Every once in a while we walk someplace other than Discovery Park. Last Sunday was one of those days. We went to Myrtle Edwards Park down by the waterfront, not usually one of my favorite spots. At this park we have to share the path with lots of bicyclists and runners, and there are too many other dogs around for my taste. Too much commotion and not a lot of opportunity for ball-throwing at this park.
That’s why it was somewhat surprising to come across this hard, heavy and waterlogged ball in the wet grass. Some other dog must have brought it there and left it behind for some reason. I latched onto it despite its weight and carried it all the way back to the car. It was mine.
The ball got a bit lighter in weight as it dried out in the house last week, but it still makes quite a thud when it hits the floor. I think that’s why Mike will only give it a gentle roll across the living room, as much as I’d like him to pick it up and toss it, like Whiffie. Believe me, my trophy ball is no Whiffie. I love the sound of breaking glass, but Mike and Heather would frown upon it, I’m sure. It’s good when my trophy ball stays on the floor.
Except when I bring it into bed with Urby, of course. Sometimes I sneak them in there during the day, when Heather isn’t home and Mike isn’t looking. He could care less, frankly, and what Heather doesn’t know about won’t hurt her.
I do feel sorry for poor ol’ Whiffie, however. I’m just not interested in that game anymore. We’ll see how long this feeling lasts.