A Good Gymnastics Mat Is Hard to Find

To say nothing of a dog

Hello, new subscribers! You can find my last piece, on my unusual pre-college education, right here.

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It is impossible to give a comic account of my life without introducing one of the main characters: Hutch, my first dog, a good boy who was pro-matriarchy and decidedly amoral.

When we rescued Hutch, we were really into gymnastics and practiced all the time in the living room. Mom, seeing us throw ourselves across the carpet fifty times per day, thought it might be nice if we had a gymnastics mat to practice on. She found something online and placed an order, but when the mat arrived and we tested it out, it became clear that the mat was not actually made for gymnastics. Gymnastics mats tend to have a little give, but they also have to have strong support, so that if you fall, you don’t break your neck. This was essentially thin foam pillows encased in slick black plastic, and it was so light that if you bumped it at the wrong angle it would shoot across the carpet. The box showed a woman with a long white ponytail doing some light stretching—I think it was meant to be a particularly comfortable yoga mat for the elderly. When I tried to use it to practice headstands (those of you who know that I had a ventriloquism phase will not be surprised that I had a headstand era), it was so squishy that I could feel the floor boring into my skull. We went back to using the carpet and pillows.

But fate had other plans for the yoga mat. While we were testing it out, Hutch walked by and gave the mat a tentative scratch. His nails made a nice szwoooooop noise with the plastic material, so he scratched again, then again, this time with both legs. He started digging with abandon. He dug faster.

The odd thing was that he had never really tried to dig holes outside, but here he was, enthusiastically pretending to dig on a yoga mat for the elderly.

Poetry in motion; or, a dog gets off his leash

This would become an addiction. When he got hyper, he would sneeze with excitement, run to the mat, put his head flat on the plastic, and start digging as fast as he could. Of course, we would go running and join in, claiming a different spot on the mat and digging our own imaginary trench. Hutch would then run over and try to steal our digging spot, placing his head next to ours and trying to shove us out of the way with all of his twenty pounds. Sometimes we’d let him win; other times we’d steal his spot and he would scurry off to the other end.

If the mat was not designed for gymnastics, it was definitely not designed for marathon digging, and pretty soon we started to notice that the plastic was pulling apart at the seams in a couple places. Mom told us that we shouldn’t let Hutch dig on it very much, and if we weren’t using it, we should stash it under the couch.

There was immediately an issue with this plan. When Hutch got hyper, he would go running into the living room, dash under the couch, and tug the mat out with his teeth. Then he would go crazy, sneezing and digging like a maniac.

We changed tactics. Mom said as a temporary measure we could put it up on the couch, where it would be out of reach. Hutch was only allowed on the couch with permission, and with some training he had gotten very good at respecting this, so if the mat was there, it would be clear it was off limits.

But the allure of the mat was too strong. I can remember coming out of the kitchen and turning the corner from the dining room into the living room to find Hutch, alone, standing on the couch and tugging the mat onto the floor. This was an especially strange sight because Hutch hated large things, especially when they moved. For his whole life, he was extremely skittish around trash cans, cowering when I tried to transport the recycling bin from the curb. He objected, sometimes quite loudly, to moving vehicles. He disliked when tall men wore hats. And here he was, tugging this rather long, unwieldy mat with all of his might, trying to make it tumble onto the floor.

This was not a one-time thing. He was determined to get to this mat.

I think we briefly tried storing the mat behind the couch and blocking the area with his crate, but this was annoying and inconvenient. So eventually we just gave up, and we kept the mat under the couch, where it was out of the way most of the time, but where Hutch could go grab it on his own when he felt particularly crazy.

He loved that thing dearly, even as it disintegrated. We duct taped each seam as soon as it started to pull apart, but pretty soon he was ripping holes in all the sections. When the mat was one-third duct tape, mom decided it was time for it to go, and it sat forlornly in the dining room waiting for trash day.

I don’t think it would be quite correct to say that Hutch missed the mat—he didn’t really have the presence of mind. For a while when he got hyper he would go running into the living room, dive under the couch, and then come out looking slightly dazed, like he wasn’t sure why he had done what he had just done. But then he had two groundbreaking realizations: 1) a dog can pretend to dig just about anywhere, including on the carpet, on beds, even on the couch,¹ and 2) if he walked in circles under the couch he could scratch his back on the couch springs.

So a new routine started up, one where Hutch would get hyper, skitter into the living room, dive under the couch and scratch his back for a while, and then careen out and dig on the carpet. He became a lifelong indoor digger.

He also had a strange love for sleeping in piles of shoes

Fast forward at least ten years: Hutch had become a very old man and I had my first apartment. Tini and I had just stretched a very large air mattress out over the living room floor and were preparing to inflate it. Hutch came by and gave it a tentative scratch.

“Hutchie, don’t do that!” I called while I plugged the pump in. He stopped scratching but went and stood at the center of the flattened mattress. I tried to coax him off, but he stood there stubbornly, so I flipped the switch and the pump began to make a loud whirring sound. Hutch seemed unbothered by the noise, and even as the mattress began to gently billow up around him, he stayed in the center, seeming a bit dazed but unafraid. We watched him, surprised and slightly concerned.

Tini leaned over and whispered, “Do you—do you think he’s remembering the gymnastics mat?”

1. To mom’s annoyance.