I worked Monday morning, then daughter and I hopped in her vehicle and headed to the large pet supply company that she works for. The one nearest to me is about 20 miles away. Hubby calls.
Hubby: Where are you?
Me: On our way to CritterLand
Hubby: Imagine that.
It’s a disease. I haven’t resorted to foo-fie clothing yet (although, when it’s really really cold I have been known to slip on a sweatshirt or sweater to help with the chill). But I’m a sucker for doggy treats and toys.
Frieda has been diagnosed by daughter as “ball obsessed”. She loves her little yellow tennis ball more than any treat of any flavor. The minute you come out of the house she starts looking for you to throw it. She runs and gets it, then may bring it back for you to throw again (and again and again) or sometimes she just plays with herself. She’ll get on a slope in the yard and drop it and push it with her paw, watching it roll down the hill and runs to get it herself. Occasionally she brings it up on the porch and gets it near the edge, then gives it a little push to tip it off the porch, running around the other side to retrieve it. She’ll go on the concrete pad for the garage drive and drop it, shoving it with her paw or nose to make it roll, then bouncing around it and picking it up and running with it as though you’ve just thrown it for her.
Sometimes Frank decides he wants the ball. He gets up next to her and just butts into her until she drops it, then he grabs it and runs, never dropping it. His mouth is big enough he just holds it inside and she can’t get it! He’ll lay down and just hold it. I have to make him come to me and tempt him with a treat until he drops it so Frieda can have it again. We’ve tried giving him his own ball, but he doesn’t want his own – he wants hers. (Just like human kids…)
Frieda is fussy about her ball, too. I mistakenly got some once that were peanut butter flavored. They smelled nothing like pb to me! Ugh. She didn’t seem to like them. She wasn’t crazy about the mint ones, either, but she seemed to at least tolerate those. The plain ones are her favorite. Among her favorites, she seems to have favorites. If she’s playing with one and loses it (she’s dropped them off the back deck into the bank of the creek before) then she doesn’t want a replacement. She wants THAT one. You know, the one that is at the bottom of the ravine! She’ll pace back and forth and make an attempt to go down the bank, which scares the beejezus out of me. I think she could do it, it isn’t that steep, it just isn’t something want her to be doing. It is pretty rough going and sometimes that bottom part can be flooded. So, more often than not, when she won’t go for the substitute some human goes after it for her. (Can you say spoiled?)
Ironically, it doesn’t matter to her that it is that particular one, but more that it is the one she starts out with when she goes out to play. You can alternate the ones she takes out when she goes, it is just she wants to keep the same one the whole time she’s out.
Occasionally she loses it in the taller grass and can’t find it when it’s time to go inside. If you can stop making her look for it and actually get her in the house, don’t be surprise if she’ll go hunting for it the next time she goes out, even hours later. More often than not, she’ll find it. She’s got a unique hunting style in that she’ll make ever collapsing circles looking, then move to another area and do the same thing. It’s very odd to watch.
At any rate, that was the excitement for the day. Some running and errands and back to the house for Hubby’s birthday supper. It’s sure fun to have her home! We’re going to take a friend of mine and go to the larger near-by town for lunch and a spot of specific shopping (not random shopping – remember, I hate that!). Will be fun to tell my friend about our camping adventures. She’s been around MIL enough to be able to appreciate the pain.