Nope, that beat-up ball in my Chuckit (photo, right) is not the one we had when we started out at the dog park. It is the one we ended up with, though.
Here’s how it goes. I open the front door of the Jeep and Kemba barrels out as if his life depends on it, dashes to his spot on the dirt at the edge of the parking lot, and assumes his position — like a statue — waiting for that first launch. Doing my part, I open the tailgate, shoulder my Chuckit (already loaded, of course, with a scuzzy, raggedy, well-chewed tennis ball), walk to where Kemba’s camped out, and give it a good heave. Kemba’s off like a shot, snags the ball on one bounce, and trots along on his adventures.
As he makes his way along the untended, tall weedy area, he nonchalantly lets the ball drop, and continues on his rounds. Winnie, a one-year-old German Shepherd, rushes over to pick up the discarded ball. Her owner tries to get the ball from Winnie and give it back to me. “Keep it,” I say. “No big deal. There’s a lot more where that came from.”
Because that’s the way it works in the dog park. It’s take a ball, leave a ball. You can always find another one — on the perimeter of the brush, along the trails in the woods, or lying in plain sight on the fields. I’ve heard (so far unconfirmed) that there’s a mysterious character who collects wayward tennis balls that have been abandoned outside the courts at Staples, and then periodically scatters them all around the dog park.
The one thing you don’t ever want to do is come to the park with your dog’s special ball. That dark blue spiky ball that Kemba’s been insanely obsessed with for over a month now (photo, left)? That one doesn’t leave the house. Nor do I intend to bring the light blue squeaky chew ball “scented with natural peanut butter.” (below, right; Kemba hasn’t seen this one yet — it’s a Christmas present — but I’m sure he’s gonna love it.) You see, you can’t be possessive about balls you bring to the park. Everyone knows this. Well, maybe not everyone.
On a recent dog park visit, Kemba and I were in the vicinity of this guy and his chocolate Lab. Guy flings the ball. Kemba, of course, races to track it down. Guy says, “Excuse me, that’s my dog’s favorite ball. The one your dog has now . . .” Well, what did he think was gonna happen? If you want to have a private game of fetch with your dog, then why would you bring him to the dog park???
All right. End of our session. Kemba has done enough retrieving for one morning. We’ve also completed two laps around our ritual woodsy trail. Time to head back to the Jeep. “Come on, good boy, gotta get going.” Oops! I notice the Chuckit’s not loaded. Can’t go home empty. I look around. Ah, over there, right by the water fountain. A nice, muddy, shredded tennis ball. A lot like the one we came with, in fact. I scoop it up with my Chuckit. Now we’re good to go.
YOU CAN ALSO FOLLOW BEAGLE MAN, KEMBA, AND RICKY ON FACEBOOK AND INSTAGRAM.
Happy Christmas! To you and Kemba
Thanks, Pat! Same to you!
There is such a big difference between a sporting dog (like Kemba) and a 7 lb. terrier (like Cooper). My Yorkie loves playtime with the chucker. And although small, he is mighty. No mini chucker for him. Only the full-size tennis ball will do. However, if we bring a ball to the dog park, that’s the only ball he will fetch. It seems that your Duck Toller will accept a ball touched by another. Kemba is a true sportsman. Cooper, on the other hand, knows which ball is his. If I throw a random dog-park ball for him to retrieve, he will stand in his place and regard me as if I’m an idiot. However, when I throw “his” tennis ball, brought from home, complete with all of the proper smells, he will retrieve it and carry it back to me by grasping the fuzz between his upper and lower front teeth, dangling it from his mouth like a purse swinging from a lady’s arm. It’s kind of funny, but I think that, if dogs could talk and we could understand them, Cooper would definitely get bullied.
Cooper does his thing, and Kemba does his. That’s what makes the doggy world go round! Happy Holidays!