Look! He's retrieving!
Okay. Only sort of. At the last minute he veers off. But still, it's progress! He couldn't care less about tennis balls (with the clever throwing device we bought, imagining ourselves giving our eager retriever a good workout from the comfort of a lawn chair), but he's sometimes keen on the cats' squeaky ball. He chased it down for me quite a few times this afternoon, and dropped it in my vicinity after only modest pleading on my part, before losing interest. I'm very pleased!
Here he is tormenting Emma, who briefly supposed she'd found a clever new hiding spot.
Okay. Enough goofy pup.
My parents came over for dinner tonight (spaghetti and meatballs, with a nice loaf of Challah, because the leftovers make such nice French toast). And they brought a pair of pants which my dad suggested he and Katie might apply some elastic to in order to make them smaller. As a joint project on Katie's sewing machine.
They are both strongly and openly opinionated people, and I trembled a bit at the idea, but they actually did very well. A few criticisms were expressed, but generally they both were very good, and the pants appear to be successfully altered. Underneath those prickly exteriors, they are both just old softies!
2 comments:
Cute! I've always had to play the "trade you" game with young dogs to get the ball back. Apparently 'chase' is much more fun.
Yes. He Love "chase." His very favorite game is to grab a paper/item of clothing/horrible-choking-hazard off a table and dash around the house with it, pausing only to look back and make sure whoever is chasing him doesn't Quite give up. The golden retrievers of my youth pushed their slimy tennis balls into your hands, eager to retrieve, but Finn marches to his own drummer. Or maybe my memory is selective and those Good dogs had naughty moments too.
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