Monday, December 13, 2010

Over protective

I have toys all over the house. Mom tries to minimize the toy "clutter" by keeping a basket at the top of the stairs.

But it seems the toy I want to play with is always on the very bottom...

(Apparently, its frowned upon in this establishment to express yourself with toys on the stairs, ropes in the bed and bones on the couch.) I'm an artist. Its who I am, its what I do.

So it should come as no surprise that I have multiple toys outside as well that I protect from the evil squirrels and their fuzzy tails. Many of my toys I've pulled closer to the house because of the inclement weather (that's a new word I picked up while watching the news with mom this morning!)

Mom was making me a path this morning (like she did last week when we had more "inclement" weather-ha!) and as I was chasing after the steal-bladed-plastic-snow-pusher-with-the-long-handle, I realized something. One of my balls (a tennis ball- dirty mind!) was missing.

As mom pushed the snow, I was on a mission to find my ball. I started with the most obvious assailant, the steal-bladed-plastic-snow-pusher-with-the-long-handle. I started my questioning with a few bites on the side of the plastic. But it didn't give up the ball. So I took a more drastic approach, I stood in front of the steal-bladed-plastic-snow-pusher-with-the-long-handle. I stood my ground. Waiting for it to crack, but nothing.

The questioning intensified when I stuck my head into the pile of snow that was at the bottom of the steal-bladed-plastic-snow-pusher-with-the-long-handle. Mom didn't understand this was a technique I used before. "JACK! What are you doing?!" Of course I hardly heard her because my ears were frozen from all the snow. And, as I pulled my head out of the pile of snow, I was deflated. No ball.

So I decided to mimic the steal-bladed-plastic-snow-pusher-with-the-long-handle and push through the snow with my face! Mom stopped and looked at me. All of a sudden she finally figured out what I was doing. "Are you looking for your ball, buddy?" DUUUUUUUH!

And with her help, we found my ball! It was a little frozen, and I'm glad my tongue didn't get stuck to it. Mom started laughing and looking around like, "did anyone see what my super smart dog just did to find his ball?" and, as luck would have it, dad did!

I might be considered "over protective" of my toys...but hey, they are mine. I love them. And I take care of them.

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