Back in Fort Worth, we bought Tasha a Giggle Ball. It's a sturdy, red, rubber ball that has one of those gravity whistles inside that makes a cute sound when you turn it over. We brought it home to her, and it was love at first sight. She kept the ball with her at all times. She loved Giggle Ball so much that it didn't get packed in a box with the rest of the dog paraphernalia. It made the trip to Mexico in the over-packed truck with us.

When we moved in, it didn't take long for us to discover a major flaw in the construction of the house, at least as far a dog balls are concerned. The garage floor slopes toward the street. Great for water shed, but bad for balls. The balls go rolling right under the gate and then down the hill. We have spent plenty of time in the dark with a flashlight walking up and down the hill in search of a lost toy. In fact, we have retrieved Giggle Ball twice.

We quickly instituted the rule that Tasha must keep all of her toys upstairs, unless we go down into the yard with her. She has been very good about following the rules. But sometimes she gets to bouncing her ball and it goes right down the stairs, out the door, and down the street. We still spend some evenings on a toy hunt.

Last December, Giggle Ball disappeared for good. We searched that night in the dark, then the next morning after the sun came up. We couldn't find it, and Tasha was forlorn.

Monday, the man with the backhoe came to clear the lot. He kept uncovering toys, and was truly sweet to always stop the backhoe, pick them up, and give them to Jair, the five-year-old next door. Jair's older brother, Bryant, who is 12, is a spiteful boy who got great joy in throwing Jair's toys into the field where they were completely lost. I am guessing that Jair found Giggle Ball and Bryant threw it into the field. However it got there, the backhoe driver found it and delivered it to Jair.

Tasha was upstairs, sitting on the couch, and gazing out the window – one of her favorite pastimes. As soon as she saw the ball, she knew exactly what it was and began to bark frantically, finally running down the stairs and barking at the gate. We looked out the window to see what had gotten Tasha so excited. Then we saw it, and I went running down the stairs too.

I knelt down in front of Jair, put on my sweetest face, and told Jair in my best Spanish that the ball he had belonged to Tasha. He smiled, said OK, and walked off. I ran and caught up with him and reminded myself to keep it simple. I reduced my words to, "I want the ball." That worked. I had Giggle Ball back. I thanked Jair and returned home.

Tasha saw Giggle Ball and started jumping and spinning in the air. A pretty good feat for an 85 pound dog. She really wanted Giggle Ball, but I just couldn't give it to her. I felt bad, but it was filthy. I took it upstairs, gave it a good scrubbing with soap and a brush, then soaked it in bleach water for 30 minutes. Then I gave it to her.

Giggle Ball isn't quite the same. Some dirt simply would not come off. It's more pink than red now, and it croaks rather than giggles. Tasha doesn't care. She loves it as much as ever.