The River Took the Ball

  The River Took the Ball (But Gave Me a Good Day Anyway)

Apparently I’m a landlord now — to bees. I discovered this when I noticed a steady parade of them marching in and out from under my deck like they were clocking in for a shift. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds. And somewhere down there, I’m pretty sure there’s a queen living her best life.

The problem? There’s concrete under the deck, so I can’t just poke around and see what’s going on. And I’m not about to evict them with force. Bees are important, and I’m not trying to be the villain in their tiny bee‑drama. So now I’m in research mode, trying to figure out how to get them out safely without tearing up half my backyard. It’s going to be a process — but hey, at least it’ll make for an interesting blog entry.

A Day at the River (and the Ball That Got Away)

The dog and I have our little routine down at the river bottom. It’s our quiet place — just the two of us, a chair, a brush, and a ball. Most days we sit right in the water, letting the current swirl around our legs while she waits for me to toss her toy. It’s simple, peaceful, and exactly the kind of break we both need.

Lately, though, the river has been running fast. Not just “moving along nicely,” but quick, with that strong spring push that reminds you nature doesn’t negotiate. Still, the dog wanted her ball, so I tossed it… maybe a bit harder than I meant to. She launched after it, straight into the current, and for a second my heart jumped — the river grabbed her faster than either of us expected.

She’s a strong swimmer, but even she felt the power of that water. She managed to angle herself toward the bank, ball in her mouth, but by the time she got there she’d swallowed enough river to decide she was absolutely done with fetch for the day. One look at me said it all: no more ball.

The problem was, the ball wasn’t done with us. It drifted back out, caught the current, and shot downstream like it had somewhere important to be. I could’ve gone after it if I’d been in swim shorts, but I wasn’t about to dive in wearing what I had on. So I let it go. Sometimes you just have to surrender a thing to the river goddess and trust it’ll find a new home.

Maybe someone downriver will spot a bright ball spinning in the eddies and wonder about its story. All I know is I won’t see it again. It disappeared too fast for even a proper goodbye.

A Little Tug‑of‑War and a Cold Walk Home

Before the ball made its dramatic escape down the river, the dog and I had a good round of tug‑of‑war. She usually wins — she knows it, I know it — but this time I actually got the upper hand thanks to a perfectly timed distraction. Another dog walked by, she paused mid‑pull to stare, and boom, victory was mine. I even managed to snap a great photo of her in that moment, half proud, half confused, river water dripping off her face.

We stayed out there for a while after that. I sat in my chair, shirt off, freezing but committed, taking pictures of her splashing around in the shallows. There’s something about the river that makes time slow down, even when the current is racing by like it has somewhere urgent to be.

Eventually the cold caught up with me. I packed up the chair, brushed the sand off my legs, and headed home to write all this down while it was still fresh in my mind. Maybe later I’ll go for a walk with my mom, and I should probably finish mowing the back half of the yard — the part I conveniently ignored yesterday. But for now, I’m just sitting here thinking about the river, the dog, and the ball that got swept away like it had its own adventure to chase.