I have this thing about sticks.
I love them. I mean, regardless of size or weight, whether it is pine or oak, wet or dry, I love sticks. It’s just one of those things that puppies love. I don’t expect you gentle humans to understand. You probably think that we just like to chew on them (I must admit that they do taste grand) or like to chase them, but it is much more than that. There is something — I can’t quite think of the right word — something almost sacred about the bond between a dog and the perfect stick.
Of course, I am still a growing puppy, and sometimes even I can grab a stick that is too big for me to handle. On this particular day I was running around with this small log in my mouth, teaching my dad how to play fetch, when I suddenly had trouble carrying in and it fell out of my mouth. No problem. I just picked it up again and kept on running.
Oh, did you notice that the lawn appears to have a hole in it? You did? I’m rather proud of that hole …