As long as I can remember (the MAN says about five minutes) I have always loved the BALL. The way the BALL gets moist and sticky, especially if I’ve had the BALL in my mouth for awhile, or if the BALL drops in the DRINK. My friend MCDUFF tells me he thinks the BALL is filled with crack, whatever that is. know when I really give my jaw a workout on the BALL a crack happens. That’s when I like to set the BALL between my paws and pick at the BALL to make the hole bigger; there’s all this fuzzy and springy stuff everywhere, but I keep at it until the BALL is just the right size so that the BALL can make that awesome ARP ARP sound when I squeeze the BALL in my snout. When the BALL gets like that the MAN always wants to drop the BALL in the STINKY box where it disappears forever. I work hard to free the ARP ARP from inside the BALL and I don’t want to give it up, so the MAN and I play hide-and-seek. I hide and the MAN seeks. I’ve got ARP ARPs everywhere. You can say I’m the one with all the BALLS at HOME.
The BALL is so much more than an ARP ARP, though. I have BALLS in every stage of degeneration –that’s a word MCDUFF taught me; you can tell he’s smart. The MAN goes out with me to the YARD and brings a lot of BALLS, and throws them for me to FETCH. That is the most FUN thing in the whole DOG world! If the MAN let me, I would chase the BALLS until my tongue drags the ground and my BREATH is running. When the DAY is straight up and I’ve been playing with the BALLS, I LOVE to flop on my side in the grass, a slobbery BALL in my snout, my tongue laid out beside me and my insides as hot as fresh MEATLOAF. MCDUFF calls it DOG heaven.
Sometimes I catch the stupid CAT playing with one of my BALLS and I chase him away. He has no idea how to play with a BALL. I have seen the CAT put his hind legs on it, and other times the CAT hides behind the COUCH or under a CHAIR and then pounces it. The stupid CAT has no business with a BALL anyway. If the CAT was suppose to have a BALL, it would be a DOG. The MAN brought a CAT toy home one day with a STICK (my second favorite thing) a string and a tiny BALL with feathers. The MAN made me stay away and watch as he tried to play with the stupid CAT. Notice I said tried. As soon as the MAN left I took the CAT toy behind the COUCH and reverse engineered the CAT toy, another term MCDUFF taught me. The MAN called it DESTROYED. He has said that about some of my BALLS, too, but they look nothing alike.
In the HOME I like rolling a BALL under things I can’t get to and then BARK at it until the MAN gets on his hands and knees and retrieves it. I call this FETCH, too. I can do this only a couple of times before the MAN yells NO, my least favorite word. I thought my name was NO for a long time. It doesn’t stop me from playing FETCH with the MAN, though. At least until he calls me a BAD DOG and takes some of my BALLS away. Then I cry and cry until the MAN says WELL OK and gives them back. I can have BALLS everywhere but if the MAN puts one out of my reach I go NUTS. The MAN knows the power of the BALL and uses it against me sometimes. MCDUFF says DOGS are naturally addicted to BALLS, just like those little smoky HOT STICKS used to be to the MAN. The MAN got over his addiction. I should ask MCDUFF if the MAN was really ever truly addicted, because I can’t even imagine life without my BALLS.
One day the MAN brought a BALL HOME that was bigger than me! I tried and tried but just could not BITE the big BALL. That made me so MAD! I chased that big BALL all over the house while the MAN and stupid CAT laughed at me. They stopped when I got a FANG in the big BALL and a pathetic, STINKY ARP came out and the big BALL was no longer big. The MAN took what was left and dropped it in the STINKY box. No more big BALL.
Sometimes when I am cleaning myself the MAN says he wishes he could lick his BALLS. I give him a BALL to lick but he just plays FETCH. Sometimes the MAN is a mystery to me. Maybe he has his own BALLS hidden somewhere, but not only can I not find his BALLS, I have never smelled BALLS on his breath. I believe if the MAN kept one of my BALLS in his mouth for awhile he would find true happiness. BALLS are a DOG’s best friend. That’s what MCDUFF says. Here is a picture of MCDUFF with some of his BALLS. He is a GENIUS.
The BALL is so much more than an ARP ARP, though. I have BALLS in every stage of degeneration –that’s a word MCDUFF taught me; you can tell he’s smart. The MAN goes out with me to the YARD and brings a lot of BALLS, and throws them for me to FETCH. That is the most FUN thing in the whole DOG world! If the MAN let me, I would chase the BALLS until my tongue drags the ground and my BREATH is running. When the DAY is straight up and I’ve been playing with the BALLS, I LOVE to flop on my side in the grass, a slobbery BALL in my snout, my tongue laid out beside me and my insides as hot as fresh MEATLOAF. MCDUFF calls it DOG heaven.
Sometimes I catch the stupid CAT playing with one of my BALLS and I chase him away. He has no idea how to play with a BALL. I have seen the CAT put his hind legs on it, and other times the CAT hides behind the COUCH or under a CHAIR and then pounces it. The stupid CAT has no business with a BALL anyway. If the CAT was suppose to have a BALL, it would be a DOG. The MAN brought a CAT toy home one day with a STICK (my second favorite thing) a string and a tiny BALL with feathers. The MAN made me stay away and watch as he tried to play with the stupid CAT. Notice I said tried. As soon as the MAN left I took the CAT toy behind the COUCH and reverse engineered the CAT toy, another term MCDUFF taught me. The MAN called it DESTROYED. He has said that about some of my BALLS, too, but they look nothing alike.
In the HOME I like rolling a BALL under things I can’t get to and then BARK at it until the MAN gets on his hands and knees and retrieves it. I call this FETCH, too. I can do this only a couple of times before the MAN yells NO, my least favorite word. I thought my name was NO for a long time. It doesn’t stop me from playing FETCH with the MAN, though. At least until he calls me a BAD DOG and takes some of my BALLS away. Then I cry and cry until the MAN says WELL OK and gives them back. I can have BALLS everywhere but if the MAN puts one out of my reach I go NUTS. The MAN knows the power of the BALL and uses it against me sometimes. MCDUFF says DOGS are naturally addicted to BALLS, just like those little smoky HOT STICKS used to be to the MAN. The MAN got over his addiction. I should ask MCDUFF if the MAN was really ever truly addicted, because I can’t even imagine life without my BALLS.
One day the MAN brought a BALL HOME that was bigger than me! I tried and tried but just could not BITE the big BALL. That made me so MAD! I chased that big BALL all over the house while the MAN and stupid CAT laughed at me. They stopped when I got a FANG in the big BALL and a pathetic, STINKY ARP came out and the big BALL was no longer big. The MAN took what was left and dropped it in the STINKY box. No more big BALL.
Sometimes when I am cleaning myself the MAN says he wishes he could lick his BALLS. I give him a BALL to lick but he just plays FETCH. Sometimes the MAN is a mystery to me. Maybe he has his own BALLS hidden somewhere, but not only can I not find his BALLS, I have never smelled BALLS on his breath. I believe if the MAN kept one of my BALLS in his mouth for awhile he would find true happiness. BALLS are a DOG’s best friend. That’s what MCDUFF says. Here is a picture of MCDUFF with some of his BALLS. He is a GENIUS.
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