My little Bear absolutely loves a squeaky ball. He’s a self-contained little chap who will entertain himself for hours with a ball, as long as it squeaks! Willow likes soft squeaky toys, which she’ll happily dissect, but she’s not interested in balls.
Bear likes to take a squeaky ball to the top of the stairs, squeak it for a while on the landing before getting his nose behind it and turfing it down the stairs, where he chases it down before bringing it upstairs again.
Alternatively, we play together every afternoon without fail. I have to pretend I want it and chase him around as he rushes off squeaking loudly. Periodically, he deliberately lets me catch him, remove the ball and then we play a game of “Where’s the ball, Bear, Bear?” whilst I make him charge about as I transfer the ball (squeaking loudly) from hand to hand. I then chuck it down the hall for him to race after, the whole process beginning again.
Now this is all well and good (if a tad noisy), but once the squeak is gone, that’s it! He completely ignores the ball, like he never had any interest in it whatsoever, when only an hour before, it was the ‘be all and end all’ of his little dachshund life!
So vigorous and intent is he that unfortunately very few of them last more than a few days. The balls themselves are in perfect condition, completely undamaged, but the squeak…is gone! Died in a hail of sausage spit and tiny, needle-sharp teeth, never to squeak again! Well, that’s not entirely true, as I have learned that some (sadly very few), if left to dry out completely, find their humble little voices again in order to sing out proudly once more.
As you can imagine, this being the case, I have to keep a constant ‘back-up’ supply of squeaky balls, with them virtually on speed dial, all to satisfy the whims of a small, good-natured, little sausage dog.
The never-ending supply isn’t, of course, the issue, as it’s simple enough to have a ‘back-up’ as it’s just about good organisation, something which, as a teacher previously, I’ve never found a problem with. No, the real problem is the copious number of defunct, ‘used to squeak’ balls I’m left with, totally discarded under my sofa, my bed, the kitchen table, the garden, even in the bathroom! I find myself every so often rounding them up, lining them on the garden table in rows and looking mournfully at them.
It was then that I had an idea, inspired by my previous dog, Arthur, my beautiful Shiba Inu. Arthur never wanted for anything; he was my baby, and like the sausages today, nothing was too good for him. The thing is, he used to drive me crazy. I would buy all number of eye-wateringly expensive balls; balls that lit up; balls that made noises; balls that bounced in unexpected directions, absolutely nothing out of bounds in an effort to keep him interested.
(Whilst Arthur loved chasing/fetching a ball, he was a Shiba. This meant he was frighteningly intelligent, often pitting his wits against you and easily bored, meaning it was imperative to constantly up the ante to keep his attention!)
I would excitedly take out the latest purchase, and by the third throw, instead of bringing it back, he would take off to rootle around (usually where he shouldn’t be) and when called, would come bouncing back, only to drop at my feet the mankiest, baldest, most damaged tennis ball imaginable! It didn’t matter how many times I pleaded: “No, Arthur, go find your new ball!” Or how often I scrabbled around in the long grass and brambles, it was gone, never to be seen again.
What I eventually learned was that, for Arthur, the best of all things in his little, furry life…was a ‘foundling’! A ball lost or discarded by another dog. These were his prized possessions, and he brought any number of filthy, discarded tennis balls back to my garden (where I had to wait until he wasn’t looking) before turfing them into the bin.
This memory made me smile and gave me an idea! I collected a whole host of brightly coloured, no-longer-squeaking balls into a shopping bag and set out for our dog-filled open spaces.
Over three days and across four different sites, I took a handful of balls and threw them as far as I could around various parts of the field for other dogs to find and play with. Dogs who aren’t as fussy about a squeak but who, like Arthur, enjoy the finding of a foundling! Okay, whilst these are vastly superior to the manky tennis balls I used to get blessed with, I nevertheless believe the sentiments will be the same, and we give them to your dogs with love.
So, if your dog rushes off and comes back smiling with a brightly coloured dog ball in his mouth, that isn’t his; it is now, so throw it for him with our blessing. May it provide him or her many happy hours of ‘fetch’…but apologise to him or her on my behalf for the lack of a squeak!
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