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Oh Gabby...

I know you love your ball.
It has been your boon companion from day 1.
You miss it when you are parted.
You hold it when you're together.
You gaze upon it adoringly as you clutch it in your little paws.
You squeak it to express your happiness (lots of squees in a row) or displeasure with us when the game is over (one hard squee)
We get it.
You're in love with your ball

I wonder what you are thinking when you gaze upon your ball...
Does it taste like chicken?
Does it look like a chicken?
In your little mind does it talk to you and tell you how wonderful you are?

I don't know anything of these answers having no desire to taste your ball, and it doesn't look like any chicken I've fed you and the squeaker, while an amazing communication tool for you does not equal the construction of a brain.

But you know the Rule...The Ball is an OUTDOOR toy. Not because we segregate but because that's where we play with it...So why do you insist on sneaking it in the house every Saturday and Sunday? Do you think I don't see you? I do, I see you snuggling with your ball as you lay in the sun by the front window...and while it amuses me, the rule stands. It's an outdoor toy, for one simple reason...


It's Nasty.



Happy Saturday my sweet...
Love,
Mom

Comments

WASHINGTON BOXER RESCUE said…
Your story & addiction is absolutely GABBY-LICIOUS! WE LOVE YOU (and Quintus too!) ADORABLE!
August 20, 2011 at 9:02 AM
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