Everybody meet Cash: Cash is not our dog. He’s the neighbor’s dog. Cash likes to come over to our house and play–everyday if he could. He sits at the back fence and either barks or whines. He then runs around to the side gate and waits to be let in.
You see, we have kids. Lots of kids. Kids mean fun. Kids mean lots and lots of thrown sticks and Frisbees to catch mixed in with the occasional ball.
The other day he showed up as usual but with his own ‘stick’ in tow. Rather it was a small log he had found somewhere and claimed.
He honestly wanted us to throw this thing. When I told him no and to go and find a smaller stick, he picked up his ‘stick’ and dropped it on my foot. Ouch!
In the end, we ended up tossing his log a time or two, but then we sidetracked him and replaced it with a busted basket ball. He didn’t seem to care so long as we were playing with him.
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