Farris: Tennis Champion, Dog Friend

In my book, to be a friend to dogs is to be king of the world—to hold the entire globe like a tennis ball in your hand (or in your pay). But to be a tennis champion (in the making) on top of that? Well now just flossin' on us, Farris—how could any of us regular guys compare? I could try to challenge you on the court, but I've gotten rusty, more accustomed to hitting these typewriter keys than hitting forehand and backhand with racquets. I get the feeling you'd serve me up like Djokovic or Nadal, Federer or classic style like Pete Sampras. No, I think you'd have me choking on clay at the French Open, spitting out wads of grass like a cow at Wimbledon. I bet you're quick, Farris But when it comes to dogs...ah, now there's where I might have a chance. Can you find that perfect spot to scratch like a grandma's lotto ticket? The one that makes a hound's leg start running in the air on invisible grass? Have you become that special someone to a floppy-eared little lady dog? The one she goes to, whose chest she jumps on to wine and groan and paw at your beard to take her for a walk, even when she just came in from one I hope you do, my boy. That look in their oh-so-expressive eyes of absolute trust, of unconditional love...well, I'd say it worth a win at just about any tennis tournament but someday, I hope to see you win both, kid: hares to you