The Best 90 Seconds Ever

I've said it before and I'll say it again:  I am one lucky dog because I have some of the best friends ever!

Monday afternoon, when Ma came home from work, she told me that my friend Deborah had asked her to deliver a very special present to me.  I love presents.  Sometimes it's food, sometimes it's a toy, and sometimes it's a visit and an ear scratch.  Whichever it is, I'm always super excited and quite grateful.  Well, with my tail wagging furiously in circles, Ma dug into her work bag and pulled out a bright orange Frisbee.  I rose up on my back legs to get a better view of the new toy just as she threw it into the backyard.

I ran after that orange Frisbee with all my might and when it finally landed I pounced on it to make sure it didn't fly away again.  I wanted to pick the Frisbee up so I could prance around the backyard and show Ma and Pa how proud I was, but it had landed face up and I couldn't get my teeth around the edge.  I didn't panic though; nope, not me.  I started to dig at that flying disk in an attempt to pry up an edge to grab hold of (an added bonus was that I managed to pull up a few tufts of grass while doing so and Pa couldn't yell at me because technically I wasn't digging a hole).  Eventually, I prevailed--even though the Frisbee tried to escape through my legs when I accidentally kicked it backwards while digging--and I celebrated by joyfully running around the yard.

After a while, and being the good sport I am, I decided to let Pa in on the game as well by allowing him to grab the Frisbee from me a couple of times.  Now, I've shown him time and time again the proper way of playing, but he still doesn't quite get it.  You see, he thinks that throwing the toy (be it a Frisbee, a ball, or a cookie for that matter) down the driveway and expecting me to go running after it is a sure-fire way of having fun.  I beg to differ.  Why would I want to repeatedly fetch something when I could simply lay down and chew on the item instead?  Sometimes I just don't get Pa.

The Remains

Anyway, after letting Pa play for a while I chased down the Frisbee one last time, grabbed it, and sprinted past him into the backyard.  Pa gave chase and I pranced around, just out of his reach, flipping the Frisbee in the air and catching it with a satisfying crunch as my teeth pierced the orange plastic.  Disclaimer:  Before anyone becomes concerned, I just want to say that I never eat the pieces of the things that break while in my possession; I just leave a trail of destruction in my wake.  Eventually, Ma and Pa took the Frisbee remains away from me and tossed them in the recycling bin (I went back later and tried to fish them out again, but Pa was on to me and, after shooing me away, buried the pieces under some soda cans and newspapers).  The game was over but it was the best 90 seconds I've had in a long time.

Thank you Deborah!