've never felt more condescended by a foal in my life. She was humoring me.

After this episode, I've decided that Tiki can take the damned ball and stuff it. I'm sure she thinks the same of me as well, so we've agreed to table the attempt to play ball for now. Maybe we'll approach it again at a later date, but for now she'll just need to amuse herself by pretending to graze......