As I sit at my computer this morning, my firstborn lies sick on the sofa, and my fur baby is growling. Her growls, which surely she thinks are vicious and threatening, sound positively, adorably cute and cuddly, and make you want to annoy her so she keeps growling. Right now, however, she's growling at the tennis ball she's attempting to kill. This tennis ball:
Isn't that the saddest tennis ball you've ever seen? When Hoover played with a tennis ball, he did just as you might expect a retriever to do: he slobbered it up, brought it to a human throwing machine, and then retrieved it. He had the same tennis balls for thirteen years. We bought one canister, and he was good for life.
He never denuded a tennis ball.
Daisy does things differently.
I foresee many canisters of tennis balls in our future.
Two days ago, she disemboweled her favorite raccoon toy.
Note to self: do not leave stuffies in the crate with Daisy. Very expensive vet visit for bowel obstruction might result.
The tennis ball fuzz passes right through. Ask me how I know.
I dare you.