I need to have a little talk with the dog about his balls. I humored him at first, but it's really gotten out of control. Once he discovered the balls, it's like he can't think of anything else. He has balls on the brain.
The bottom line is he has way too many balls.
Over the past eight months we've settled on a handful of routes for our daily walks, and one of them takes us past some tennis courts. I rarely, if ever, see anyone playing, and yet the narrow lawn between the fence and the sidewalk is always littered with tennis balls.
I guess we can add "tennis" to the list of "Things People In Bakersfield Don't Do Well".
It was cute at first, my older male dog going mad for the balls. He'd get frantic at the sight of them, simply had to have one, try and fit several in his mouth and ultimately settle for one. He'd carry it for a block or two and then start a roving game of fetch by dropping it at my feet.
It was still cute a few days later. Sort of.
The problem is the minute we get home he looses all interest in his balls. Drops them in the foyer and never gives them another thought. And they've begin to kind of pile up, to the point that the living room now looks like a bad day at Wimbledon.
So we're going to have to have a little talk, me and him. He's going to have to adapt to a life without balls.
It won't be the first time.
