Today’s ordinary miracle is the tennis ball. If our dog Miles could talk, he would say that every day is in fact, the day of the tennis ball. To him, the sphere of fuzzy yellow perfection is a gift from God. He reminded me of this once again during our fetching session as he squeezed every bit of foamy drool out of the unsuspecting ball. Nothing says I love you more than a dirt and grass covered slime-ball. The tennis ball would surface again when stopping by my son’s school. Out of desperation, teachers would cushion the feet of many a chair in an attempt to de-squeak the wiggly kids. It's interesting how every ingenious tennis ball invention I would see today would require an even number of balls while a can comes with three. I would also visit my 98-year-old grandma in the nursing home. If your beloved senior isn’t cruising in a Rascal , he or she may travel with a slower jalopy, the walker. No walker is complete without a set of Dunlop’s keeping things gliding along. But perhaps the best use of the tennis ball I’ve ever seen can be credited to Melynda at Deerfield Farm. I walked the rows greeting the lovely ladies. One by one, the bovines would sing a delightful moo in response. I passed about twenty-five cows until I reached the end of the line and came upon my biggest laugh of the day. This cow seriously knows how to accessorize. Apparently, this feisty lady has a problem with keeping her horns to herself. A pair of Dunlop’s would once again save the day and make mine too.