Tex, the old boy-dog that lives here, knows how to play fetch. I throw the ball, squeaky toy or disgusting stuffed toy and he returns it. I ask him to ‘drop it’ and he does.  We do this over and over, until he gets tired. It might be six or seven throws from my recliner into the other room; it might be twenty.  His enthusiasm seems to be directly related to how tired I am.  If I am really tired, he could play all night.

Sweetie, my girl-dog,  does not fetch.  She barely tolerates this activity between Tex and me.  When Sweetie has had enough of watching him run back and forth, she takes the toy right out of his mouth. He never stops her…he just goes and finds another toy to play with.  Sweetie seems to be telling him, with her sharp barks, that he is making a fool of himself.

Sweetie would never bring me a toy and ask to play.  Her MO is just to sit on her chair/bed unless she decides she wants a scratch behind the ears, breakfast, or someone to open the door so she can go out.  I get the feeling she was raised by feral cats, or some other disagreeable animal.  She is not a vicious dog, just indifferent,  largely ignoring both Tex and me.

Right now, early evening, they are both stretched out on the floor, in front of the fan, sleeping peacefully.

Oops, they’ve seen me looking at them…he’s looking for his toy; time for fetch


2 thoughts on “Fetch

  1. For me seeing “they are both stretched out on the floor, in front of the fan, sleeping peacefully” is one of the best feelings I know. My dogs are comfortable and trusting me to keep them safe. Knowing they think so makes me feel worthwhile and proud and tender and humble all at once and it’s a perfect moment wherein time stands still.

    And then they wake up.


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